Matchmaker 12: December

"Thanks. I'm ready."

An hour later, after she retrieved her cell phone charger and a few other personal items from her car, we pulled into my driveway. My cruiser went into the garage, and her rented Audi pulled in behind. I waited until she joined me in the garage.

"Let me change," I said as we entered the kitchen.

"Want some help?"

I chuckled. "If you want, but we might be late to dinner."

"Might be worth it," she purred.

"Then come on," I challenged.

She followed me into my bedroom. I wasn't going to make the first move, at least not now. I wanted her, but I wouldn't let her lead me around by my cock. She watched, a small smile on her lips, as I removed my gear, then my shirt, ballistic vest, the t-shirt I always wore underneath to prevent chafing, and finally my pants and shoes.

I smiled at her as she sat on the bed, one leg hooked comfortably on top with the other resting on the floor. I disappeared into the closet, returning with a pair of jeans, sneakers, and a shirt. I began jerking on my pants.

"Where are we going for dinner?" she asked.

"What are you in the mood for?"

"Nothing heavy. I don't want to feel stuffed."

I liked the way that sounded. "How about Thai then? I know a good place."

She grinned. "Friends of yours?"

"No. Just a place I like. I sometimes stop there and pick something up when I don't feel like cooking."

"Sure. Sounds good."

"Ever had Thai?" She looked at me, her expression telling me everything I needed to know. I smiled as I held up my hands. "Just asking."

I slipped my weapon inside my pants and finished tucking in my shirt so people couldn't see it. "You always carry that?" she asked with a nod at my gun.

"Never leave home without it. Does it bother you?"

"I don't like guns."

"Is me being a cop going to be a problem?"

She shook her head. "No. I've just..." She shrugged.

"What?"

"It doesn't matter."

"I'd like to know."

She shrugged again. It was the first time I'd seen her reluctant to speak her mind. "I don't mind you having one because you're a police officer, but I don't understand why you'd want to carry it when you're not on duty."

"Because bad guys don't work regular hours."

"Yeah, I guess."

I didn't offer to leave the weapon behind, and I wasn't going to. If this was going to be a problem for her, she needed to get over it or we had no chance together. Better to find that out early. "What is it about guns you don't like?"

"They're dangerous."

"How?"

"What do you mean how? They kill people."

"Just as many people die in car crashes."

"Maybe, but that's not what cars are designed to do."

"True enough. Arguably, that makes them more dangerous. After all, my pistol is only dangerous when it's used for its intended purpose, but cars kill people all the time despite the fact that's not what they're supposed to do."

"That's a stupid argument. Nobody needs to own a gun, but lots of people need cars. Being a cop, I'd think you'd be all for gun control."

I smiled. "Not every officer supports gun control. I'm all for people legally owning guns."

"Why? That makes no sense to me. Aren't you afraid of being shot?"

"Of course. Why do you think I wear a ballistic vest? What I'm not afraid of, however, is being shot by a regular guy who wants to legally carry a weapon to protect his family." She shook her head and looked away. "Here's how I look at it. If someone tries to rob you, or God forbid, rape you, from the time I get a call to the time I arrive on scene, it could be four or five minutes. For those four or five minutes, you have to defend yourself. I don't want to force anyone to carry a gun if they don't want to, but on the other hand, I don't think it's right to force people to be defenseless either."

"Okay, I get that, but if we banned guns then nobody would have them."

"I have a better idea. Why don't we just make it illegal for someone to harm another person? That takes care of knives, bats, and everything else too." I waited, our gazes locked. "I'm going to carry my weapon. If that's a problem for you, I understand."

She held my gaze for another ten or fifteen seconds, but I said nothing. She had to work it out for herself. "No. I guess not," she murmured as she looked away.

I smiled. "Good. I hate eating alone. Are you ready?"

She still didn't look completely convinced but nodded. Maybe I could take her to a shooting range and let her handle a gun. If she became a little more comfortable around one, maybe she wouldn't be so distraught by me carrying.

"My car or yours?" she asked.

"Let's take mine. I don't get it out nearly as often as I'd like."

I opened the Mustang's door for her, and she settled inside. I walked around and squeezed in under the steering wheel. "We okay?" I asked, placing my hand on her leg.

"Yeah. I'm sorry."

I leaned over and kissed her quickly. "Don't worry about it. You're not alone in thinking guns are dangerous."

