“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Jackson sighed, his chair creaking as he sat. Papers and manila files were cluttered on the desk he was borrowing, and the sole lamp on the table looked like it was ready to burn out. “Emma, I solve homicides for a living. Just who do you think you’re fooling?”
“Is this because I lied about his mom and why I was getting his groceries?” She blanched, sitting down on the chair across from him. Her palms were clammy and she was sweating, “I can explain that.” “You don’t need to. I’ve been asking around and word on the street is that the Sheriff hauled your car in for repairs because your vehicle violated a few road safety rules. He’s footing the bill and you’re working for him to repay him.”
Emma’s stare was blank. “That’s the word on the street? Are you fu- I mean, are you kidding me?” How did people fucking know all that?
He gave a crinkly smile, which Emma found wholly deceptive in its nature because everything else about him was entirely unforgiving. “It’s a small town. Someone from the auto-shop probably had a friend at the station who probably had a friend at the harbor. People put two and two together.” Well, that was embarrassing. She’d had an idea people knew that something was up, but not that they knew such painstaking details. Mortified, it dawned on her that basically everybody in the town knew that she was broke and literally doing Hunter’s dirty laundry as penance. Knowing how the rumor mill worked, she was sure that imaginations had probably run wild with the idea. “Okay, well.
That’s it though. There’s no relationship or anything else.”
“I overheard Kat talking at the bar,” Jackson started and Emma immediately grimaced. “She was telling a friend about how you were quote,” he cleared his throat and read off a sheet of paper, “boning
him after hours, that crazy bitch is doing what we’ve been wanting for years. Fucking A.”
Emma was seriously going to have a conversation with Kat later about a) Grammar b)
Vocabulary c) Talking about her private life in public. “That’s gossip. I’ve never told Kat I’ve had sex with the Sheriff.”
“So you’ve had sex with the Sheriff?”
Her face was burning. “No. I meant that those words have never come out of my mouth because it isn’t true,” her voice was firm and it didn’t shake, and she held the detective’s eye. She was becoming a bonafide liar and she had Harbodale’s nosy as fuck community to thank for that.
“Look, Emma,” he took off his glasses, his face unguarded. “I’m not trying to be nosy, but I’m trying to do my job and that’s to protect you. I’m not an idiot, I see the way he looks at you and how you gravitate towards him. It’s not illegal for the Sheriff to have a love life. Hunter’s a great guy. Hell, I was married with two kids at his age so I’d be happy if he settled down with someone. But he can’t be working on the case of someone he’s in a relationship with -.”
“We’re not in a relationship,” she cut him off, not liking anything about his mini-monologue. She didn’t like being ‘fathered,’ and she didn’t like being accused of feelings she didn’t want to deal with or acknowledge. “You can ask him that question and he’ll say the same thing.”
Jackson sighed for what felt the umpteenth time in the span of five minutes, and stared at her for what felt like an uncomfortably long time. Finally, he leaned back, splaying his hands, “if you insist.” “I do.” And technically, it was the God damn truth. The word ‘relationship’ encompassed a whole lot of things, like anniversaries, valentines’ day presents, meeting parents, admitting to each other that you didn’t hate each other’s guts, holding hands, etc. Hunter and her were none of those things.
“And you realize that if you’re trying to cover for him, you could potentially be incriminating this ongoing investigation?”
“I do.”
Jackson eased, but Emma knew better. He wasn’t done with the two of them just yet.
x.x
To Emma’s surprise, the week was surprisingly normal. Rather, her new definition of normal which pretty much encompassed a day where somebody didn’t attempt to break into her house, attack her or murder her. All things considered, despite the infuriating note that still made her feel queasy from time to time, the week passed by well.
Although, the unavoidable scrutiny placed on her by the police was rather discomforting and only made her seem like more of an outsider. Jackson hadn’t been joking when he had said that they weren’t going to let this person get another shot at taunting her. A detail followed her at any given time and moment. They’d added more security cameras around her house to cover the blind spots, and she was getting check-in calls two times a day.
To add, her week had been fairly Hunter-less. At first, it had been a nice break. For a while, it had begun to feel like Hunter was everywhere - in her pores, in her blood, in her lungs. Like a drug, she kept waiting – on edge – for the next hit and high. Barely having seen him throughout the week, the effects of her addiction were slowly fading.
