bizarre miracle Cole was as into me as I was into him, even if he wanted to kiss me as much as I wanted to kiss him, I couldn’t do that to him. I’d confused enough guys with my love of smooching and my skittish avoidance of every other incarnation of physical affection.
Despite my high school nickname, Mandy Homerun, I hadn’t ventured past first base with a guy since my assault. It hadn’t been for lack of trying. It seemed I couldn’t get past first base. No matter how sweet the guy, no matter how attracted I was to him, how committed, the instant things progressed beyond kissing and innocent cuddling, I would always freeze up. My feelings for the guy would chill, and the warmth I’d felt before could never be revived. It was like a touch of my breast or the brush of a clothed erection against my hip would flip some kind of switch in me. My attraction would die a swift death, and that would inevitably spell doom for the relationship.
Which was why I’d sworn off relationships.
No dating relationship I’d ever had lived up to my fantasy of how physical intimacy should be between two people who loved each other. In my imagination, I could be sensual, free, and fun-loving in bed. For whatever reason, it was never that way in real life. Maybe it was because of the post-traumatic stress disorder I suffered after the assault. Maybe my counseling background made me overthink things until I managed to suck all the fun and spontaneity out of relationships. Maybe it was just how I was wired. I’d given it the good old college try, but it seemed I wasn’t cut out for happy ever after.
If any guy deserved to have a happy, fulfilling relationship free of physical boundaries, it was Cole. He’d proven over the past few days he was a genuinely good guy. He ought to have better than an emotional wreck like me. He needed a woman like Officer Busty. A tall, gun-toting bad-ass with amazing curves. Not a sex-o-phobe who spent all her free time working out so she lost the curves that made men look twice at her and had a chance at fighting them off if they tried anything.
Not to mention, I’d be going back to Philly soon. Why would I start something with a guy when it could only last for a week, two tops?
Tossing my purse and coat on the couch, I headed back to my old room. The responsible thing to do would have been to buckle down and start organizing Dad’s stuff. Instead, I pulled on my cold-weather running gear, strapped my jogging holster and Luger under my fleece vest, and slipped into the woods behind the trailer.
As a kid, I’d spent hours upon hours exploring the trails that led to different points around the dump. I used to love to pretend I was a gymnast and do amateur balance beam routines on fallen logs. I’d loved to huddle down amidst lush growths of ferns and pretend I lived in a big, beautiful house filled with green, leafy plants instead of in a mobile home. I would build forts by stacking fallen limbs and twigs around a formation of boulders near the stone wall that separated our property from the dump.
I’d known better than to trespass on the private property the county leased to house the landfill, so I’d never scaled the fence into the dump itself. But I knew the trails and the dirt access road they led to like the back of my hand. The familiar pine-needle-covered ground cushioned my feet as I sailed through trees and jumped the occasional rotted log. The scent of moss and frosty leaves brought a welcome chill to my lungs as I pushed myself. When I hit the access road, I lengthened my stride and settled in to a pace I could sustain for at least two circles around the dump.
If I was lucky, I would outrun my desire for a particular hot cop who needed me like he needed a sticky trigger on his police-issue revolver.
Chapter 9
I got back from running to find Cole nose to nose with Tooley in the driveway. Cole had changed into cargo pants and his parka. His Oakleys clung to the collar of the
Despite my high school nickname, Mandy Homerun, I hadn’t ventured past first base with a guy since my assault. It hadn’t been for lack of trying. It seemed I couldn’t get past first base. No matter how sweet the guy, no matter how attracted I was to him, how committed, the instant things progressed beyond kissing and innocent cuddling, I would always freeze up. My feelings for the guy would chill, and the warmth I’d felt before could never be revived. It was like a touch of my breast or the brush of a clothed erection against my hip would flip some kind of switch in me. My attraction would die a swift death, and that would inevitably spell doom for the relationship.
Which was why I’d sworn off relationships.
No dating relationship I’d ever had lived up to my fantasy of how physical intimacy should be between two people who loved each other. In my imagination, I could be sensual, free, and fun-loving in bed. For whatever reason, it was never that way in real life. Maybe it was because of the post-traumatic stress disorder I suffered after the assault. Maybe my counseling background made me overthink things until I managed to suck all the fun and spontaneity out of relationships. Maybe it was just how I was wired. I’d given it the good old college try, but it seemed I wasn’t cut out for happy ever after.
If any guy deserved to have a happy, fulfilling relationship free of physical boundaries, it was Cole. He’d proven over the past few days he was a genuinely good guy. He ought to have better than an emotional wreck like me. He needed a woman like Officer Busty. A tall, gun-toting bad-ass with amazing curves. Not a sex-o-phobe who spent all her free time working out so she lost the curves that made men look twice at her and had a chance at fighting them off if they tried anything.
Not to mention, I’d be going back to Philly soon. Why would I start something with a guy when it could only last for a week, two tops?
Tossing my purse and coat on the couch, I headed back to my old room. The responsible thing to do would have been to buckle down and start organizing Dad’s stuff. Instead, I pulled on my cold-weather running gear, strapped my jogging holster and Luger under my fleece vest, and slipped into the woods behind the trailer.
As a kid, I’d spent hours upon hours exploring the trails that led to different points around the dump. I used to love to pretend I was a gymnast and do amateur balance beam routines on fallen logs. I’d loved to huddle down amidst lush growths of ferns and pretend I lived in a big, beautiful house filled with green, leafy plants instead of in a mobile home. I would build forts by stacking fallen limbs and twigs around a formation of boulders near the stone wall that separated our property from the dump.
I’d known better than to trespass on the private property the county leased to house the landfill, so I’d never scaled the fence into the dump itself. But I knew the trails and the dirt access road they led to like the back of my hand. The familiar pine-needle-covered ground cushioned my feet as I sailed through trees and jumped the occasional rotted log. The scent of moss and frosty leaves brought a welcome chill to my lungs as I pushed myself. When I hit the access road, I lengthened my stride and settled in to a pace I could sustain for at least two circles around the dump.
If I was lucky, I would outrun my desire for a particular hot cop who needed me like he needed a sticky trigger on his police-issue revolver.
Chapter 9
I got back from running to find Cole nose to nose with Tooley in the driveway. Cole had changed into cargo pants and his parka. His Oakleys clung to the collar of the
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