The Best Man. Kristan Higgins
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away, wanting only this, just one kiss. Her lips were soft and cool and wet from the water, and he couldn’t help himself, he licked her bottom lip, she tasted so good. When she opened her mouth, he wanted a lot more, suddenly starving for the taste of her, abruptly rock hard. He pulled her hips against him, letting her know, and her fingers dug into his shoulders, her tongue answering his, a soft little sound coming from her throat, and it was so, so good he couldn’t think, he could just drown here, more than happy to have this be his last day on earth.
Then she broke away, pushing away from him and scrambling up onto the rocks
“I—I—I can’t,” she said over the rush of the water.
It felt empty without her against him. Empty and cold.
“See, um, Jeremy and I, I mean, we’re... We’re not really... It’s a break. We’re not officially... So I can’t. I can’t kiss anyone else.”
“Whatever,” he said idly. Except he was furious, all of a sudden. Not just with her, either. With stupid Jeremy, who’d probably never kissed her that way before, who had no idea how. With himself, for kissing his best friend’s girl. But, yeah, mostly with her. If she didn’t want to kiss him, maybe, just maybe, she shouldn’t have been hanging on to him like a spider monkey. She’d wanted that kiss, and he’d given it to her, and now she was Polly Purebred again.
Ah, crap. He’d just kissed Jeremy’s girlfriend.
“We should get back,” she said, her voice tight and pinched. She turned her back to squeeze the water out of her shirt. She did the same to her hair. Her hands were shaking, he noted. She turned around, her shirt clinging to her. If she’d been braless, he might’ve had to kill himself. As it was, the cold water (and rejection) were doing wonders for his condition. “Levi, I hope you won’t be...”
“Mad?”
She hesitated, then nodded.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said casually.
She bit her lip. “Um...I don’t think I’ll tell Jeremy about this. I mean, it would just hurt him. Right? So I won’t say anything.” The plea in her voice was clear—And you won’t either, right?
He swam to the rocks and hoisted himself out of the water, watching as her eyes scanned him. That’s it, rich girl. Heterosexual male. Enjoy. He walked over to her and stood very close. “You know, I always did think you were ditzy and spoiled and irritating,” he said in a low voice. “But before today, I never thought you were a tease.”
With that, he made his way back up to their adorable little picnic area. The dog woofed at his approach and again offered its belly, but this time, Levi ignored him. Instead, he grabbed his shirt and pulled it on, picked up his brown bag and headed back to work for the Lyons, walking through the Holland fields in the bright light and hot sun.
Faith, he noted, didn’t return.
That weekend, Jeremy called him, his voice its usual bouncy tone. “How you doing, bud?” he asked. “Wanna hang out?”
“Sure,” Levi said. Whatever guilt he’d felt about kissing Jeremy’s girlfriend he’d managed to ball up and toss into the dirty laundry area of his conscience. Hell, he told himself, he’d have kissed just about any female under the circumstances. It had just been a bad case of...whatever. “How was California?” he asked.
“It was great,” Jeremy said. “And I have some good news. Faith and I are back together.”
“Not surprised,” Levi said. Like she was gonna dump the golden boy. The star quarterback. The future doctor. The heir to the Lyons’ vineyard.
Levi saw Faith at school, of course. Jeremy’s angelic girlfriend, who couldn’t tell the difference between a guy who wanted to bang her silly and a guy who didn’t.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MOST OF THE CALLS Levi had to respond to were pretty mild, and he liked it that way.
This call, however, was one of the livelier calls they’d had this week. On Tuesday, he’d sat out with a radar gun after Carol Robinson had complained about the speed on her road at 2:40 when the high school kids got out of school. Yesterday, he talked to the third-grade class about why drugs were wrong. There’d been a call from Laura Boothby, because she couldn’t reach a vase on a high shelf of her flower shop and didn’t want to fall by using her stepstool, which her no-good son had promised to fix and hadn’t, and would Levi please come over and get it for her? (He had. Figured it was better than finding Laura with a broken hip three days from now.) Last night around eleven, there’d been another call from Suzette Minor—third this month—who’d heard suspicious noises and wanted Levi to come check her house (especially her bedroom). He had, though not with the results she wanted. The whole red swishy nightgown thing, the “Officer, please help me/I’m frightened/My, but you’re strong” didn’t work on him. He’d been hired to protect and serve, and “serve” did not mean “service.”
Most of the calls to the Manningsport Police had more to do with being a good neighbor than any true police work. It didn’t hurt that he was a local and, being a decorated veteran, someone who’d become pretty much universally loved. History had a way of fogging over when you were given a medal or two... Ellis Mitchum seemed to have forgotten the time he’d told Levi that his precious Angela wasn’t going to get knocked up by some trailer trash like Levi. Now, Ellis loved nothing more than buying him a beer and reminiscing about Vietnam. (Angela, for the record, had gone on to get knocked up by a kid from Corning their senior year.)
Nope, Levi was no longer trailer park trash; when the time had come to hire a cop to help out Chief Griggs, the town council, including old Mr. Holland, just about fell over themselves to accept his application. One year later, the chief retired, and Levi got that job, too. He now presided over Everett Field, his deputy, and Emmaline Neal, the administrative assistant with a penchant for analyzing him. It also meant that Levi earned ten grand more a year, and since his sister was in college, that was welcome.
But, as chief, he had to go on almost every call, too.
“Oh, Chief, please!” Nancy Knox wept. “He’s going to kill my baby! Please help!”
“Okay, okay, let me take a look,” he said. He crouched down and looked. No murders yet. Everyone looked very calm. Even a little sleepy. “Everett, go to the other side of the porch in case he makes a run for it.”
“Yes, sir, Chief. You bet. Going to the other side of the porch right now, roger.” Everett paused. “Uh, is that the south or the north side, sir?”
“Just go around the porch, Ev,” Levi said, trying to curb his impatience. “Don’t let him get away.”
“Roger that, Chief. Going to the other side, won’t let him get away.” Levi heard the click as Everett snapped open his holster.
“Put your gun back!” Levi barked. “For God’s sake, Everett. You’re gonna hurt someone with that someday.”
“Oh, my poor baby! Is she still alive?” Mrs. Knox said. “I can’t look! I can’t!”
Levi looked back under the porch, where a dog and a chicken were eyeing each other. “She’s alive, Mrs. Knox. Don’t worry. Come here, pooch. Come on, fella.”
The dog wagged and grinned but didn’t move. If Levi wasn’t mistaken, that was Faith Holland’s dog, judging by the size of his enormous head and neon-green plaid collar. The Knoxes lived about a mile down the Hill from the Hollands, and they kept chickens that made up about seven percent of Levi’s calls...they were free range, which meant they often wandered onto the road and had once caused a kid to veer off into the ditch. People were always calling to complain.
The chicken seemed just fine—the dog seemed delighted with the bird, which cocked its head and made a funny, burring noise. The dog wagged and panted, covered in dirt.
“Come on, Blue,” Levi said. “Come on,