Replaced by the imminent withdrawal. By day three – she found that she was missing his friendly and baiting banter, his overpowering presence in the room, and the way he carried on like a grumpy grizzly bear. Her had driven down to the Newcastle County court to testify on account of two cases that he’d been a part of, and had left the day she’d found that oh so endearing note taped to her cable box. At first, she’d been annoyed that he hadn’t given her a warning of his departure, but she’d reeled herself in quickly. He had no reason to give her notice of his leaving. She wasn’t his girlfriend and was she even his friend? What even were they? Not really knowing the answer to that question, she buried the nip of irritation and acted blasé when he dropped by to give her the keys to his house so she could carry on housekeeping. Ugh.
It worried her that she’d felt anything at all, and it worried her especially that she missed him. She didn’t want to get attached to anybody here. She was leaving as soon as she had her shit back together.
Burying her thoughts to deal with them later, she carried on with her own itinerary throughout the week. She finished her ideas for the town mural that she was sort of excited and wholly nervous to present at the next town hall meeting. She also finished painting a second canvas, which she actually sort of liked. She’d used watercolors and had sat in her parent’s old bedroom for a few hours to watch and paint the lighthouse during the sunset. Spending some time in the library on Thursday evening, she finally made an Ebay account and posted photos of her artwork online. It was a long-shot, but she would never say no to trying.
In terms of the lighthouse, the police came by on Tuesday to break the door down. She watched from the distance, having no desire to go inside the creepy thing. They came out empty handed. There was no paperwork or signed deeds to be found in there.
When the weekend came around, she swallowed any pride and comfort that may have nestled in her chest and braced herself for her pub shift. Judging by the last time she worked here, it probably wasn’t going to be pretty but she wasn’t going to let anybody see that she was phased by bullying or harassment. She’d begun to discover, surprising herself even, that she was one tough cookie to crack. The realization had made her smile a little, and she walked into her shift walking a little straighter and with a more confident gait.
On a scale of 1-10, ten being terrible and eight being the last time she’d worked here, it had been a five. Some familiar faces showed up, and there were two incidents where a table was flat-out rude, but it wasn’t anything that she couldn’t handle.
Saturday was even better. To her surprise, some of the patrons who came by to sit at the bar actually tipped her which absolutely nobody had done so far. Additionally, even though it was only her third shift at her place, she was also beginning to recognise faces and remember names. There was Peter, a bumbling alcoholic with a severe hygiene problem that had gone through four divorces so far, but chalked it down to not having found a woman interesting enough. There was Randy, who was actually Spanish, so kept asking Emma to call him Randito after a few beers. Once he hit this point, his wife – without fail – would come to drag him away. There was a gang of eighteen year old girls, the Queen B of which was named Brittany, that were here every weekend. The accompany gang of guys were never too far away.
It was hard to pinpoint what had changed within the span of a week but something definitely was different. It wasn’t that the folks were somehow suddenly more welcoming. It just felt like people were beginning to get used to her. That was her primary theory. Her secondary one being that people flat out felt like backing off since they knew someone wanted her six feet under and nobody wanted to be a prime suspect.
Kat had called in sick for Friday and Saturday, which had made the shifts a little overwhelming but it forced her to learn the drinks and table numbers faster. By Sunday, she felt like a pro.
“Sorry, I had the flu,” Kat said as she tied the apron around her waist, coming in looking a little pale in the face. The two hadn’t seen each other since Emma had kicked her out of her house the last weekend, and Emma suspected that a large part of Kat’s radio silence was because Emma had given her
zero detail on what was going on. “Hope you weren’t too swamped Friday night.”
Emma waved it off, “It wasn’t so bad. Nick helped with the bar around ten p.m.” “Great,” was all Kat said before walking out of the staff room and out to the diner. Emma sighed. Yep. She was definitely not happy with her.
Not wanting to make her hundredth enemy in this town, Emma promptly followed her outside. Her hair was up in a pony-tail and the shorts kept riding up her bum, which was something she wanted to talk to Nick about later. Sure, there were heaters on but it was still dead of winter. The shorts made no sense. “Everything okay, Kat?”
“Mmhm,” she responded as she began to get the bar ready. It was only seven, so people were just beginning to mill in. The bar was dead and the kitchen was getting warmed up.
