She looks serious for a long two beats, and then a smirk of a smile blooms slowly. Warmth bubbles up inside my chest at her humor. In one rambled convolution of a thought process, she’s gone from outrageous, to uncertain, to blunt, to scheming. And I’m intrigued by every twist and turn of her brilliant mind and nuance of expression on her face.

  Like now, the glint in her eyes makes me want to run away again.

  Maybe back to the beach? Or somewhere new, for another night of pretending there’s nothing and no one that matters but us and this developing fire.

  Lost in the possibilities, I give Tiffany a dark look.

  “I’m glad you didn’t,” I tell her, my voice dropping. “Things are better this way.”

  “Really?” she asks, and I nod slowly.

  “Guys, I think that’s everything for tonight,” I tell Ricky and Billy. “Tomorrow morning, you can give me the detailed version of what you’ve learned.”

  Ricky and Billy don’t hesitate to drop their food and stand. As they bolt for the door, Ricky throws over his shoulder, “We’ll pick up our stalking of Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum tomorrow.”

  My door opens then closes, and with a click of the latch, it’s just me and Tiffany, looking at each other across a corner of my dining room table. My thoughts instantly go to deciding whether I should take Tiffany right here, on the couch, or move to my bed.

  It’s a harder decision than it should be. The table’s just the right height for a lot of things but might leave bruises that I don’t want. The couch means I can be inside her sooner, but having her dark hair fanned out over my pillow as I thrust into her is an intoxicating image.

  “So,” she says quietly, “what are you going to do?”

  “I’m deciding.”

  She sighs heavily, sounding exasperated as she leans back in her chair to look up at my ceiling. “I can’t believe these assholes think they can get one over on you, of all people. It makes me angry. At stupid Mark, at slimy Brandon, and even two-timing Layla.”

  I can’t help but smile. She thinks I’m deciding about that when I’m focused on getting inside her. “That wasn’t what I was deciding about. They’re tabled until tomorrow.”

  She rolls her head over to look at me, her brows furrowed. “Then what?”

  I get up, striding across the room to turn on some music, feeling Tiffany’s eyes track my every move. By the time I turn back around, her confusion is morphing into curiosity.

  “What are you doing?” she asks coyly.

  Trying to be more romantic than admitting I’m trying to decide if I want you face down, ass up, or missionary when I cum inside you.

  I hold out my hand, inviting her to take it. “Dance with me.”

  Her answer is a smile, soft and sweet, as she slips her hand into mine and stands. Still wearing her heels from the office, she aligns perfectly with me, her lips a scant few inches from mine. “What is this?”

  “Bryan Adams,” I reply, smiling. “A guilty pleasure from my teen years.”

  “It’s pretty,” she says, swaying with me to the soft music, and after a moment, she melts for me, flowing where I lead without hesitation. I can feel the tension of tonight’s conversation leaving her. Surprisingly, I feel more relaxed with her in my arms too. I meant what I said—I don’t want to talk about work or even think about it tonight.

  “I like this.” We’re barely listening to the music, just moving slowly together as we look into each other’s eyes. I’m fascinated by the possibilities I see in hers, and I wonder if they’re matched in my own.

  “Me too,” I confess. “I wish I’d known how you felt a long time ago.”

  “Well, I would’ve drunkenly flashed my tits at you years ago if I’d known it’d get me here.”

  “It’s more than that,” I chastise her with a tap to her ass. She giggles and looks up at me with a smile that’s full of pure devilry. I can’t help but taste the dark promise it offers and lower my lips to hers. She meets me halfway, tasting of chili and peanut sauce and her own natural sweetness.

  It’s perfect, sweet and heat on so many levels that my head starts to spin. I press my tongue to her lips, and she opens up to me, pressing her body against mine and putting her arms around my neck. I can feel her breasts flatten against my chest, and I squeeze her ass again, making her moan into my lips.

  “Daniel,” she whispers, pulling back an inch or two, “please take me—”

  Before she can complete her request, her phone rings rather loudly, interrupting even my stereo with its shrill, insistent tones.

  “You need to get that?”

  “Fuck it,” she growls, nipping at my lip. “And fuck me instead.”

