Fact #1: the Hastings police department has about eight officers on staff.
Fact #2: I think every single one of them is at my fucking house right now.
“Do you want to press charges?” The officer in charge hovers over Allie like a protective bear, a sneer on his face as he glares accusingly in my direction.
From my perch on the bottom step of the staircase, I glare right back at him. The EMT who’s examining my temple makes a reprimanding sound when I swivel my head in the opposite direction, but I ignore him. Because what’s happening right now is goddamn ludicrous.
“If anyone should be pressing charges, it’s me,” I say in disbelief.
The cop holds up a hand to silence me. “We’re speaking to Miss Hayes, sir.”
Oh yes. Miss Hayes. The crazy maniac who happens to be my girlfriend. The kung-fu master who knocked me out with a Wayne Gretzky paperweight.
But hey, at least the lights are on. This way everyone and their fucking mothers can witness my disgrace.
“You’re speaking to the wrong person,” I mutter through clenched teeth. “I’m the one who was attacked.”
One of the female deputies narrows her eyes at me. “From what we can see, sir, the young ladies are the victims here.” She waves her hand at the floor. “We walked in to find you lying in a pool of blood—”
“It was soup! Tomato soup!”
“—and shouting obscenities at Miss Hayes and Miss Di Laurentis.”
“Because they knocked me out.”
“Clearly they felt you were a threat if they took measures to incapacitate you,” another officer says coolly. He purses his lips, and the sexual predator mustache he’s rocking bushes up.
Oh my fucking God. I’m going to strangle them. The moment these cops leave, I’m going to fucking strangle them.
“Sir, we’re conducting an interview,” the lead officer snaps. “Please refrain from speaking unless addressed.”
Tucker, who’s leaning against the wall a few feet away, looks like he’s about to pee his pants laughing. His laughter is of the silent variety, vibrating in his broad shoulders and staining his cheeks bright red.
At least Allie has the decency to look sheepish. Summer just looks bored.
“I overreacted,” Allie confesses.
“Talk us through what happened,” the lady cop urges gently.
I grind my molars as Allie takes a breath. Meanwhile, the paramedic at my side is groping the back of my head like he’s trying to get me off.
“I just finished heating up a bowl of soup in the kitchen. Well, it wasn’t too hot, because I prefer my soup to be lukewarm, otherwise it burns the roof of my mouth and I hate it when that happens.” She sighs. “Sorry, irrelevant. Anyway, I was on my way to the living room. All the lights were off because we were watching a movie. I heard footsteps outside the front door and suddenly someone just walked in like they live here—”
“I do live here,” I growl.
Allie avoids my furious gaze. “I thought it was an intruder.”
“An intruder with a key to the house?” I say sarcastically.
The cops glare at me again. I close my mouth.
“I threw the bowl at his head and grabbed the first weapon I could find.” She points to the Gretzky paperweight we use to hold down the mail on the hall table so it doesn’t fly away whenever someone opens the front door. Now it’s on the hardwood floor next to a massive puddle of tomato soup. I’m surprised the cops didn’t put little evidence flags around it.
“It wasn’t Dean’s fault,” Allie insists. “Seriously, it’s all on me. I freaked out for no reason.” She finally looks over at me. “See? This is why I don’t like horror movies! You watch one scary movie when you’re a kid and suddenly everyone who comes to your door is a serial killer.”
“Are you kidding me right now? You’ll watch a horror movie with my sister but not me? We have to watch the cancer movie?”
“Dicky,” Summer chides. “You’re being grumpy.”
I glare at my sister with enough force to make her wince. “Not one word out of you,” I snap. “And don’t think I didn’t feel you kick me right before I passed out. Who does that, Summer? Who kicks a man when he’s down?”
From the corner of my eye, I see Tucker sink to the floor. He buries his face in his hands, shaking with laughter.
The EMT blocks my line of sight by squatting in front of me. “I need to examine you for a concussion.”
Oh for fuck’s sake.
He whips out a penlight and blinds me with it. Allie appears behind him, worry etched into her forehead. “Oh no. Does he have a concussion?” She kneels down and touches my arm. “Do we need to call your coach?”
Her question captures the attention of the cop in charge. “Your coach? Shit. You’re one of Jensen’s boys?”
I give an irritable nod. I still want to throw down with these assholes for treating me like a suspect instead of the victim.
“What’s your name again?”
“Dean Di Laurentis.”
“Oh yeah, I recognize you now.” He sounds excited. “That was some Frozen Four win last season, kid. You played a good game.”
Mustache Cop strides up. “The team’s not looking too good these days. What’s going on over there?”
“But that Davenport kid is fast,” another cop raves. “Any chance Jensen will put him on Graham’s line?”
For the next ten minutes, the cops badger me about the team and our chances for another national title, while the paramedic forces me to endure his unnecessary concussion protocol until finally determining I don’t need to go to the ER. He gathers up his supplies, and then he and the cops file out of the house. The moment they’re gone, I shoot to my feet.
My wet socks squish uncomfortably with each step. My entire torso is stained red, and tomato soup drips from my hair as I advance on the girls. Well, namely Allie, the person who’d wielded the weapon that knocked me out.
“I’m taking a shower,” I announce. “And when I get out, you and I are going to have a little talk about how fucking crazy you are.”
Her cheeks redden. “I’m sorry, okay? I already admitted I overreacted.”
“You think?” I hop on one foot, then the other, to peel off my disgusting socks. “I’m serious. I’m not done being angry at you, so you better be waiting for me in my room when I’m out of the shower.”
