Author: Jill Shalvis

He looked at her for a long moment. “You like believing that, I think. That you’re on your own.”

“I am on my own.”

“And your sisters are what, chopped liver?”

“Noooo,” she said slowly, not sure how they’d gotten so off track. “I mean I’ve been on my own until recently. Sometimes I forget that I have them.”

“And not just them,” he said. “There’s Jax and Ford now as well.”

“And Jax and Ford,” she agreed, looking around for her shoes, trying not to notice that he hadn’t included himself.

“And the people of Lucky Harbor who care about you,” he said. “Lance, Tucker. Amy. Lucille.”

She nodded again, fighting back…what? A growing resentment, she realized. Which was ridiculous. He didn’t owe her anything, certainly no pretty meaningless words that she’d doubt anyway. “Fine. I stand corrected. I’m not alone. But thinking otherwise is a hard habit to break.”

“Because you like thinking it.”

She shoved her feet into her shoes and turned to him, hands on hips. “Are you suggesting I like being a martyr?”

“No, I’m suggesting that I don’t buy the alone thing, and neither do you.”

Okay, definitely time to go. She turned to the bedroom door again, needing out. She hadn’t had an asthma attack when he’d been buried inside her, but she was closing in on one now.

“And me,” he said quietly to her back. “Are you going to leave me off your list?”

Chloe dropped her forehead to the wood. “You want on the list?” Her voice was strong. Which was good. Because she felt small. Small and weak, and wasn’t sure she could face him. And dammit, when had she become a coward?

She wasn’t. She was just a realist.

“I care about you,” he said.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she turned to him, letting out the question that she could no longer contain. “What’s happening here, Sawyer?”

He drew a deep breath and slowly shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Well, at least he was honest. “Maybe I need to know.”

“Do you?” There was no amusement in his expression, no mockery in his voice. He was asking her to think about how deep she wanted to dig, how much she truly wanted to hear.

She nibbled on her lower lip and fought with herself. A part of her wanted to admit that yes, she needed to know how he felt about her, that she was, in fact, dying to know if he was as flummoxed as she was over what was happening between them. She needed to know that she was more than a good time to him, that he thought about her, ached for her like she was coming to ache so desperately for him.

But the other part of her, the stubborn, cynical part, refused to ask. Because that would be putting herself out there, laying herself bare before him, and she didn’t do that. Ever.

“Chloe,” he said softly, watching her carefully. “You can’t even tell your sisters how you feel about them. If I told you how I felt, you’d—”

“Have an asthma attack?” She put her hand to her very tight chest. “Dammit.”

“Take a breath,” he instructed firmly, moving closer, stopping when she held up her hand. “You’re holding your breath.”

God, she was. The air whooshed out of her lungs in one big massive exit, leaving her deflated. She had no idea if that was relief that replaced it, or desolation.

“Now inhale,” he directed.

She did. And then again, ignoring him when he closed the distance between them and cupped her face. “This is panic,” he said, studying her features. “Not asthma.”

“I know!” She grimaced and pushed free. “I’m working on that. And for your information, I do care about my sisters.” At his raised brow, she crossed her arms. “Which means I’m your normal, average woman. A normal, average woman who’s just messing around with her local sheriff.”

“Chloe.” His laugh was short. “You’re beautiful, smart as hell, and can make me lose my mind. But you are not, nor will you ever be, average.”

“Hey,” she said, not missing that he didn’t correct the “just messing around” comment. “I could be average if I tried.”

“That wasn’t a put-down.” He ducked to make eye contact, his hands on her arms. “I like you just the way you are.”

Sweet, but doubtful. “Well, I wouldn’t mind a little bit of average, you know?”

“Why?”

“Why? Because…” She trailed off and rubbed her chest, which was still way too tight. Because his eyes were reflecting something far too close to sympathy, she scrubbed her hands over her face so she didn’t have to look at him. “Never mind. Just ignore me.” She got to the front door before he spoke.

“Chloe.”

“What?”

“Average is boring.” He came close, pulled her inhaler out of her pocket, and shook it for her before handing it over. “Have you ever thought that maybe your asthma’s triggered by emotional responses rather than physical ones?”