  Loving her aggressiveness, I return the playful bite and then suck at her full lower lip. But her phone rings again, somehow more insistent with the repeat call. With a groan, she pulls away. “Someone better have been arrested or be dead.”

  Remembering her own call to me, I chuckle to distract myself from my aching balls. “Or maybe drunk and needing a ride?”

  It helps calm her, I think, and she gives me a smile that says pause. For now. “Touché.” She answers the phone, her voice tense but controlled. “Hello.” She’s quiet for a moment as she listens, and then she says, “Calm down, Ace. Tell me again. Slower.”

  Pause.

  “Uh-huh. Yeah. Okay, I’m on my way.” She hangs up and immediately starts apologizing. “I’m so sorry. I have to go. Ace’s daycare is flooding. Something about the dog bath drain?”

  It’s her brother. And while my cock might be saying it doesn’t give two shits about a clogged bath drain, my decision is instant and simple. “Okay, let’s go.”

  Tiffany freezes, utterly shocked. “What?”

  “Let’s go,” I repeat, patting my back pocket to make sure my wallet’s still in there.

  Still not moving, Tiffany asks blankly, “You’re going with me?”

  “Of course,” I tell her. That she doesn’t assume I would go surprises me for some reason. I was there for her when she needed me, and if her brother needs help, I’ll help him too. If he’s important to Tiffany, he’s important to me. “Though I’m not sure what help I’ll be with a flood. I’m an expert at calling plumbers, not plumbing.”

  Tiffany’s eyes are tight with worry for her brother, but I see the tiniest of smiles tilt up her lips when I grab her purse and hand it to her. “Okay.”

  “And I’ll drive.” I snag my keys from the counter.

  She laughs in a halfhearted way, her mind already out the door. “Scared of my driving?”

  “The truth?” She flashes a weak glare my way, still herself even when she’s distracted. “Absolutely terrified.”

  “Okay, but no grandpa out for a Sunday cruise shit,” she says. “We need to hurry.”

  “Challenge accepted.”

  I don’t make the engine scream, and no rubber gets laid down at each red light, but I push things quicker than normal, cruising at an average of fifteen over the speed limit the whole drive. It’s still not fast enough for the speed demon in my passenger seat. Despite the fact that she’s clicking on her phone, I can sense her foot pushing the imaginary gas pedal in the floorboard of the passenger seat.

  “What are you doing on your phone?”

  “You mentioned plumbers, so I’m planning for the worst-case scenario, just in case,” she says. Explaining further, she adds, “I’m researching local water damage companies to see who’s closest, has the highest ratings, and after-hours emergency services so we can call as soon as we get there if that’s what we need.”

  “Efficient,” I compliment, touched at her taking my comment for good while noticing that she says ‘we’, not ‘Ace’, and remembering what Ricky and Billy told me about her taking everything onto her own strong shoulders.

  She shrugs. “It’s what I do.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” I muse. “Ricky told me that you solve everyone’s problems.”

  Her eyes lift from her phone, and I can feel her studying me, probably seeing if I’m being hurtful or trying to make fun of her. I glance over, returning my eyes to the road just as quickly. Quietly, she confesses, “I do. Especially for Ace. He went through a really rough time a while back and needed some . . .” She pauses, searching for the word she wants. “Support. And then a big kick in the ass. I gave him both.”

  I chuckle, surprised at her assessment of her brother’s needs. “I bet. I wouldn’t expect anything less from a good sister.”

  “I’ve done that for Elle too,” Tiffany adds quickly, as if kicking her brother’s ass was a bad thing and she needs to justify it. “And Ricky. And Harper. That’s Ace’s fiancée. You probably saw her when we were wedding dress shopping.”

  I nod, although I can’t put a name to a face yet. In that moment, I’d had complete tunnel vision and all I saw was Tiffany. “And me?”

  She gives me a wary look and turns back to her phone. “Still to be determined.”

  Sidestepping that declaration, I ask, “I probably don’t want to know what you’ve done for Elle, but Ricky?”