"And you don't?"

"They're a tool. Nothing more, nothing less. The problem isn't the gun, it's the person holding it."

"Yeah, I guess. Can we talk about something else?"

I started the car, blipping the throttle to keep the cold natured beast running and to listen to its throaty roar. "Sure. What would you like to talk about?"

"Where are we going?"

"Wat Pho."

"It's close?"

"Ten minutes or so."

She half-smiled but said nothing. I could tell she wasn't happy that she and I were so diametrically opposed on our views of gun control, but I didn't get the sense it was enough to derail what we had going. At least I hoped not. I liked having her around.

Ryan and I ambled across the red brick surrounding Buckingham Fountain, my left hand clasped in his right, our other two hands holding a pair of ice creams. It was a pleasant September afternoon, and we'd driven into Chicago in my new Audi to stroll along the lakefront of Grant park, admire the rose gardens that flanked the north and south sides of the fountain, and generally spend some time together.

In the five weeks we'd been seeing each other, I was becoming increasingly comfortable around him. I couldn't put my finger on exactly what it was about him I found so appealing. Maybe that was because it wasn't any one thing. Yes, he was sexy as hell, and yes, he could leave me gasping for breath, but it was more than how he made me feel as he made love to me.

He was a good man, sure of himself but not cocky. Firm, but kind and understanding. He clearly knew who he was and what he stood for, but he wasn't a complete ass about it. We didn't agree on everything, but he was okay with that, and while he'd stand his ground, he didn't belittle my opinion. Most of all, he made me feel special, important... and yes, sexy and desired.

Our love making had been steadily improving as we became more comfortable with each other. We were still learning what tickled each other's fancy, and our fucking was all over the place, from hard, fast, and intense, to playful, slow, and loving, and everywhere in between. He fit me perfectly, large enough to please, but not so large to hurt, his manhood taking me to the edge of erotic pain and the peak of pleasure.

But more than the sex, as good as that was, was how much I simply enjoyed his company. I liked the fact he didn't play stupid games. He always did what he said, and he plainly said what he did. He was open and honest about everything and was apparently keeping no secrets. It was clear he wouldn't let me control him, but he took into account my wants, desires, and feelings when making decisions. I still didn't like the fact he carried a gun everywhere we went, but we'd reached a silent compromise. I didn't touch it and he didn't flaunt it. Except for the clip on his belt, I rarely saw his gun when he wasn't in uniform, except when he undressed, and then I was distracted enough by other things I didn't spend any time thinking or worrying about it.

My phone rang in my purse. I frowned, handed him my cone, and retrieved my phone from its pocket on my purse. It was Sage. My office phone rang to my cell if I didn't pick it up in three rings. "I have to take this," I murmured as I lifted the phone to my ear. "This is Brooklyn."

"Brooklyn, this is Sage Piper."

"Yes, Ms. Piper. How may I help you?"

"I just saw your email. Minnesota? Really?"

"To what are you referring?"

"You want me to go to the boonies of Minnesota to meet this guy?"

"Yes. Is that going to be a problem?"

"No, not really, but why?" she replied. I could tell from the tone of her voice she was less than thrilled with the idea.

"The client requested it. He wanted to be alone with you and not be easily reached. He specifically requested someplace without cell or internet service and away from major population centers. Again, is this going to be a problem? I'll remind you that you're under no obligation to accept and may back out at any time with no repercussions."

She was quiet for a moment. "No, that's okay. I just don't understand why someone would want to live like a caveman."

I smiled. "Hardly a caveman. It's because he wanted to get away from the demands of his position for the month that caused him to request this much isolation."

"Maybe, but I don't understand why we have to be out in the middle of nowhere for that to happen. He could just not answer his phone."

"You're free to decline."

"No. That's okay. I was just surprised by your email, that's all. I thought we'd go somewhere like New York or Hawaii, someplace like that. It's going to be cold in Minnesota in November."

"I know, but I gave him options, and this is the one he chose."

"Okay," Sage said.

She still didn't sound happy about it, but I'd reminded her that she was under no obligation to accept. Billy-Ray was so agreeable, matching him was easy. I'd picked Sage because she fit his preferred physical attributes a little better, but Melinda would be another good fit for him.

"Any other questions?"

"No."

"If you have any other concerns, don't hesitate to call."