Not about the small-talk life, Emma just cut straight to the chase. “Why are you mad at me?” “Who said I was -.”
“You haven’t sworn, said something sexual, or even mentioned how cute that guy is on table seven. That’s how I know you’re mad at me.”
Kat slumped her shoulders and gave Emma a deadpanned stare, “he’s not that cute. A six at most.”
“Totally a nine.”
“Maybe. If he’s got abs under there.”
“Does he?”
Kat smirked, against her better judgement, “It’s Dillion. He’s sort of quiet. He’d be cute if he lost the glasses but I saw him at the beach this past summer and he’s totally been working out.”
Emma smiled, not remotely interested in Dillion, but glad that it had sort of broken the ice. “I’m sorry I kicked you out in such a rush last weekend. Someone had left a really creepy note in my house and I had to call the police. I sort of went into shock.”
“Fucking serious?” The Kat she knew was already back, all huffiness set aside at once. “So there’s a legit psychopath after you?!”
“Well…” she gave Kat a levelled stare and then sighed. If she couldn’t trust Kat, then who was she going to trust in this dumb town? “Yeah. The police have their suspicions as to why… but I officially have someone after me.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Kat whistled under her breath and did a quick sweep of the room, “this is Harbordale. Who the hell would do that here?”
“I know,” she’d heard that a thousand times over, and over. “So… if I was acting strange -.” “Bitch, don’t even. I got you,” was Kat’s response, which Emma didn’t really understand but from her tone, she assumed they were good again. “Clayton’s got it in for you too.”
“What?”
Kat blinked before realization dawned on her. “Oh God, you don’t remember, do you?” “What’re you talking about?” The two of them hadn’t had a chance to talk about that exceptionally drunk night throughout the week, and she hadn’t really remembered much.
“You guys made out. For a good hour or so. I thought you were into him until you followed me into the bathroom and said you mistook him for someone else.”
Before she had the chance to respond, Peter and Doug had already made themselves comfortable on the barstools in front of Emma and were asking for Whisky and Rye. Detangling herself from the conversation with Kat, she focused on the job at hand.
Fuck. That explained why he’d been so gross and clingy that morning after. They’d bumped into each other a few times around town throughout the week and he’d been all googly-eyed too.
Shit. Shit Shit.
Hating herself for being such a stereotypical twenty-something and creating the sticky web that she herself was weaved in, she distracted herself by the incoming flux of people while trying to figure out what to do.
It wasn’t that she didn’t like him. It was just…
She had no explanation. It just didn’t feel right around him.
As was the norm, things got busier around eight-thirty, and by nine, both Kat and Emma were running around the bar, filling orders and serving drinks. The usual gaggle of people stared at Emma as she walked by, usually with a tinge of distaste, but she returned the gesture with a smile. That usually worked to make them embarrassed enough to look away.
Kat’s little revelation about what she’d done with Clayton bothered her, and she didn’t really know how to approach the situation either. So preoccupied with her thoughts when she had a few minutes off here and there, 1AM came by faster than usual.
She’d be lying to herself if she said that Clayton was the only thing she’d been thinking about. It was officially Sunday night which meant Hunter should’ve been back by now. She’d overheard a few officers talking earlier, who had said he’d be back by Monday, which had to mean that he was already back in town. Call it irrational thinking, but she was sort of annoyed that he hadn’t checked in on her, or called to make sure that she was, you know, alive. There was a killer after her after all.
It took thirty minutes to wipe the tables and close down the bar, and by 1.40AM, she was getting ready to leave. This was her least favorite part of the night. It was at least a forty minute walk home, and she still had to buy a proper winter jacket.
After changing out of her shorts and crop-top, she packed up her bag, said goodbye to Kat and Nick, and headed out. It hadn’t snowed since the last snow storm but the streets were still pretty entrenched in snow. After all, there wasn’t really any place to put all the white stuff. It was all just piled up in little tufts and mountains around the streets.
She only made it a few feet when she heard his voice, “need a ride?”
What power did this man have to immediately made her body feel warm and tingly, even though she was standing in sub-zero weather with a chilly breeze making its way over from the harbor? She turned to see him leaning against his jeep, his hands tucked in his leather jacket and an unfamiliar baseball cap on his head. She resented the immediate rush of excitement she felt at seeing him, and an odd sense of comfort.