  “Him and Miranda,” she replies easily, multi-tasking with her phone as she explains. “He was always sniffing around, flirting with her, though he’s ridiculously awful at it. That man’s idea of game is just . . . no. Hell to the no.” She smiles, remembering something I’m not privy to. “She thought he was interesting, but she wasn’t ready. She’s a single mom, doing the best she could. Especially when her kids were younger.” Her fingers freeze, the tapping sound from her phone going silent. “Elle and I didn’t help matters. We always got our work done and were just having fun, but now that I do what Miranda did, I recognize what a pain in her ass we must’ve been.” She shakes her head, rattling the past loose. “Anyway, I could tell when she started feeling a bit more ready, and that’s when I encouraged Ricky to go after her and really ask her out. It was so cute how excited she got. And now, she’s living her happily ever after.”

  “And so is Ricky. I realized recently that I hadn’t really listened to him or asked about how he and Miranda are doing, but he’s happy,” I point out before laughing quietly. “He’s reading books on stepparenting and being considerate of their traditions. He’s serious about her, talking about marrying her.”

  Tiffany lowers her phone, her eyes brightening at that news. “Ooh, I didn’t know that. I’ll have to pass along the resources I’ve pulled for Harper and Ace. I’m helping her plan things on the fly because they don’t want to wait, so I’ve got a whole list of florists, bakers, venues, and photographers.”

  My smile is genuine as I turn left according to my phone’s directions. “Of course you do. Because you solve everyone’s problems.”

  Tiffany shrugs in agreement. “It’s my superpower.” Despite her words, that’s twice she’s brushed off what she does for others, acting like it’s no big deal when it most definitely is.

  I complete my turn and give her a careful look. “But who solves your problems?”

  She’s silent for a moment, as if it’s a new idea to her. “I don’t know. I guess I’ve never thought about it.” A few seconds later, she adds, “The only real problem I’ve had recently was how to get home safely after unexpectedly getting drunk, and you helped me.”

  There’s a quiet appreciation to the statement that doesn’t need to be voiced, but it still makes my stomach warm and my heart feel bigger in my chest. My words are serious and filled with meaning as I tell her, “I’m glad you called me that night.”

  I can feel her eyes caressing my profile, and I wonder what’s going through her mind when she says, “Me too.”

  I look over, and our eyes meet, the connection strong and instant between us.

  I’ve got you.

  Tiffany clears her throat. “Turn right there.”

  I see our destination, a good-sized white aluminum sided building with a large sign declaring, The Bone Zone. Ace Young Doggie Daycare.

  “The Bone Zone?”

  Tiffany laughs like the long-suffering, responsible sister I think she’s always been. “Ace has matured, but he’s still Ace.”

  There’s one car parked out front, and the glass door is a beacon of light in the dark of the night. We park, going over to the door and opening it into a scene of pure chaos.

  Two people are inside, Ace, who I recognize from his similarity to Tiffany, and a woman I vaguely recognize from the other day on the street. She must be Harper, his fiancée. She’s wearing pjs with smiling worms climbing out of apples and rain boots, a weird outfit of necessity, I’m guessing. But her anxious expression is the true judge of the seriousness of the situation.

  Ace’s hair is sticking straight up, and water is splashing around his ankles as he runs around, doing what, I’m not sure. Clearly, whatever went wrong is bad, and the first thought I have is that I’m glad the walls aren’t sheetrock or plaster. I feel like I just walked into a hurricane scene.

  “Tiff!” Ace says, splashing over. “There you are! Grab a mop.”

  Tiffany props the door open, letting water run out to the parking lot in a tiny river of dingy, sudsy gray. “I don’t think a mop’s gonna do it. Have you figured out what happened and how to fix it so we’re not fighting an ongoing issue?”

  A tiny smile lifts my lips, not at the situation but at her calm in a crisis.

  Ace points toward the back. “The fucking drain is clogged. It’s hair . . . it’s always hair.” He pushes the mop around, swishing water toward the door. “Had an Old English sheepdog in for a groom today. Let’s just say Shaggers is accurately named. We vacuumed and swept and thought we got it all before it went down the drain. But apparently not.” He holds a hand wide, demonstrating the ‘duh’ of the proof of the clog.

