“Yes.”

  She sat a little taller in her chair. Why not? She was far too old to learn ballet, and if beer for breakfast and Annie’s pie became a regular thing—from her brain to God’s ears—she’d need to do some form of exercise. It was probably a hell of a lot easier than a three-pointer, too. “Also, sleep under the stars.” Camping had been considered low-class by her grandmother. Another thought popped into her head. “Get a fondue set.”

  God, cheese. Gooey, melty cheese. Her mouth watered just thinking about it. But she’d denied herself the pleasure of cheese since Charlie freaking Hammersmith had informed her at a work function, just after she’d been promoted to junior executive, that the firm had a certain image to project, as he looked pointedly at the third portion of deep-fried Camembert she’d snagged from a circulating platter.

  So she had to be attractive—but not distracting. And God forbid she even be the teeniest bit fat.

  Austin, who clearly thought she was getting significantly less badass, shot her a pitying look. “What else?”

  Bea thought hard. “Get a cat. Something cute and sweet and adorable.”

  “You had a rule against getting a cat?”

  Stabbing a glare in his direction, she said, “I was never home to either look after or give proper attention to an animal.”

  “Okay.”

  His tone suggested this item was probably the most pitiable of them all and, goaded by that and by the way he licked his lips—again—she blurted out what was really on her mind. “Have a lot of orgasms.”

  It occurred to Bea that this might not come across as cool and edgy but, rather, a little TMI. And, well…sad. It shouldn’t be a surprise, given she’d told him about her lack of satisfaction yesterday, and reiterating it today was probably bordering on desperate, but hell, she was desperate. Not that he seemed to be judging. In fact, he seemed to be very much enjoying it, a smile quirking his lips to one side.

  “Lucky you. No town ordinances against that.”

  Ha! There was the way she was planning on having them. “They’ll be very loud.” And because she felt it needed further clarification, she added, “And with outrageously unsuitable men.”

  “What does outrageously unsuitable mean, exactly?”

  Someone like you.

  Except, yeah, she wasn’t going to say that. “Someone who doesn’t know the meaning of brand awareness.”

  He laughed. “That’s who you deem as unsuitable?”

  “What’d you think I’d say?”

  “I don’t know.” His laughter dropped away. “An ex-con or a…circus clown?”

  Bea could probably give the ex-con a chance, depending on what he’d done, but she wasn’t sure how desperate she’d have to become to let a circus clown get her off. Although she supposed there was no reason why they weren’t just as good at delivering orgasms as everyone else in the general population. It seemed discriminatory to exclude them, after all.

  And now she was thinking about clowns in an entirely inappropriate manner…

  Bea’s brow wrinkled in irritation. “I just meant someone who isn’t an ad executive. Who isn’t suitable.” Her grandmother loved that word. “Someone who doesn’t have a good job and a flashy suit and an expensive car.”

  Like they were the holy grail of the male species.

  He made a face. “They sound boring.”

  “No.” Bea sighed. “They’re not. They’re perfectly fine. They’re just not…” A hot young cop from Hicksville who says panties and licks his lips like he’s in an ad for blueberry pancake–flavored ChapStick. He was definitely unsuitable. “Dean Winchester, you know?”

  “To be fair…there is only one Dean.”

  He grinned then, and Bea grinned back—the man was impossible to dislike. “This is true.”

  Pushing his plate away, Austin picked up his cup of coffee. “Well, now you got yourself some ideas, what are you going to do first?”

  Bea stared at him. Just coming up with those things had been hard enough for one day. He couldn’t seriously expect her to pick one and do it as well? He quirked an eyebrow and murmured, “Bok, bok, bok.”

  Chicken noises? He was making chicken noises. “Aren’t you supposed to be maintaining law and order around here? How would your chief like it if he knew you were encouraging anarchy?”

  “Oh yeah, let me know when you buy the fondue set so Arlo can call in the SWAT team.”