“It’s beginning to occur to me,” she admitted. “Not that it matters in this case. We’re just…messing around.” She felt the doorknob at her back and reached behind to grip it, desperate to flee. God. She was so full of shit. The man had taken the time to research asthma, for God’s sake. If showing meant more than telling, then damn, he’d hit the bull’s-eye. She opened her mouth, praying something brilliant would come out, but all she managed was a “bye” before she escaped.

Even after his morning coffee, Sawyer was still thinking about the look in Chloe’s eyes as she’d left his bedroom, the look that said he’d somehow disappointed her.

He was good at that, disappointing people, but admittedly, she’d really gotten to him. She’d seemed confused and vulnerable, which had caught him off guard.

He’d felt the same. Christ, they were a pair. And work wasn’t the time to think about it or he’d get himself or someone else dead, so he forcibly cleared his mind.

His first not-so-big surprise of the day was to learn that Mitch had been picked up at the crack of dawn, high as a kite. He’d already plea-bargained by naming his drug source.

Todd.

According to Mitch, Todd was doing some heavy dealing for a big drug lord. Unlike Mitch, Todd was smart enough to stay off the crap. Apparently Todd and Mitch were equal partners until Mitch had started caring more about his own consumption than selling for their head honcho, and Todd, worried about losing his meal ticket, cut Mitch out of a deal. Now Mitch was pissed and scared enough to point the finger.

But Todd was only the middleman to the bigger fish, a fish that the DEA was already trying to corner. They were now going to use Todd to lead them to him

Sawyer couldn’t say that he was all that surprised about any of it, but he was certainly angry. Especially as he went to Todd’s place to try to talk some sense into the ass.

“Christ,” Todd said when Sawyer got out of his SUV. “What do you want?”

“We need to talk.”

Todd laughed. “Seriously, man? I have nothing to say to you.”

“I can get you a deal if you help us out.”

“You want me to give you a name,” Todd said.

“Yes.”

“Not going to happen.” Todd got into his truck.

Sawyer let out a breath. He wanted to say fuck it, but he couldn’t just walk away. He had no idea why. “It’s not too late. If that’s what you’re thinking. It’s not.”

Todd’s smirk faded, but his eyes stayed hard. “Yeah, it is.”

Sawyer watched him drive off, torn between the feeling of fury and failure. He knew Todd, whether Todd wanted to admit it or not. Todd was stupid enough to try to warn his supplier.

Sawyer would hopefully be smart enough to catch him at it. Sawyer shook his head and turned back to his vehicle. It was done, then. Todd had had as many opportunities as Sawyer to turn his life around, and at every single turn, he’d chosen to fuck himself over. Not happy, Sawyer called the DEA and gave the information to his contact, Agent Reed Morris, detailing everything that Mitch had provided and what Sawyer knew about Todd.

All they needed now was for Todd to lead them right to his next big deal.

Sawyer tried not to feel guilty, relieved, or any other useless emotion. No matter what went down, Todd would blame him. And with some effort, Sawyer hoped he wouldn’t blame himself.

Not your fault…

Chloe had told him that, not even knowing the full story. She was like a spring storm—wild and unpredictable, and yet somehow also a calm, soothing balm on his soul. He didn’t understand it, not one bit. Nor did he know what to do about the fact that they hadn’t burned out on each other as he’d supposed they would.

He still wanted more of her. And he had a sinking feeling that he always would.

And he was back to thinking about her. Perfect. He shook it off as he was called by dispatch to a house where some drunk guy was allegedly punching out all of his mother’s windows. When Sawyer arrived at the house, the front door was open. The woman who’d made the call was standing on the porch. “It’s my son,” she said, voice trembling. She leaned in to whisper, “Tommy’s got a drinking problem.”

“Is he still inside?” Sawyer asked her.

“Yes.” She was wringing her hands. “What are you going to do to him?”

“I’m going to have Tommy come outside to talk.”

“But not arrest him, right? He didn’t threaten me or anything.”

“Ma’am, he’s committed malicious mischief with the windows, and that’s domestic violence. Plus those windows are probably at least three hundred bucks a pop. If you add it all up, it’s a felony. I have to arrest him.”

“Oh, God. He’s going to be really mad.” She bit her lower lip. “I think he needs rehab,” she whispered. “Can you take him to rehab?”