What? This is not a plan, this is not a ‘lead’ for me to follow. It’s a waste of time. Precious time. I’m about to argue with him, to just blurt out that I want my damn computer, but the amusement in his eyes stops me. And when Connor flashes a full white smile, I melt and grind my teeth at the same time. Insufferable asshole, he’s enjoying this!

  Connor nudges me toward Pete, and I stumble over my own two feet.

  “It is dazzling, isn’t it?” Pete says, misunderstanding the reason for my clumsiness.

  “I’ve got you. I’ve always got you, you know that.” Connor speaks solemnly, like he’s making vows, not keeping me from almost busting my ass on this gross carpet that definitely hasn’t been vacuumed in years, much less shampooed.

  I make a mental note to leave my tennis shoes outside when I get home. Then wash them. With bleach. Or maybe just burn them. I do not want to bring whatever germs are in this place back into my house. Nut and Juice would probably end up with an STD, and then I’d have to explain that to the vet. And something tells me he wouldn’t believe that they lay out on my carpets with their legs straight behind them, dicks down, and I might’ve brought home an antibiotic-resistant strain of who knows what from a pawn shop floor.

  Connor picks up my hand and holds it out toward Pete. Of course, Pete’s on Team Connor and slides the giant diamond ring on my finger.

  “It’s gorgeous. Perfect for you,” Pete gasps dramatically, trying to make a sale. Based on the amount of stuff in here and the utter lack of customers, he needs it. He starts talking carats and clarity, all utter gibberish to me. All I know is that as the ring slips over my finger, fantasy fills my mind. A fantasy of romance, of giggles and real diamonds . . . of happily ever after.

  A fantasy I want . . . but right now, not what I need.

  I open my mouth to say so, but Connor interrupts me. “Maybe a ruby? It seems appropriate.”

  I start to protest again, but Connor puts an arm around my waist, pulling me in tight to his side to press a tender kiss to my temple. And with the touch of his lips to my skin, my arguments flitter away like dandelion fluffs in the wind.

  He’s playing a part, much like when he played the part of a security guard, but it feels so real.

  Seeing Pete’s held-out hand, I know I have to take the ring off and give it back. And as ridiculous as it might be, I hate to take it off. I could play this part too.

  That of Connor’s fiancée. Not fake, but real. Is it really playing, then, or is it something more?

  I’m still trying to decide when Pete holds up a ruby ring and my jaw drops. I don’t know if it’s real or fake, but it’s beautiful.

  The eye-shaped stone is smaller than the diamond and is nowhere near as obnoxiously gaudy. But the way it sits in its setting is perfect, elegant and bright.

  It’s unique.

  Maybe like I am?

  Or how I’d like to be, at least. Aleria would say it’s a personification of my goal self, the outer version I’d like to be on the inside. All I know is . . . Come to mama, baby.

  Knowing he’s got a fish on the hook when he sees it, Pete lays on the butter as thick as he can to try and close the sale. “Ah, I have sold a lot of rings in my day, and I know that look. Here, it is only right for you to do it.”

  He hands the ring to Connor, who takes it delicately, almost cradling it in his large fingers as he studies every bit of it. But there’s no need to discuss carats or clarity or anything technical on this ring.

  Somehow, despite my earlier thoughts about how depressing this place is, this ring was made for me.

  Connor takes my hand and formally slides in onto my left ring finger. “Well now . . . there you go.”

  Perhaps not the most romantic words ever uttered in history, but it doesn’t matter. We’re standing in a dirty pawn shop, a sweaty guy looking at us like we’re the suckers born just this last minute, on a desperate mission to recover my laptop, but right now . . . we’re not.

  We’re Connor and Poppy, a couple. Getting to know each other, working together, helping each other, and maybe more? Connor looks deep into my eyes, and I look deep into his. I can’t be alone in this. There’s no way. He’s gotta feel the fireworks shooting off, threatening to burn the pawn shop to the ground, even if he said destroying the place wasn’t a good plan at all.

  Pete claps wildly, breaking the moment. “Oh, yes! I love this moment! You may kiss the bride!” he says gleefully.