  Ace picks up a clump of hair floating on the surface of the water, and though she looks a bit green, Harper jumps in. “Ace snaked the drain, so it’s working, but it backed up everywhere. If we can get the water to the drains or the doors, we should be okay. I think. I hope.”

  Ace looks up, reassuring her. “We’ve got it, babe.” For the first time, he notices me.

  “I’m Ace, Tiffany’s brother,” he says, giving me a look quite similar to his sister’s protective look. “And you are?”

  Despite the situation, he’s smiling like he knows exactly who I am. I roll with it, offering a hand. “Daniel Stryker. It’s nice to meet you, Ace. Wish it were under better circumstances.”

  Ace looks at my hand, grinning as he holds up his own wet hair-covered hand. “Thanks, but trust me, not the right time to stand on formalities. Next time?”

  He’s right, and I tuck my hand away with a laugh. “Deal. Tell me where you want me.”

  Ace gets two more pairs of rainboots out of a metal locker by the wall, and Tiffany trades her heels for them without hesitation. Giving no regard to the skirt and blouse she’s wearing, she wades into the water and grabs a big squeegee. It’s jarringly, oddly cute and sexy, but I push that away to pull my own oxfords off, stashing them safely on the front desk next to Tiffany’s shoes. I tuck my slacks into my own pair of oversized galoshes and grab a mop.

  We get right to work, pushing water both toward the floor drain and out the door. Occasionally, Harper will swap out mops with us, taking the soaked one to a squeezer set up on a bucket to wring it out. Periodically, she dumps the now-full bucket out the back door into some nearby grass, claiming that at least the flowers will get a drink.

  “After this, I think we could all use a drink,” Ace jokes. “But something better than dirty water.”

  “Dirty martini?” Tiffany quips, not slowing her work.

  “Nothing dirty,” Ace answers.

  It’s the smallest peek into their dynamic, the way they bounce off each other, making each other smile through even tough moments.

  As we slosh, I can hear Ace grumbling, “Dogs are gross.” He grunts, squeezing his mop dry in the squeezer before going back to work. “Man’s best friend my ass.”

  “Quit lyin’.” Tiffany laughs, nearly slipping in the water by the door. She takes it in stride, never missing a beat in her banter. “You love dogs.”

  “Having second thoughts,” Ace groans. He picks up another clump of white hair, his face wrinkling at the grossness as he plops it in the growing pile.

  “Remember Kevin?” she prompts.

  Ace points a finger her way. “Shut your mouth. Kevin isn’t a dog. He’s my baby.”

  “Four paws, tail, goblin ears. Looks, sounds, and acts like a dog to me.”

  “Well, Kevin’s different,” Ace says, trying to defend himself. “He doesn’t cause clogs.”

  “That’s because he’s a short hair,” Tiffany says. “Where is the little goblin, anyway?”

  “At home sleeping happily in our bed by himself,” Harper says, pausing her singing of the same made-up cleanup song she’s had on soft repeat this whole time.

  She goes right back to it, though . . .

  Get the water out, water out, water out today.

  Mop and clean, do it again, so we’re ready to play.

  Quick and fast, make it last, yes, that’s the way.

  To get the water out, water out, water out today.

  When I’d first heard her, I’d looked around, thinking she’d gone a little mad, and then it’d been annoying, like the Barney songs Elle used to listen to on repeat as a kid. But now, it’s a gentle soundtrack to our work. And it could be worse. It could be one of those old Barney songs. Or what’s that one Neve liked? Oh, Cocomelon. That show drove me nuts in a way Barney could only dream of.

  “What are we gonna do for the opening in the morning?” Harper is asking Ace, but Tiffany is the one with the answer.

  “We get the water mopped up tonight, this place ready, and on your way home, you stop at the store, grab yourself two bottles of strong drain acid,” Tiffany says in a matter-of-fact, confident tone. “Come in tomorrow an hour early, dump it down the drain to clear out any remaining crap in there. You’ll open on time.”

  Her firm declaration and evenhanded leadership has a noticeable effect on Ace and Harper, both of them calmer and surer in their movements as we continue working to make Tiffany’s words come true.