“Ah.” I nodded. “So where’s the frame?”
“In the box. I just hauled it to the bedroom.”
“Got tools?”
“Um . . . yes?” She tapped the top of a box. “I have a screwdriver. Somewhere. It’s in one of these. Or maybe a box in the office.”
She’d spend an hour just finding her tools.
Without a word, I strode outside to my truck, grabbing the small toolbox I kept under the backseat. When I came inside, Winn was in the bedroom beside the frame’s open cardboard box.
“Instructions?” I asked.
She pointed to the hardware pack and attached pamphlet. “I can do it.”
“I’ll help.”
“Why?”
I grinned. “So I can help you break in the bed.”
“I thought you didn’t want to do that again.”
“I can make time for one more night. What do you say, Chief?”
She picked up the instructions and handed them over. “One more night.”
Chapter Nine
Winslow
Griffin’s tongue swept inside my mouth, fluttering against mine before he broke away. Then he bent to pull on his boots.
I stood back, watching as he trapped his hair beneath the faded black baseball hat he’d been wearing last night. The ends I’d been toying with before he’d climbed out of my bed curled at his nape.
It took effort not to go to him. Not to run my hands up his wide chest and beg for one more kiss. But I stayed on the armrest of the couch because if this was going to work, boundaries were key.
“See ya around.” Griffin walked over and leaned in like he was about to kiss my forehead, but at the last second, pulled away, adjusting the brim of his hat.
I shouldn’t have been disappointed. Sweet gestures and forehead kisses weren’t part of this relationship. We were enjoying casual sex, nothing more.
Boundaries.
“Bye.” I followed him to the door and waited by the threshold as he went outside, his boots thudding on the porch stairs before he stepped onto the sidewalk, taking it with those long, easy strides.
Watching him walk away had become part of my daily routine.
He’d been coming here each night for a week. Each morning he’d leave before dawn and I’d wonder if he’d come back. Or if last night had been the last night.
Some nights, he’d come over early, not long after I’d gotten home from work. Other nights, it would be after dark and he’d find me unpacking a box. He’d interrupt my progress and carry me to the bedroom, which was why my living room was still full of cardboard and I continued living out of suitcases. The kitchen was unpacked, but little progress had been made elsewhere.
The sex was . . . distracting. Brilliantly distracting. This fling had no chance of lasting. So the boxes could wait until Griffin and I fizzled out.
He glanced over his shoulder as he rounded the hood of his truck, and even in the dark, I saw the sexy smirk on his lips. Yeah, he’d be back tonight.
I wasn’t the only one enjoying this.
Closing the door, I waited for the rev of his truck’s engine before retreating to my bedroom. The sheets were rumpled and his scent, spice and leather and earth, clung to the air. I’d fallen asleep to that smell last night as I’d lain on his chest, my body limp and utterly sated.
We’d gone wild last night. He’d worn me out so thoroughly, I hadn’t had a nightmare all week.
If this new bed of mine could talk, it would scream Oh, God, Griff.
What was it about him that had made it so easy to shed my inhibitions? With Skyler, I’d always felt reserved with sex. It had taken years to truly relax when we were in bed, and he hadn’t been the most creative lover.
Maybe it was different with Griffin because there were no strings. No pressure for a long-term commitment. Maybe because my own pleasure had become a priority. Maybe because Griffin made it a priority too.
Damn, that man. Griffin had a body built to please. His hands turned me into putty. His lips, a shivering mess. His cock, a wanton slave to his command.
I smiled as I walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. The warm water soothed some of my aching muscles.
Since I’d moved to Quincy, I hadn’t gone on one of my regular morning runs. I hadn’t worked out, period, because sex had taken exercise’s place. Maybe tomorrow, if I had the energy, if Griffin didn’t keep me up until one or two, I’d find my tennis shoes and run a few miles through my neighborhood. Or maybe I could try out the small gym at the station. It wasn’t much more than an elliptical and a set of free weights, but a couple of the officers used it regularly. Maybe we could bond over cardio.
Doubtful, but at this point, I’d try anything.
After tossing in a load of laundry and reading through the case files I hadn’t last night—a drunken disorderly, a petty theft and a vandalism of a Santa display last Christmas—I headed to the station.
Officer Smith was ready and waiting at his station in the lobby to give me his standard cold welcome.
“Good morning, Officer Smith.”
Nothing.
Asshole.
His first name was Tom, but he and I were sticking to last names. He seemed to hate me more and more with each passing day.
Eventually he’d have to get to know me, right? Maybe that attitude would thaw when he realized I was here for the long haul. Or . . . early retirement. He was getting a few more weeks to shape up, then I was pitching him an early retirement.
My desk was its usual disaster but I’d blocked off the morning to tidy up. I spent hours putting files away, going through emails and my long to-do list. And finally, by noon, the brownish gray wood was visible.
“I really need to do this at home.” Settle in. Clean up.
I swiveled my chair to the window at my back, taking in the forest beyond the glass.
The station was nestled between a grove of pine and fir trees, their trunks so wide I wouldn’t be able to wrap my arms around them. The branches provided a canopy over the building that kept the sun from streaming inside. I’d been so busy sinking into this job, I hadn’t spent time looking out the window.
A mistake I’d remedy in the future.
Like my quiet street under the moonlight, there was peace to be found in those trees.
Now that I was settling in, piecing together a routine, it was time to put my house in order so that when I walked through the door at night, I could simply breathe.
A knock at the door had me turning from the window.
“Whoa.” Pops’s eyes widened as he came into the office. “You’ve been busy.”
“Productive morning.” I smiled. “What are you doing here?”
“Thought I’d invite my favorite chief of police to lunch.”
“Good, I’m starved. And afterward, I need to head to the courthouse. Get my vehicle registration switched over. Change my driver’s license.”
More steps to making this move official.
Once the Durango was registered, it would be in the garage the majority of the time. I’d been hesitant to use the former chief’s unmarked Explorer because it smelled like cigarettes, but after a thorough detailing, the stink was beginning to fade.
“Meet you downtown?” Pops asked.