“What are you going to do, spank me?”
I growl. “Don’t fucking tempt me, babe.”
“Gross,” Summer pipes up. “Please don’t discuss your BDSM sex games in front of your sister.”
I point my finger at her. “Not. Another. Word.” I glance at Tucker, the traitor who was getting so much joy out of my misery. “Please escort Summer to Garrett’s room and figure out a way to lock her inside it.”
Tuck snickers. But he reaches out his hand to her. “Come on, little sis, let’s leave the poor man alone. He’s already taken enough of a beating tonight.”
*
Allie
I’m not too proud to admit when I’ve screwed up.
Tonight? I screwed up royally. Not only did I attack my boyfriend with a paperweight, I then proceeded to call the police, because for a second there I was genuinely worried I might have killed him.
I feel awful. Awful enough that I’m willing to let Dean yell at me for as long as he wants, which is why I’m sitting at the edge of his bed just like he’d ordered.
“Look at that—she listens,” Dean mocks as he enters the bedroom.
He drops his towel and walks toward the dresser. As he puts on a pair of black boxer-briefs, I dutifully wait for a lecture that doesn’t come.
“I thought you were going to yell at me,” I remind him.
He rubs the side of his head, groaning softly. “I changed my mind. My head is killing me.”
Alarm shoots through me. “That’s not good. Should we go to the emergency room?”
“Naah. I’m fine, Allie-Cat.” Guilt continues to twist in my stomach as I watch him rub his temple. “I haven’t been hit that hard in years and I play hockey,” he grumbles. “You’re freakishly strong, you know that?”
“I know.” I offer a sheepish look. “I told you, my dad made sure I knew self-defense.”
“Well, kudos to your dad for making sure you could protect yourself. Followed by a fuck you to your dad for turning you into a deadly weapon.” He groans again. “Jesus. I can’t believe you got the drop on me like that. You’re lucky I love you, babe. If any other girl had done this to me—”
“You love me?” I blurt out.
Dean halts mid-sentence. For a second, he looks genuinely confused, as if he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. As if he doesn’t realize what he’d said.
But I heard it. Loud and clear. My heart skips a beat. He just told me he loved me.
“You just said it,” I tell him, fighting the huge smile that’s threatening to surface.
“I…” He clears his throat. “Well, damn. I guess I did.”
“Did you mean it?” When he nods, my lips start twitching uncontrollably. God, I want to smile so fucking bad right now. “I want to hear it again,” I beg.
He scrubs his fist over his chin, looking adorably uncomfortable. “Aw shit, babe. Don’t make me say it again. It’s bad enough that I said it first. That’s never happened to me before.”
The smile breaks free. It stretches my face from ear to ear. I fly off the bed and into his arms, too giddy to kiss him like a grown-up. My kisses are sloppy and overly eager and Dean is laughing like crazy as I maul him with my mouth.
I abruptly pull back. “Are you sure your head doesn’t hurt?”
“It’s fine,” he insists, and a deep rumble of delight leaves his throat when I smack some more kisses all over his face.
“Okay, good, because I think we should have sex now.” I push him toward the bed and reach for his waistband.
He’s highly amused. “We should? And why’s that?”
“Because you told me you love me, and I love you too, and you know how turned on I get by all this emotional stuff.” I’m already ripping my shirt off. “You have no idea how wet I am right now, sweetie.”
The humor in his eyes is replaced with smoky desire. “Show me,” he orders.
I ease my yoga pants off my hips. Undies, too. I kick them away and move closer. Then I take Dean’s hand and bring it between my legs. He instantly curls it over me, and I cover his knuckles with my palm, grinding both our hands against my damp core.
Dean groans, and this time not in pain. Or maybe it’s a different kind of pain. His erection tents in his boxer-briefs, a hard, long ridge of arousal that I’m dying to feel inside me.
“Allie…” His voice is husky.
“Mmmm?” I rock my hips against our hands.
“I love you.”
Those three syllables send a jolt of heat to my core. I moan. So does he. I know he felt the way my thighs clenched and the rush of moisture that must have coated his palm.
“Jesus,” he chokes out. “This love thing really does make you wet.”
“Told you.” I give him another shove and he hits the mattress, falling back on his elbows. “I’m going to be coming all over you. Like, exploding ovaries and multiple orgasms kind of coming.”
Dean reaches into a drawer for a condom, and I’m on top of him before he even has his dick out. “Love you,” he whispers, then presses his mouth to mine.
The kiss is sweet and gentle, sending flutters of pleasure through my body. His hand trembles as he puts the condom on, and our mouths are still locked when he rolls me over and pushes just the tip of his cock inside me.
I wrap my arms around his shoulders and cant my hips, trying to draw him in deeper. It works. With a soft groan, he slips in another inch, then another one, until finally he’s all the way in, stretching me, filling me.
Our eyes lock in a hazy stare as he starts to move. I feel so fucking full. It’s incredible. Dean pushes a strand of hair off my forehead and strokes my cheek, making love to me in a lazy, blissful tempo that has my toes curling.
“Love you,” he says again, and damned if my entire body doesn’t sing with joy.
I hold him tighter against me, welcoming each slow thrust. He slides his hands under my ass and lifts me up so that his pubic bone presses into my clit every time he drives deep. It brings stars to my eyes. Makes me gasp and moan and writhe until my whole world centers on Dean. When my orgasm ripples through me, I have the words “I love you” on my lips.
His green eyes burn with emotion. He lets out a husky groan and sags on top of me, thrusting deep one last time. Then he says, “I love you too” as he trembles with release.