  “Oh, we uh—” I start, but the words die on my tongue when Connor places my left hand on his chest, right over his heart, and bends down to kiss me.

  This one is different from any of the others we’ve had, softer and sweeter, as he slowly melts me. I feel like he’s learning my every nook and cranny. Not of my teeth, but of my soul. Like he’s mapping out . . . me.

  Whether he realizes it or not, that’s a two-way street. With every second we’re pressed together, I can feel that his guards are down too, and I can feel his soul. There are no false fronts, no fake lies that he tells the world, tells himself. I can feel the heart of who he is.

  When we pull apart, needing air, Connor pins me in place with a dark stare like he’s trying to figure out what the fuck just happened.

  “Me too,” I tell him. I don’t know what I’m agreeing to, exactly, but hell fucking yes to all of it. Any of it.

  Connor’s lips tilt up the teensiest, tiniest bit before he starts listening to his inner whispers and doubts again, going somber. “We’ll take it.”

  Pete’s smile is so big I can see it even though I’m still looking at Connor. “Excellent,” he says. “Would you like a box? I have more than a few I’ll happily throw in for free, and—”

  Connor turns to Pete and adds, “And the laptop Derrick sold you yesterday.”

  Pete’s face changes in an instant, flipping through surprise, confusion, concern, and finally landing on uncertainty. “Uh, laptop?”

  Connor’s voice goes dead serious, cold and eerie like it was yesterday. This isn’t ‘my’ Connor. This is work Connor . . . he’s just working for me right now. “Laptop. The one Derrick, the line cook from the restaurant down the street, sold you. He stole it from a friend of mine.”

  “I don’t know any Derrick. But I do have laptops. Right this way.” Pete looks nervous, rightfully so, considering Connor has gone from blissed out groom to murderous sounding asshole in a blink.

  Connor walks to the case Pete gestures at. “Any of these yours?”

  I look into the case, not seeing my baby. Hell, most of these are garbage. Tears spring to my eyes, and I shake my head. I thought this was going to be it! We’d come in here, get my laptop, and I could finish my manuscript. I never considered any other option.

  “What am I going to do?” I ask Connor.

  Connor turns his attention back to Pete. “Where’s the one Derrick sold you?”

  “I told you, I don’t know any Derrick.”

  Connor reaches in his back pocket, and I freeze. He gave me shit for going all destructo mode, but he’s going to pull a gun? Or a knife? Or whatever the hell he’s doing.

  Pete freezes too, likely seeing his life flash before his eyes. He’s just a poor guy running a pawn shop and trying to deal with everything associated with that. He’s probably seen some shit in his time, but he never expected to have the end come at the hands of a guy who he thought he’d talked into buying a ruby ring.

  But while what Connor pulls out is big and black, it’s not a gun. It’s his wallet. He sets it on the counter. Thick with cash, he lays his hand over it securely.

  “Here’s what I know . . . Derrick, the line cook from down the street, stole a laptop from a friend of a friend. A real good kid. After very little coaxing, Derrick said he pawned the laptop to you. And here I am. And here you are.” Connor looks around the store. “Now, I’m not going to make any accusations. But I wonder how much of your merchandise is stolen property. Is that ring stolen too?”

  Pete shakes his head, his eyes twitching and desperate. “No. I got it as part of an estate sale lot. I swear it.”

  “And the laptop?” Connor asks again.

  “I didn’t know.”

  Connor grins, but there’s no warmth in that smile. It’s icy, the smile of a man with no qualms about causing untold amounts of violence if need be. “I can understand that. I’m not upset with you. A man’s gotta do business. I do a little business myself.” He pats his wallet. “But this laptop, it’s different. I need it back.”

  “I . . . I don’t have it anymore,” Pete stutters, eyes flicking from Connor to the wallet. He wants the money, I can see that plain as day, but he’s pretty damn close to pissing himself too.

  “Where is it?” I bark, getting in on the plan.

  Pete looks at me like I’m crazy. Or maybe like I’m a fluffy-haired poodle playing with the pit bulls. But I can be a Pit bull too! I growl and clack my teeth together, snapping them in a biting motion.