  Goaded by the implication she was no threat to civilian order, she sorted through the ideas she’d put forward and picked one. “Burn rubber.” Why not start at the beginning? Especially given how pissed she was at her father for his suck-it-up-and-go-apologize response to her quitting.

  “Great choice.” He nodded appreciatively. “You do know how to burn rubber, right?”

  “Nope.” Not the first clue. “That’s why God invented YouTube.”

  “Would you like me to show you?”

  Bea blinked at the suggestion. Not just because a member of the police force offering to help (wasn’t that aiding and abetting?) her break the laws he was sworn to upheld didn’t seem right but by how swiftly it had been delivered. “Wouldn’t that be wrong? You showing me how to commit an offense? What number was it again?”

  “Number two three nine.”

  Bea was pretty sure that hadn’t been the number and Austin was just pulling these statutes out of his ass, but she honestly didn’t care.

  “If I’m on duty, in my uniform, not a good look, but when I’m off duty and I’m just Joe Citizen? Then Arlo’s gotta catch me first.”

  He broke into a broad grin, and Bea laughed despite herself. But, hell, there was no denying doing something like that made her nervous. “I don’t know, maybe I have to work up to that one?” She should choose something less risky as her opening salvo.

  “Bok, bok, bok.”

  “Really?”

  “Come on, Beatrice. Ask yourself, WWDD?”

  Trying not to get sidetracked by how good her name sounded on his lips, Bea tried to figure out what WWDD meant. She came up empty. “Okay. I give up. What the hell is WWDD?”

  He smiled a smile then of such supreme confidence and sex appeal, Bea didn’t just feel it between her legs—it reverberated through her entire reproductive tract.

  “What Would Dean Do,” he said, then waggled his eyebrows.

  Bea laughed. What would Dean do? Well hell…what wouldn’t Dean do? Burning a bit of rubber was very low on the hazard scale compared to, say, demon slaying. Bea had to admit, WWDD might be a very good catchphrase going forward. Why not use him for bravado as well as eye candy?

  “Okay.” She nodded. “Let’s do it.”

  “Great,” Austin said, and Bea noticed how he was very careful not to seem too triumphant, but he was clearly pleased by her agreement. “I know the perfect spot. Why don’t I pick you up just after four out front of Déjà Brew?”

  “Oh, sorry.” Bea remembered she had a prior commitment. “Can’t.”

  “You have someplace else better to be?” One eyebrow kicked up. “Got a hot date?”

  “As it happens, I do.” Dean and Sam were calling. “The Winchester brothers wait for no one.” She picked up her napkin and dabbed at her mouth to wipe away any pancake crumbs. “How about same time tomorrow afternoon?”

  She’d have finished the season by then, and it was time she stopped hiding out in her apartment. Credence might just be a stopgap for her while she figured out what she wanted to do with the rest of her life, but she had every intention of getting fully involved, so it was time she stuck her head outside.

  Might as well start with Officer Syrup Lips by her side.

  “Yep,” he confirmed. “Sounds like a date.”

  “Nope.” Bea eyed him seriously. She might want orgasms and Austin Cooper was outrageously unsuitable, but younger men cut a little too close to home for her and was a line she would not cross.

  And, in the meantime, she’d brought her vibrator. Sure, it had been a long time since she’d used it, but it had three speed settings and it never snored, ate soup too loudly, or stared at other women’s boobs.

  “Definitely not a date,” she said. “A purely instructional joint outing.”

  “Okay.” He shrugged. “Whatever.”

  Bea was so used to men always trying to push their own agendas or take an inch, she didn’t know what to do with one who wasn’t.

  “See you tomorrow,” she said before heading to the counter for her pie, excruciatingly conscious of every eye in the diner following her progress but of one pair in particular staring at her like twin X-ray beams, trying to discern the word Thursday stamped across her ass.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Austin nodded to Jenny the next afternoon as he leaned his shoulder into the frame of the open door of her café.

  “Hey,” she greeted. “Sorry, I’ve just cleaned the machine. I can still do a mocha frappe or something, though, if you want? Or there’s soda in the fridge.”