“How was court?” she asked, not wanting to betray her emotions. She couldn’t help, however,
a little touched that he’d come by to pick her up. “Put the bad guy away?”
“One guy’s spending six months for robbery, and the other guy got off for breaking and entering. He was drunk and thought Mrs. Robinson’s home was his grandmas.”
“Nice.”
“Work any better this weekend?”
“A little.”
“I saw you in those shorts.”
“Oh really?” She reached him then, and she looked up, raising an eyebrow. “You have a problem with them?”
“A little too short, don’t you think?”
“Nope,” she gave an oblivious shrug, throwing all plans of bringing the issue up with Nick out the window. If it annoyed Hunter, then they stayed. “What’s with the hat?”
“You don’t like it?” His blue eyes narrowed, but there was a slight smirk on his face. “Molly gave it to me. She’s officially part of the baseball team.”
She read the label and sure enough, Harbordale Pre-K Baseball was stamped across the beak.
“There’s a baseball team for four year olds? That’s intense.”
“It’s actually really competitive. Gives my brother high blood pressure.”
Emma laughed and then made her way over to the passenger side of his jeep. Before she took a step though, she felt his hand grasp her wrist. “Just where do you think you’re going?”
It all happened very quickly. One moment, she was walking over and the next, she felt herself being pressed against the grill of his jeep, his body settling in front of hers intimately. She could feel the urgency in his body, and it only worked to snap the thin belt of restraint she’d been using to keep her emotions in check. One week had been way, way too long. Fuck pretenses.
She pulled him in, kissing him roughly and felt his hands settle over her ass to give her a firm squeeze as she did. Even through all the layers of clothing, she could feel the warmth he was radiating, and she heard herself giving a slight sigh of satisfaction as he pulled her in closer.
“God, I want you,” he murmured against her, licking her bottom lip.
She felt her body flush, but she cleared her throat and pulled back. “The police detail can probably see us right now,” her mind slowly defogged. She hated how he had this uncanny ability to mute rational thought. “Jackson will –“
“Caleb just switched with Robbie, and he’s dipped off to Sherwood parkway to use the bathroom since I told him I’d drive you home. Jackson’s asleep.”
“You thought this through.”
“I’ve been thinking of all the things you need to make up for, and I’m impatient.”
Emma bit her bottom lip subconsciously, “What’re you talking about?”
“You stole a bottle of wine from my groceries last week, you’ve been hoarding a few of my sweaters, downloading movies using my Wi-Fi – I just got a notice from my cable company warning me of data usage –”
“I’ve never seen Lord of the Rings and I had to-.”
“Disrespecting me at work, teasing me at work,” the playful smile had disappeared from his face and it was replaced wholly by unfiltered wanting. He thumbed her bottom lip, “like I said, a lot of making up to do.”
“I don’t apologize.”
“Don’t pull the stubborn card with me -.” The two pulled apart as the pub door swung open and
Nick and Kat walked out together, their voices alerting them of their presence. “Hey, Nick!”
“Evening, Sheriff! How was Newcastle? Heard the Myers boy got off without a sentencing.” Hunter moved to talk with Nick for a while, saying hi to Kat in the process. Standing by the car, Kat glanced over to her with a knowing grin.
“What happened?” she mouthed, a sparkle in her eye.
Emma hesitated, knowing the girl had a mouth the size of Texas. “I’ll tell you later,” she mouthed back. “He’s driving me home.”
“What?”
“He’s driving me home.” She mouthed again, this time enunciating.
“Oh,” Kat winked, “Have fun!” she giggled as she walked away.
Emma rolled her eyes, knowing Kat would grill her for details. Standing there, she hesitated as she looked at Hunter and then at his jeep.
Was she already wet as fuck? Yes.
Did she want him? Obviously.
Was she treading hot waters? Considering they’d agreed to a one-time only thing? God yes. Was she going to go ahead with it anyway? Hell yes.
xx.
A/N: In case any of y’all are interested – I have a new story up on this account too called Her Dark Court. It’s not an Erotica, but it’s a romance with a heavy dose of Fantasy. I’ll be updating that twice a week (Saturday and Wednesdays) but not to worry, weekly Sunday updates will continue for Red Riding Hood as well!