  Connor looks at me like I’m crazy too, or at least, he looks at me. But while his face is straight, I can see the laughter in his eyes.

  “You heard her. Where is it?” Connor repeats. For some reason, Pete takes the question much more seriously from him.

  Men, I think with an internal eye roll.

  “I sold it.”

  “Name. And let’s not pretend you don’t know or I’ll sic her on you. You ever heard the expression ‘it’s always the pretty ones’? That’s her, batshit crazy. She wanted to destroy your whole shop, figured busting windows and cases would get you to give up the computer.”

  I take my cue like a well-seasoned Broadway actor and grab a golf club from a nearby display. I spin it, trying to channel Harley Quinn, but it’s a messy twirl because I’ve never even twirled a baton. “What is it you call before you hit a golf ball? Three? Five?” I lay on the ditzy blonde act, even if I’m a redhead. “Oh, yeah, FORE!”

  I raise the golf club high over my head, ready to smash it down into the case. Right as I reverse and start to swing it down, Pete yells, “Diana Nichols!”

  Connor catches the golf club in mid-air, mere inches from the glass case. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  He’s talking to Pete, but I’m thinking . . . yeah, it was! Not hard to swing the club, but honestly, hard to stop! Later, I would’ve felt horribly guilty and definitely would’ve sent a check to cover the cost of the case replacement, but deep down, a twisted little corner of me was kind of excited to smash into the case like a giant piñata.

  I wonder if I could add that to my story? If I’m not going to get to do it in real life, that’s the next best thing.

  Or maybe I can just get an actual piñata and beat the hell out of it in the backyard? That’d definitely get the neighborhood talking. Though after my violent attack on Connor, they might be concerned for their safety, and I do not want to be a line item at the next homeowner’s association meeting. Those things are vicious!

  “Diana Nichols,” Pete repeats, eyeing me suspiciously.

  Oh, I guess I can put the golf club down now. I lay it on the case gently, even giving it a sweet little pat.

  “Good job,” I whisper to the club, patting the head like it’s alive.

  Connor shakes his head, probably enjoying my little wrinkles to the show. “Tell you what . . . we’ll take the ring, and I’ll give you an extra hundred for the sale sheet on the computer. I need to find Diana Nichols.”

  “The ring?” I ask with a smile, glancing down at my hand and noting that it does look pretty sweet with the red stone gleaming there. “You don’t have to do that.” But at Connor’s look, I shut my mouth. Until . . .

  “And the golf club,” I add happily, deciding it’ll make a great souvenir as well as be inspiration for when I write this scene in my book. Hell, it might even come in handy as some protection at home. After I beat up a piñata with it and eat all the candy guts.

  Pete looks at me and then back to Connor, who sighs heavily.

  “We won’t hurt Ms. Nichols. I just need the laptop. We’ll pay her for it too, enough that she can get a new one.”

  “Two hundred,” Pete bargains. It’s in his blood, I’m sure. He’s got a customer, and he’s going to drive the best deal he can for himself. “Plus the cost of the ring and club.”

  “Done.”

  Pete tells Connor the total, and he pulls a stack of crisp one-hundred-dollar bills out of the wallet. But he holds them firmly until Pete hands over the printed receipt with Ms. Nichols’s name and address and the description of my laptop and I verify that it’s mine.

  Exchange made and information gathered, we head toward the door.

  “You’re not going to hurt her, right?”

  I look to Connor, but he’s looking at me, and I realize that Pete is asking me, not Connor. He’s the scary monster, but apparently, I’m the one to fear. I might be a touch crazy because somehow, that makes me smile. “I won’t hurt her. I promise.”

  Outside in the truck, I hug my new best friend, Gary the Golf Club, to my chest and stare at the ring on my finger. I’m wiggling like a kid at Christmas, and I know I’m grinning like a fool, too.

  Connor says dryly, “That went well.”

  I look at him to find him glaring at me. But instead of being put off or scared of that dark look, I think it’s kinda cute now. “I think so too.”