  “I’m good, thanks, Jenny.” He touched the brim of his hat. “Just waiting for Beatrice.”

  “Oh.” She blinked at him, clearly surprised. “I hope you’re not harassing her, Austin Cooper.”

  Austin smiled at the thought. Harassing women wasn’t his thing—professionally or privately. Credence wasn’t exactly flush with women his age, but Denver wasn’t that far away, and it was flush with women who loved a man in uniform.

  “No, ma’am.” He might have gone home, showered, and traded his uniform for jeans, boots, and a T-shirt, but some habits were ingrained, and sometimes a ma’am was required. “I’ve just offered to…show her around.”

  There wasn’t any point in divulging the exact nature of their afternoon mission. He might be okay pushing the limits of the law, but Arlo was a stickler for it, and there was no doubt in Austin’s mind that Arlo would write him up without thinking twice. There was no need to advertise.

  “Oh.” She cocked an eyebrow. “I see. That’s right neighborly of you.”

  Austin grinned at the I-call-bullshit tone in Jenny’s voice. He shrugged. “What can I say? My mama raised me right.”

  She grinned back. “Yes, she did.”

  “Hey.”

  Austin turned at the soft voice behind him to find Beatrice. She was clearly not dressing to impress him, with yet another pair of baggy sweats teamed with a plaid shirt that sat loose around her hips, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. But it was unstained as far as he could tell, and her hair was soft around her face and shoulders, fluffy like feathers, and appeared not only brushed but like she might have actually washed it.

  From what he’d seen so far of her clothing style, this was practically formal.

  There was probably something really wrong with him that he found her don’t-give-a-fuck and show-as-little-skin-as-possible fashion choices such a turn-on. Yeah, they were still having some cold snaps in these parts, but until this point in his life, Austin had been much in favor of the show-all-the-skin school of fashion. He was a twenty-five-year-old male in his prime who loved how women put themselves together, and while ogling was a dick move, respectful appreciation was not.

  And hell if he wasn’t appreciating Beatrice right now.

  There was just something about her all covered up that made him want to unwrap her. Made him wonder if she’d taken his underwear advice and was wearing her Friday panties. And that plaid shirt…fuck yeah. It was a make and a style he’d always considered overwhelmingly masculine—he had about a zillion of them at home—but the way the V-neck sat in her cleavage and formed the most intriguing little shadow made it sexy and seductive and utterly female.

  “Hey,” he said, pushing out of his lean, hoping he sounded cool and laid-back, when in actuality, his tongue felt like it was glued to the roof of his mouth.

  “Hi, Bea,” Jenny said.

  Bea… Austin rolled that around in his head. He liked Bea. It suited her.

  She looked past him to Jenny behind the counter. “Hey.”

  “I see you’re finally getting out and about?” she said.

  “It’s time.”

  Jenny laughed. “You’re in safe hands there.”

  Austin wasn’t sure he could guarantee that—at the moment his hands were up for a whole lotta unsafe behavior. Unfortunately, Beatrice had made it very clear she wanted to keep a boundary between them. Which was fine. Particularly when she was vague about how long she was sticking around.

  “Shall we go?” he asked, gesturing to his truck, which was angle-parked at the curb.

  Bea frowned at the vehicle. “That’s your car?”

  “Yup.” Austin had to admit his silver two-door Ford pickup wasn’t the most elegant automobile specimen in the world. It was a work vehicle and had been ten years old when he’d bought it last year, because he knew he was returning to Credence. There was a ding in the tail gate and the odd pockmark in the panels, and he hadn’t washed it in a while. “It’s perfect for what we’re about to do.”

  It was big and sturdy. Heavy. Not made to be light and responsive and fancy. Something that’d grip the road and keep them steady and stable.

  “You wanna take the Beamer for a spin instead?”

  Austin blinked. Ah…hell yes. He might be a pickup kinda guy, but he’d be more likely to see aliens in his lifetime than ever sit in, never mind own, a BMW.

