Immediately, I dunk the sponge in the soapy water again and start scrubbing at the pain-in-the-ass grille. It’s like a bug graveyard.
After a beat or two, she joins me, and we continue this silent dance around the entire car until it’s gleaming. Finally, she tosses the hose down and crosses her arms. Water makes her skin slick-looking.
“What do you want?” she asks.
My reply is immediate. “World peace.”
Her eyes narrow. “Try again.”
“What do you have against world peace?” I lean against my truck, which is parked right beside her car.
This time her mouth falls open. There’s a fire in her eyes that I would love to get burned by. “I don’t have anything against world peace. Sheesh.”
“What do you want?” I ask, my voice low and husky.
She blinks, as if no one has asked her that in a long time. “For you to tell me the real reason you helped me wash my car.”
“You got me, angel.” I put up my hands in mock surrender. “I do want something from you.”
“Figures,” she mutters, then starts to gather her things.
“I’d like to borrow your stuff so I can wash my truck”—I wait a beat before adding—“neighbor.”
“I bet you would—wait.” Her nose scrunches. “You want to what?”
I want to laugh at the adorably confused look on her face, but I don’t. “Borrow your stuff”—I nod at the bucket and bottle of liquid soap—“so I can wash my truck. It’s been a while and after today, I really don’t feel like making the drive down to the Wash and Go.”
“Oh.” The self-righteous state she almost worked herself into seems to leave her. “Sure, but…since you helped me, I’ll be neighborly and help you. Then we’ll be even-steven.”
“Even-steven.” I level her with a look. “People still say that?”
She tips up her chin. “I still say that. So does my momma. In fact, she was the one to teach it to me.”
I purposefully soften my face. “Moms are great for stuff like that. I know my mom is.”
Her rigid stance finally relaxes. “Yes, they are, aren’t they?”
Grabbing on to that as my opening, I refill the bucket with liquid soap and then add water as I say, “How was your day?”
“Fine.” She swallows. “How was yours?”
“Shitty.”
“I’ve had days like that.” She turns away from me, her shirt riding up on one side. There’s a white line that curves around her waist. It’s short in length, but I know who it’s from, and I can only imagine what her shitty days were like.
Fucking piece of shit ex.
My hands tighten into fists and my jaw clenches, but I take a steadying breath to calm down. Without a doubt, Evangeline would bolt if she saw how furious I am right now, and that’s the last thing I want her to do.
“Well,” I begin, attempting to lighten the tone, “I might be upset because my partner got promoted. He actually called to check on me because I wouldn’t speak to him today.” Yeah, I probably sound like a little punk-ass, but I figure she will appreciate the truth.
She turns those pretty eyes on me. “You’re jealous of him?”
“Hell, no. Do you know how much more of a caseload he’ll get now? And the cost of the non-uniform uniform he’ll have to wear each day? No, thanks, I’ll keep walking in the blue.” I rinse off the top of the truck and then begin to work on the hood. To my eternal surprise and gratefulness, Evangeline follows me, squatting down to get the low parts. It’s a gesture that I find to be very thoughtful without her knowing why.
I’m a big guy, so me and low spaces don’t always get along too well. Plus, my knee pops like a son of a bitch when I sit, stand, or squat for any length of time. I’d like to say that I got the injured knee from fighting, but it was actually something majorly stupid.
And less cool.
I step to one side and my knee creaks like a door opening in a haunted house.
“Was that you?” she asks, her gaze zeroing in on my legs.
“Bad knee.” Great. Trying to avoid that conversation. Wait. Who cares if she asks about my knee? It means she’ll keep talking, and if she keeps talking, I might have a chance with her.
“I have one of those, too,” she admits. Then her gaze turns wary. “Guess you got that on the job?”
“Yeah, but not from chasing down a perp or pulling a kid out of a burning building,” I say, tossing the sponge into the bucket. “Tripped over a filing cabinet. First day on the job and they had me bringing coffee for everyone—you know, typical FNG stuff.”
“FNG?”
“Fucking new guy,” I explain, and her mouth quirks. I am so close to making her smile. “Anyway, I got two trays of latte-bullshit-soy and didn’t see the open drawer. Went down like a ton of bricks, but I was determined to save the coffee, so I landed on my knee and then it twisted. Cried like a baby.”
Evangeline smashes her lips together, but an adorable dimple appears on her cheek. Never knew I was a fan of dimples until this very moment.
I lean in to her, but not too close. “Go ahead and laugh. Just promise you’ll still respect me in the morning and keep it to yourself.”