Page 29 of Just Friends

An icy drizzle was falling when Rebecca pulled up to his place; there sat his truck and police SUV. In the wide gravel lot, there was room for parking three cars in front of the cabin. And he’d parked his vehicles so that the space nearest the porch was empty—almost like he expected her. She growled and stomped up to the door, which opened as she approached. There he stood, in a t-shirt, cotton shorts, and bare feet with his hair still damp, and now beard-free.

“Why the hell did you do that?” she yelled at him from the front porch. “I mean showing up and kissing me like that. I was in the middle of working. Of all the times we’ve been together, and that’s when you pick.”

He reached out and, grabbing her hand, led her over the threshold into the house and closed the door. “We’re letting out the heat,” he explained. She rolled her eyes. He smiled. “So, you’re saying I coulda kissed you the other times we were together?”

She huffed. “That’s not what I said.” His hand held hers; she smacked it aside. “You…” She let out a frustrated groan. “You could have let it go, but no… oh, you irritate me.”

“Let what go?” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the foyer wall a smug look across his face.

“Nothing,” she replied. “Never mind.” Dangerously close to giving away that she’d lied to him. And he knew it. She mentally groaned at herself. She’d lied to a freaking police detective; it didn’t fool him one bit. What an idiot. He wasn’t just a bumpkin. No, he was far more observant and intelligent than she’d ever given him credit.

He raised an eyebrow. “So, did you drive all the way out here just to yell at me for getting you all hot and bothered or do you want me to do something about it?”

Rebecca threw her arms in the air. “Are you insane? I’ve been working in two hot, grimy kitchens all day. I’m gross.” Squeezing her eyes shut, she took a deep breath and released it. At least he wasn’t calling her out about lying to him.

“Ya know, I have a shower here,” he replied pointing a thumb over his shoulder indicating behind him in the home.

She huffed, turned the doorknob, and stomped out. When she stepped out into the cold precipitation that had picked up, Weasel called out. “There’s strong water pressure.” She stopped in her tracks and shook her head. This is absurd. Was she really a water pressure slut? Actually, crazy was standing in the frigid rain. She marched to her car and retrieved her bag. Back inside, she jabbed her index finger into his hard chest and it stung. “I have not decided to sleep with you.”

He stared at the digit pressing into his breastbone. “It’s not a stipulation for using the shower.” Rebecca walked past him into the cabin’s great room. “Or for being here,” he said to her back. The door closed and locked. She smiled, but she wouldn’t let him see that.

The cabin’s main area was airy and masculine. A river rock fireplace was built into the corner with a television mounted over it, and a roaring fire invited her gaze. A huge, dark brown, leather sofa filled the space, a couple of chairs, and a coffee table littered with a dismantled gun and cleaning supplies. The flooring was wide-plank with lots of knots, scrapes, and imperfections––perhaps re-claimed planks. The place was neat and cozy, and she didn’t know what to expect, but this amount of normalcy wasn’t it. There wasn’t a deer head anywhere. Although she’d bet a years’ salary there was one here somewhere.

“You’re freezing,” he said near her and startled her into reality. Wearing only a t-shirt and black jeans and no longer fuming, she now noticed the cold.

“Bathroom?”

He pointed to a closed door on the far wall. “In there. Towels are in the closet. Help yourself and take your time.”

She planned on it, and he’d better not complain about how long she took, either. Through the doorway, she found a bedroom—his bedroom. In the dark, she could make out a large bed along with an outline for a chest of drawers and a tall cabinet. Behind her was a walk-in closet and a master bathroom. The bath was enormous compared to the one in her apartment. It was sparkling clean with few items on the vanity with double sinks and a shower to die for, twice the size of hers; it had a rain shower head.

She returned to the bedroom and set her bag on the bed to get her clothes; there was a pair of comfortable yoga pants and a tank top. She cringed. Not about to wear one without a bra in his presence again, she’d have to put her bra back on, but yuck. She contemplated her options; sighed. “Hey, Weasel,” she called.

“Yeah,” he replied from the living room.

“You have a shirt I can borrow?” Preferably big and not see through.

The light illuminated in the lamp when Weasel walked in and flipped the switch. The lit room revealed a fuzzy red and black plaid blanket across the bed, the chest in dark mahogany, and the cabinet, a metal gray with a combination lock. He pulled a drawer open and rummaged until he came up with a t-shirt he tossed her. The well-worn shirt was soft and had grayed slightly from its original black and had AC/DC printed on the front. It would work.

“Thanks,” she responded. He nodded and left her alone.

Rebecca washed her hair in record time. It was amazing how decent water pressure rinsed out the shampoo with ease and melted her stress, well not all of her tension. She was in the shower that belonged to the source of that discomfort. Part of her chastised herself for not going home. The steady spray beating down her back relaxed the other part. He expected nothing of her. He wouldn’t force anything. She trusted that much. It was herself she didn’t trust. Ten months ago, she and Kyle broke up and a little longer than that since she’d been with a guy. Weasel, increasing the frequency of touching her over the last few months, was making her thoughts go to the fact she wasn’t getting any. And then there was tonight’s kiss. Her mind wandered to the flexed muscles of his shoulders and back when he drew the bow. Why not? Because she’d never once slept with a man just for the sex. With him, that’s the only thing it could be. That’s all he ever did.

Ten

Rebecca was dressed in his t-shirt and her yoga pants with towel-dried hair when she returned to find the coffee table empty of all gun parts and cleaning supplies; warmth from the fire filled the area.

“Feeling better?” Weasel asked. Although the room was an open floor plan, she hadn’t noticed him until he spoke. He moved around in the kitchen like a cat—a large, stealthy, dangerous one.

“Yeah. But your soap smells manly, and now, so do I.”

“Sorry. If I smell like flowers, the other cops make fun of me.”

“Well, we can’t have that now,” she smiled. “It’s amazing how great a shower is with decent water pressure.”

He opened the stainless refrigerator and took out a bottle of wine holding it up in a silent offer. There, behind him, stood a spotless, six burner gas convection range.

“No way,” she cried and made a beeline straight to the stove. “How do you have this?”

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