  It was like asking him if he wanted a hand job or a blow job. They had the same end result, and really any touching of the penis was pretty damn fine, but one was a more superior experience.

  Jesus, dude, do not think about BJs right now. “Hell yes.”

  She grinned. “Come on, then. It’s parked around back.”

  “Just gotta grab something. I’ll be right behind you.”

  “Okay.”

  Austin watched her go. That shirt… He was seriously hot for how well she wore that shirt.

  “You playing statues out there, Austin?”

  He glanced over to find Jenny beaming at him from inside the café. He smiled sheepishly, touching the brim of his hat as he said, “No, ma’am,” then quickly covered the distance to his pickup, grabbed the brown paper bag from the seat, clicked the locks—a habit he hadn’t kicked from Denver—and followed after Beatrice.

  She was sitting in the passenger seat, waiting for him as he crossed the parking lot, which did funny things to Austin’s gut. But that was temporarily forgotten as the sleek quality of her vehicle took precedence. When he’d first seen the M3, he’d thought it was black, but with the afternoon sun bathing it in gentle light, he could see it was a deep midnight blue with the magnificent attention to design and detail for which the German car maker was known.

  Austin didn’t hesitate to open the driver’s door and slide into the softness and comfort of the leather seats. Achtung, baby.

  “Electronic seat adjust at the side,” Beatrice said.

  Of course there was. Austin fiddled with it to accommodate the length of his legs, then he tossed his hat and the packet containing Annie’s pie on the back seat and buckled up. Before starting the engine, he took a second to just absorb the moment, one hand resting on the wheel, the other on the rounded knob of the stick shift. Rolling his head along the padded headrest, he faced Bea with a smile and said, “Nice.”

  And he wasn’t just talking about the car.

  She started to smile but then faltered. “Do I smell pie?”

  Austin laughed. The woman was some kind of bloodhound when it came to pie. All he could smell was leather and that unique blend of plastics and chemicals that made up the quintessential aroma known universally as new car smell.

  Grabbing the brown packet from the back seat, he handed it over. “I stopped at Annie’s. I don’t know if you’ve tried any of her cream pie yet, but I swear, it’s almost a religious experience.”

  Bea didn’t take the packet. “Thanks, but I think I’ll pass, thank you. I’ve eaten so much pie these past couple of weeks, I swear I can hear my pancreas sobbing late at night. I’m going to have an ass as wide as the Grand Canyon if I keep this up.”

  Austin thought how very, very sad it was that Bea would deprive herself of one of the nicest things a person could put in their mouth because society judged women on the size of their asses. She’d told him two days ago she was going to eat pies more often, and here she was already tempering her appetites. Screw that. If he did nothing else for Bea, he could feed her pie.

  Personally, if that’s what she wanted.

  The woman looked good in this BMW but nowhere near as good as she looked when she was eating pie and making those appreciative little noises that went straight to his groin. Austin opened the packet to allow the smell to waft out, and he swore she leaned in a little more.

  “Are you sure? It sounds like you’ve spent a lot of time not eating pie or any kind of carbs. Why not make up for lost time?”

  She sighed. “Because I’m thirty-five and I don’t”—her eyes traveled over him, up and down, in a way that probably should have made Austin feel objectified. It did not—“look like you.”

  “Hell, Bea.” He stopped abruptly when he realized what he’d said. “Sorry, can I call you Bea?”

  “Oh…” She paused for the briefest of moments, but Austin noticed. “Sure.”

  And wasn’t that a ringing endorsement? “But…you don’t want me to?”

  “No, it’s fine.” She gave a quick shake of her head. “Everyone calls me Bea.”

  Yeah. Except Austin didn’t want to be lumped in with everyone. “Beatriss,” he said, dragging out the end syllable a little as he ran with his gut feeling. “Life’s too short not to eat pie. Eat the damn thing. If you want”—he waggled his eyebrows—“I’ll keep an eye on your ass for you.”