  He sighs but puts the truck in drive. “This address is on the other side of town.”

  We ride in silence until a few minutes later, he asks, “Were you really going to break the case?”

  “Uhm . . . maybe?” I venture. “Can we get a piñata while we’re out?”

  Connor looks at me like I’m crazy, but the idea of beating something up sounds good, really good, and like a great way to release some of this stress that’s eating at me . . . about the laptop, my book, and even about wanting Connor even though I shouldn’t.

  But I’ve got a hell of a ring and a sweet golf club. I take a look and see Gary’s a 3-iron, which is just fine by me. Connor is again silent, but it’s almost a comfortable silence now. We’re doing this together, and that’s the bottom line.

  It doesn’t take us long to drive to Diana Nichols’s house because traffic’s good today. Part of me wonders how Diana decided to go into that grungy ass pawn shop, but it doesn’t really matter as we get closer to her address.

  It’s not a good part of town, and the apartment building’s the sort where I wouldn’t feel comfortable coming and going at night. There’s a guy sitting on the front steps, and he looks friendly. Maybe too friendly, like he’s looking for repeat customers to do a walk-by purchase.

  But Connor looks totally at ease, comfortable in this environment, which surprises me after seeing how he grew up.

  “Is this where Diana Nichols lives?” Connor asks the guy, putting a foot up on the second step. The guy leans back, evaluating us before answering. He’s probably trying to figure whether we’re trouble or not. We’re obviously not local missionaries. Or census workers. But Connor isn’t willing to wait for the guy to make a judgement call about us and rushes the decision along by reaching into his pocket. The guy on the steps stiffens but relaxes when Connor comes out with a folded-up bill, a five, I think. “Diana Nichols.”

  “Yeah, this her place,” the guy says, pocketing the bill without verifying the amount. “But you ain’t gonna see her right now. Ain’t home.”

  “She’s not?” I ask, my mood falling. “Where is she?”

  “Work,” the steps guy says. “She does twenty-four-hour shifts. Won’t be home till tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Where?” Connor asks.

  “Everywhere. She’s a paramedic. She could be anywhere in town. Dunno if she’s got a station or not.”

  “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” I hiss, and the guy on the steps shrugs. He’s not bullshitting us, that’s just the way it is.

  Connor sees it too and sighs. “Come on, let’s go home. You can work, and we’ll come back to see Diana.”

  He ushers me back to his truck, and I’m quiet until he closes my door. As he goes around to get in, I let loose with a yell of frustration. “Fuck! We were so close!”

  Chapter 15

  Connor

  Poppy is quiet on the drive back to her place. I can virtually see her brain whirling inside her head. I’m trying to decide whether she’s listening to the unique genius of her mind, creating storylines and scenarios and characters in her head, or if she’s mad at the delay in getting her laptop back, or maybe she’s finally remembering that she wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for my stealing it in the first place.

  When we pull up in my drive, she opens her own door and climbs out, and I can feel the silence pressing in on my skin. She’s going to leave now . . . and I don’t want her to. But instead, she meets me at the front of the truck, pointing over her shoulder toward her place. “You coming over?”

  This is a bad idea. I should say no, and I know it. But some strange madness has seeped its way into my brain. When I saw that ruby on her finger, and then when we kissed, it infected me with an insanity that I can’t seem to shake from my mind. I don’t want to leave her. I can’t. She’s got me under some crazy spell, so instead, I say, “Yeah.”

  In her living room, I perch myself on the edge of the couch, edgy and twitchy like a cat that’s about to go tearing ass out of the room at the first sound. I feel like a wayward kid who’s been called to the principal’s office . . . ready to get yelled at for misbehaving. But I didn’t skip school or get into a tussle in the hallway. I’m a thief, something much more serious. And a brute, breaking that cook’s nose to get what I want. It doesn’t matter that he deserved it or that JP would have done worse. It still speaks to my character and how far I’ll go to get my way, like bribing Pete and that guy on the steps. And I’m a liar, but she doesn’t even know how deep that goes.

  Poppy leans her new golf club against the wall beneath her inspiration board and comes to sit beside me on the couch.