Love on the Boardwalk Read Free

have a conversation with someone when their naked crotch was right at eye level.
    “Oh yeah, Brad and I go way back,” Trina affirmed. “His cousin’s dating my best friend, Darcy. You’ve heard me mention her a ton.”
    “Maybe.” Her bottom lip still jutted out. But she did back off a step.
    Bouncing a little, Trina reversed their roles, grabbing Sheena’s arm. But her face was awash with eagerness, not anger. “Listen, do you really think I have what it takes to be a dancer? Because I’d love to learn how to do that upside down spin thing you do on the pole. It’s so cool!” She looked down at her arms. “I thought I was too scrawny to execute a move like that. But if you think I’m buff enough, could you teach me?”
    “Girl, those chicken arms are the least of your problems. I wouldn’t know where to start.” Shaking her head, the other woman stalked away.
    That five minutes had been a better floor show than the last three dancers. Brad definitely felt he’d gotten his money’s worth for the night. But he didn’t want a careless comment to poke at Trina’s ego. “You’re not scrawny. You’re, uh, compact.”
    “Geez, and you’re horrible at compliments.” Trina wrinkled her nose. “Compact makes me sound like a bulldog. Or a trash bag you tamp down to squeeze in another milk carton. Don’t you know how to talk to a woman?”
    How the hell was he supposed to answer that without coming off as an arrogant dick or an idiot? Brad swirled the ice cubes in his drink. Couldn’t even hear them clink over the relentless thump of the music. Did she really expect him to be Mr. Smooth Talker when they were screaming at each other just to be heard?
    “Depends on who you ask. My mom says I’m a closed book. My homicide captain says I joke too much. And my ex-fiancée was never around enough to notice if I opened my mouth or not.” Shit. Where did that oversharing dump come from? Maybe he had a second-hand high from the weed he was trying to ignore being smoked three tables over. Not his jurisdiction, not a dead body, and so not his problem. “Regardless, I haven’t had much practice lately.”
    She spread her arms wide in invitation. “Want to practice on me?”
    That stung. Brad might be on a break from all things soft and feminine, but he could still get a girl—any girl he wanted—with the verbal equivalent of crooking his little finger. Being on the bench for a few months while he got over being dumped didn’t mean he’d forgotten how to play the game. Brad stood. Stretched himself all the way up to his full six feet and three inches. Even in her ridiculous shoes, he loomed over Trina. Then he cupped a hand to her ear, making sure to let his breath warm it before he spoke.
    “Honey, the things I want to do to you, I don’t need any practice. I’m an expert.”
    Her hand fluttered up to her heart, covering up that just-enough-of-a-handful cleavage. At the same time, her eyelids fluttered shut. Then Trina suddenly sucked in a deep breath.
    “You ought to carry a license to chill. Look at me.” She stuck out her arm. “I’m covered in goose bumps now. Oh, you’re good. But you’re not a super hero. Why bother hiding a talent like that from the world?”
    “‘With great power comes great responsibility,’” he quoted in an ultra-serious voice.
    Trina burst into delighted laughter. “A man who knows his Spider-Man, I see. Impressive. I’m more of a Superman girl, myself. I do love a man in a cape.” She narrowed her eyes. Gave him a head-to-toe onceover identical to the one he’d given her a few minutes ago.
    “You look like you’re measuring me for a cape. Let me stop you right there. That’s never going to happen. Not on Halloween, not ever.” Brad hated dressing up. One of the perks of making detective was not having to drag on his uniform and god-awful hat every day. His go-to for costume parties was to wear trunks and a bathrobe, and claim to be a medal-winning