a tingle. Chemistry had always been his best subject. Maybe this night wouldn’t be a dead loss after all.
“I haven’t seen you out running for a while now,” Olivia said.
“I’ve been up north, fish—finishing—a project.”
“Oh?” She cocked her head, looking interested. Every moment Ben spent with Olivia made him like her more. She was exactly his type—tall, blond, and obviously athletic. And his pheromones definitely were responding to her pheromones. “What kind of project?”
“I do film documentaries.”
“That sounds fascinating.” She fastened her eyes on him. He couldn’t tell what color they were because the lighting was so dim. Suddenly he very much wanted to know.
“Would you like to get out of here?” he asked. “Maybe get a bite to eat?”
“Sure. That would be nice.”
“I’m not dressed for any place fancy.” An understatement; he wasn’t even dressed for cleaning sewers.
“Do you like Mexican? There’s a place just up the street that does great burritos,” Olivia suggested.
“I’m up for that,” Ben said, returning her smile.
That wasn’t all he was up for.
Chapter Fourteen
Juju pulled into the NO PARKING zone in front of Magenta’s shop, a space everyone on Brady Street used as a pickup and drop-off area.
“Sorry you didn’t get lucky tonight,” said Juju, who
had
gotten lucky, as measured by the number of men who’d asked for her phone number.
“That’s okay. I’ll just wait around for Rico and Eddie to turn eighteen.”
Mazie extricated herself with difficulty from the MINI Coop and waved as Juju drove off, then dug her keys out of her purse. She’d run upstairs to pick up Muffin from Magenta, who’d be dying to hear about the Phero-mates party. He’d lent her the fabulous Jason Wu dress she was wearing tonight and he’d want to know—
“Mazie?”
Someone rose from the shadowed steps in front of Magenta’s shop—a large, scary someone who was shambling toward her. She shrieked, bringing her purse up in front of her like a shield, switching instantly into fight-or-flight mode.
“Mazie—chill, huh?”
The voice was familiar. Mazie squinted in the dark.
“It’s Johnny Hoolihan. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Johnny?” She clutched a hand to her heart, which still had not recovered from its adrenaline jolt and was trying to pound its way out of her chest. What was Johnny Hoolihan doing here? He belonged in Quail Hollow.
“I got tired of sitting in my car,” Johnny said, gesturing toward the large silver Cadillac occupying the NO PARKING zone, “so I got out and waited on the steps. I tried to call you, but I kept getting your voice mail.”
“H-how did you know my address?”
“You forget which side of the law I’m on these days, Maze. I can tap into all kinds of privacy-violating databases.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, sizing each other up. Johnny Hoolihan, expunk, once Quail Hollow’s most-likely-to-go-to-hell juvenile delinquent, was now the town’spolice chief. Tall, tanned, and broad-shouldered, he looked more like a professional golfer than the tough cop he was.
“Why are you here?” For an ego-inflating moment, Mazie allowed herself to fantasize that Johnny—who wasn’t in uniform and was driving his own personal sheriff’s auction Caddy—might have come all the way here to ask her out. After all, sparks had flown between them this past summer when Mazie had spent a few days in her hometown.
“Could we talk inside?” Johnny asked. “This
is
your place, isn’t it? 1405A Brady Street?”
She studied him for a long moment. Ben always claimed she was way too trusting of people. Here she was, a small, lone woman about to invite a big man she barely knew into her home. But what the hell—if you couldn’t trust a reformed-thug police chief, who could you trust?
Johnny followed her inside. He stood at the edge of her living room, scoping out the place, and Mazie felt a little surge of
“I haven’t seen you out running for a while now,” Olivia said.
“I’ve been up north, fish—finishing—a project.”
“Oh?” She cocked her head, looking interested. Every moment Ben spent with Olivia made him like her more. She was exactly his type—tall, blond, and obviously athletic. And his pheromones definitely were responding to her pheromones. “What kind of project?”
“I do film documentaries.”
“That sounds fascinating.” She fastened her eyes on him. He couldn’t tell what color they were because the lighting was so dim. Suddenly he very much wanted to know.
“Would you like to get out of here?” he asked. “Maybe get a bite to eat?”
“Sure. That would be nice.”
“I’m not dressed for any place fancy.” An understatement; he wasn’t even dressed for cleaning sewers.
“Do you like Mexican? There’s a place just up the street that does great burritos,” Olivia suggested.
“I’m up for that,” Ben said, returning her smile.
That wasn’t all he was up for.
Chapter Fourteen
Juju pulled into the NO PARKING zone in front of Magenta’s shop, a space everyone on Brady Street used as a pickup and drop-off area.
“Sorry you didn’t get lucky tonight,” said Juju, who
had
gotten lucky, as measured by the number of men who’d asked for her phone number.
“That’s okay. I’ll just wait around for Rico and Eddie to turn eighteen.”
Mazie extricated herself with difficulty from the MINI Coop and waved as Juju drove off, then dug her keys out of her purse. She’d run upstairs to pick up Muffin from Magenta, who’d be dying to hear about the Phero-mates party. He’d lent her the fabulous Jason Wu dress she was wearing tonight and he’d want to know—
“Mazie?”
Someone rose from the shadowed steps in front of Magenta’s shop—a large, scary someone who was shambling toward her. She shrieked, bringing her purse up in front of her like a shield, switching instantly into fight-or-flight mode.
“Mazie—chill, huh?”
The voice was familiar. Mazie squinted in the dark.
“It’s Johnny Hoolihan. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Johnny?” She clutched a hand to her heart, which still had not recovered from its adrenaline jolt and was trying to pound its way out of her chest. What was Johnny Hoolihan doing here? He belonged in Quail Hollow.
“I got tired of sitting in my car,” Johnny said, gesturing toward the large silver Cadillac occupying the NO PARKING zone, “so I got out and waited on the steps. I tried to call you, but I kept getting your voice mail.”
“H-how did you know my address?”
“You forget which side of the law I’m on these days, Maze. I can tap into all kinds of privacy-violating databases.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, sizing each other up. Johnny Hoolihan, expunk, once Quail Hollow’s most-likely-to-go-to-hell juvenile delinquent, was now the town’spolice chief. Tall, tanned, and broad-shouldered, he looked more like a professional golfer than the tough cop he was.
“Why are you here?” For an ego-inflating moment, Mazie allowed herself to fantasize that Johnny—who wasn’t in uniform and was driving his own personal sheriff’s auction Caddy—might have come all the way here to ask her out. After all, sparks had flown between them this past summer when Mazie had spent a few days in her hometown.
“Could we talk inside?” Johnny asked. “This
is
your place, isn’t it? 1405A Brady Street?”
She studied him for a long moment. Ben always claimed she was way too trusting of people. Here she was, a small, lone woman about to invite a big man she barely knew into her home. But what the hell—if you couldn’t trust a reformed-thug police chief, who could you trust?
Johnny followed her inside. He stood at the edge of her living room, scoping out the place, and Mazie felt a little surge of
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