Some Kind of Hero (Troubleshooters #17)

According to the law office receptionist, Susan Smith, Esquire—also known as Fiona’s aunt, she of the burned-down condo—would not be in until later this afternoon.

Pete squinted in the morning sun as he followed Shayla out of the building and into the parking lot, checking the time—it was a little after 0900. “When do you think we should text Maddie, see if she’s open to talking? I don’t want to piss her off by waking her up.”

“I was thinking ten,” Shay said. “It’s respectful but not overly indulgent.”

He nodded.

She met his eyes and smiled, and it zinged right through him, confirming that he was hard. Again. Already. Hell, he’d been ready for more while they were walking around outside of her house, checking for cracks and structural damage—that was how bad he had it for this woman.

Because just a few minutes before that, shortly after they’d woken up, they’d had yet another round of heart-stopping high-octane sex. And that was on top of last night’s hat trick.

And…thinking about that wasn’t helping him right now. Pete cleared his throat. “I’m not sure what to do next.”

“Write Chapter Three?” Shay suggested. “We could do it, you know, rough and fast, and yeah, I just heard that come out of my mouth, but that’s actually writer talk, not me suggesting you pin me against the wall in your entryway, although as those words come out of my mouth, I’m finding that I like that idea, a lot.”

He laughed and grabbed her, pulling her in for an embrace, burying his nose in the curls of her fresh-smelling hair, and loving the softness of her body against his. He’d left off his uniform today but wore what he thought of as his nice shorts. No cargo pockets. A short-sleeved button-down shirt instead of a T. Shay was dressed a lot like she’d been yesterday, in a brightly printed sleeveless shirt and khaki pants that didn’t quite reach her ankles. She had some kind of sweater or jacket—in a vibrant shade of red—tucked over her handbag.

“Let’s go back, and see what happens,” she said. “You can tell me Chapter Three in the car, we can figure out whether we want to get it onto paper before or after, dot dot dot.”

Pete kissed her, and she kissed him back, her arms up around his neck, fingers in his hair. She seemed to melt against him and…He suddenly realized they were standing in the middle of a public parking lot, which was strange.

He didn’t do PDAs—public displays of affection. Well, Lisa hadn’t liked them, and…it was crazy. They’d broken up fourteen years ago, and apparently he was still living his life by her rules.

So he kissed Shay again. And yeah, you know what? Turned out he fucking liked PDAs. He liked them a lot.

As they finally got back into his truck, Shayla had clearly made note of his change of mood. He was trying to figure out how to tell her he’d been thinking about Lisa while he was kissing her without having it sound completely wrong, when she spoke.

“Hey, can I just say something?” she asked as he pulled out of the lawyer’s lot.

“Of course.” He laughed. Since when was she shy about anything?

She hesitated. “Something potentially awkward and blunt?”

Uh-oh. “Go.”

“The sex is great.”

That was blunt, but not what he’d call awkward. “I’m not sure great is a good enough word,” he said. “I mean, you’re the writer.”

She smiled. “The sex is transcendent.”

“Much better. And I agree.”

“But I know it’s not real,” she said.

He could go light. Funny. Wait, are you a witch? If it’s not real, does that mean it’s magic? Because I wholeheartedly agree about that, too. Instead, he went for a simple questioning echo. “Not real.”

“Neither one of us is looking for anything heavy,” she said. “I mean, you’ve got more than enough on your plate, with Maddie. Once she’s home…”

Pete nodded, but he wasn’t quite sure what she was saying.

“I mean, talk about complications,” Shayla continued. “Right? I know you’re going to need to focus on her, and that’s going to take up a lot of your time, and that’s okay.”

Time management was something he was very good at. But her I know you’re busy message combined with not real and not looking for anything heavy meant that management of time was secondary to the main issue.

“I just wanted you to know that we’re on the same page,” she continued. “We’re having fun—I mean, you know, when we’re together transcendently—and that’s good. It’s nice, it’s light, it’s easy. It’s right now, you know? No expectations, no pressure.”

He didn’t think he was letting anything show on his face—disappointment or dismay or whatever the hell this sinking feeling was that he was experiencing—but she took it upon herself to further expound.

“I’m saying that it’s okay with me if we, um, label this thing—this ridiculous heat between us—as friends with benefits. God, that’s such a terrible, trite expression, but it kind of…fits. Right?”

And there it was, fully blunt and awkward.

She smiled and tried to make a joke. “Although, friends with transcendental benefits does sound a little better….”

“Is that what you want?” he asked, because yeah he’d only met her a few days ago, but that just did not fit with what he knew—thought he knew—about her. No, fuck that. He knew. She was the most WYSIWYG—what-you-see-is-what-you-get—woman he’d ever met in his entire life. And this did not compute.

But she was already nodding emphatically. “Yes. Like I said, I’m on the same page.”

So opposed to being potential soul mates…“You wanna be fuck buddies,” he said, because he had to confirm it.

Shayla winced. “That might be my least favorite name for it,” she admitted.

“Transcendental sex buddies.”

She laughed a little too loudly. “Much better.”

Why didn’t he believe her?

But then, as he replayed this conversation, he knew. It’s nice, it’s light, it’s easy. It’s right now…And there it was.

Right now.

It wasn’t her. It was him. He was her Mr. Right Now. She’d talked about this concept more than once in the many online interviews that he’d read. The romance novels that Shay wrote were focused on her characters finding their Mr. or Ms. Right. But along the way, as she wrote her ongoing series of connected books, her characters sometimes shared an interlude with a Mr. Right Now. Imperfect to the point of being unacceptable—at least in terms of finding lasting happiness—and sometimes destined to be killed off, Mr. Right Now provided a sexual escape valve and/or the fodder for a rebound relationship.

When exactly had Shayla split with her ex? Pete thought it had been years, but maybe that made him even more of a Right Now, depending on how long it had been since…

“Can I ask you something,” he said, “that’s also potentially awkward?”

“Uh-oh,” Shay said. “Um, yes…?”

He went for it. “Am I the first? Since…” What was her ex-husband’s name? “Carter?”

Shayla looked surprised and then embarrassed. She laughed as she made a face. “Yeah. Is it obvious?”