Page 43 of Make Me Love You

She let out a little yelp. She was going to be late. Hastily, she shoved her feet into her sneakers, not bothering to tie them. “So, we have a deal? We’re doing this?”

He grinned. “Hell yeah. We’re doing this.”

***

Eli collapsed backward on the bed. His heart was pounding, his hands shaking with adrenaline, as though he had wrestled one of the black bears that populated the mountains surrounding Hart’s Ridge instead of simply telling Emma Andrews that yes, he wanted some sort of twisted enemies-with-benefits relationship with her. He was fucked. He was so fucked, but at least he was also going to get fucked, which eased some of the sting a little.

And now she was gone. She had let herself out, telling him to go back to sleep since he didn’t have to be at work for another three hours or so. As if sleep was even possible, after that.

His stomach growled, reminding him that he had skipped dinner last night. First, because she had stormed into his house demanding sex. And secondly, because after receiving the requested sex, she had rolled onto her side, trapping his arm underneath her, and promptly fallen asleep. He could have woken her up, but if he had done that, she would have left. He hadn’t wanted her to leave. He hadn’t wanted to be alone with his thoughts and What It All Meant.

Hell no.

So he had stayed still, mostly awake, hungry for food and hungry for her. He had lied to himself last night, telling himself that once was enough. It had to be enough, because it was all he could have. But he had wanted her for too long to be satisfied with just once. Too long, and too quietly. He hadn’t let himself be truly aware of the longing since the moment eight years ago when she told him she never wanted to see him again. He had buried it deep. Until last night.

It hadn’t been enough. It was like giving a man a single potato chip after years of starving in a desert. All it had done was make him hungrier. The hunger was so much a part of him now that he didn’t think he could ever be satiated.

But it would be a hell of a lot of fun trying.

If it didn’t kill him.

It could go either way.

He would think about that later. Or, better yet, never. Right now he needed breakfast.

Breakfast, fortunately, was something Eli excelled at. He might not have the energy or the capacity to take care of himself after a long shift, but he always started the day off right. Back when feeding himself had been a simple matter of self-preservation, after his mom had finally left for the last time and his dad was either too hung over or too drunk, depending on the time of day, breakfast had consisted of cold cereal or frozen waffles. As a seven-year-old, he hadn’t known how to crack an egg, much less operate a stove.

But that had changed after his dad died. That was when it really hit home that Eli was on his own. No one was ever going to take care of him again, but then, it had been such a long time since anyone had that it didn’t really matter. He could take care of himself, and dammit, he would do it well.

After last night’s activities, he was craving something hearty. Quiche, with a side of fruit, and maybe some bacon, too. Quiche was usually something he reserved for days off, since between the prep work and baking, it was a time-consuming endeavor. There were perks to waking up before dawn to make sure Emma got where she needed to go. Today, he had the time.

He briefly considered ham and spinach before settling on bacon, white cheddar, and scallion, which meant that he was doubling up on bacon, but dammit, he didn’t care. Last night he had slept with Emma. Been inside her. Let her rip out a piece of his soul to take with her as she went on her merry way. A little comfort food was in order. For Eli, there was nothing more comforting than bacon.

Eli grabbed the pre-made piecrust and package of shredded cheese from the fridge. He fed himself well, but he wasn’t above cutting corners. For breakfast quiche, anyway. When it came time for the Fourth of July Pie Baking Contest, he would be making a lard-and-butter crust from scratch guaranteed to melt in even the coldest mouth.

The crust was blind baking, the scallions chopped, and the bacon sizzling in his cast-iron pan when his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and sighed. He didn’t recognize the number other than noting the local area code, but as the only full-time officer assigned to Hart’s Ridge, he didn’t have the luxury of screening calls. Half the town called his personal number rather than the police number, anyway.

Still, calling his personal cell about police business before working hours wasn’t something he wanted to encourage, either. He hit accept and then speaker. “Yeah?”

“Officer Carter, this is Jacob Bronson.” When Eli didn’t respond, because he thought it more pertinent to tend to the bacon, he continued dryly, “You remember, the man financing your campaign for mayor?”

Eli rolled his eyes, grateful that Bronson hadn’t made this a video call. “Right. What can I do for you?”

“We need to rethink our strategy. This election might not be as easy to win as we thought.”

We. The word made his skin crawl. He didn’t want to be part of any we that involved Jacob Bronson. The man was slime.

“Emma is doing a better job as acting mayor than I expected. She was running all over town yesterday, buttering up the business owners, making promises. I’m thinking we’re going to need to change tactics a bit.”

As far as Eli was concerned, his only tactic was to lose. He’d be damned if he let Bronson get in the way of that. “What did you have in mind?”

“New posters, to start with. A catchy slogan that reminds the good people of Hart’s Ridge what you stand for. The rest...well, doing a bit more hand-shaking wouldn’t hurt.”

“Posters. Yeah, okay.” He cracked four eggs into a large bowl and whisked them into a golden yellow froth, then added milk, cheese, scallions, and spices. All the posters in the world wouldn’t change the fact that Emma was damn good at her new job. “What’s the slogan?”

“Still working that out,” Bronson said vaguely.

“Okay, well, you let me know.” Then, not for any real reason other than a desperate need to end the phone call, he added, “Hate to cut this short, but duty calls.”

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