"Thank you, I will," Sage said before she hung up.

"Problems?" Ryan asked.

"No. I've got an interview setup for a personal assistant, and she had questions."

He held my gaze for a moment. "A personal assistant?"

"Yes, why?"

"What was all that about being alone with her, and the no cell phone or internet service?"

I swallowed. He may not keep secrets, but I did. "Nothing."

He held my gaze a moment longer and then handed back my ice cream. "Okay, if you say so. It's none of my business."

His tone made it clear he was willing to drop it, but it was equally clear he still had questions and he knew I was withholding something from him. I licked my cone, chasing the softening outside before it dripped on my hand. I didn't want to go into the specifics of my job with him. Not only did my clients expect my discretion, it really wasn't any of his business what I did for a living, nor could I easily predict how someone would react to finding out what I really did.

After we completed our slow stroll through the rose gardens, we returned to the fountain to watch the water show, before strolling along the edge of Lake Michigan back to my car. Though he hadn't said anything else about my phone call, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had subtly changed between us.

"We okay?" I asked as we ambled along, the water of the lake softly lapping at the concrete border.

"Fine, why?"

"Nothing. I just had a feeling something was off."

He twisted his face in a comic denial. "Nothing I know of."

We continued our slow walk back to my car. Despite his words, our conversation seemed a little strained, kind of how I felt right after I realized he always had his weapon with him, but this time he seemed slightly put off. I agreed with him in that it wasn't any of his business, and I didn't want to elaborate on what I actually did for a living. Like me with his weapon, he could accept me as I was or not. I chose to not make his carrying a weapon a deal breaker, and I hoped he would feel the same about my job.

"What now?" I asked as we stopped at my car. The dealer had to search far and wide, and had to ship the car in from New Jersey, but I had a new RS5 painted the same green that I'd loved so much.

He held my gaze a moment. "When was the last time you were at the lily pond?"

"I've never been."

"Really?" he asked, and I shook my head. "Want to go?"

The lily pond was reputed to be one of the most romantic locations in Chicago. I wouldn't know, having never been, but I was looking forward to finding out for myself.

"Sure. It's in Lincoln Park, right?"

He nodded. "By the zoo. How far do you think that is from here?" He pulled out his phone. "Hang on a second," he continued as he tapped and swiped. "About four miles. Want to drive or walk it?"

That was eight miles, round trip, which was a pretty good hike considering we'd just spent almost two hours meandering around Grant Park. On the other hand, I could think of worse things to do than walking along the edge of Lake Michigan with Ryan on a beautiful, late summer day.

"Let's walk it."

He grinned. "Deal."

"I may need to soak my feet when I get home."

His smiled softened. "How about a foot massage instead?"

A thrill passed through me. Nobody had ever offered to massage my feet before, and the suggestion sounded both wickedly sexy and wonderfully romantic. "If you're willing to do that, then definitely yes, let's walk."

"That... and more," he rumbled, his gaze smoldering before he smiled.

If he kept that up, I might decide to skip the lily pond and go straight to the foot massage... and the more. I jerked my head with a grin. He got the message and walking around my car to join me. We spent the next hour ambling along hand in hand at a comfortable pace. I ran five miles every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday to keep fit. The walk itself was pleasant enough, but I couldn't enjoy it because my mind kept going to what we were going to do later, and the anticipation was making me feel itchy.

We were alternating weekends at each other's homes, along with three nights during the week, normally on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday's. Mondays were spent at whoever hadn't hosted the weekend, and Wednesday at the other. It was a system that worked for us. We were working up a sweat four nights a week, but I was still longing for him the other three nights.

His phone rang and I smiled. It was his mother. I knew she called every Saturday between one and three without fail. He smiled at me, knowing I knew who was calling. As we strolled, I listened to his half of the conversation.

His parents, Bob and Rebecca Husher, were traveling the country in their RV after Bob had retired from the Chicago Fire Department as battalion chief of Second District, Eleventh Battalion. Two years ago, he and Becca had sold their home in Mt. Prospect, bought a forty-foot Winnebago, and were touring the country, spending their winters in Arizona, Florida, or other places south, to escape Chicago's brutal winters.

"Yes, starting to," he said with a smile at me. He paused and listened. "No, someone new." Another pause. "Brooklyn." Pause. "A few weeks." Pause. "Yes." Pause. "She's a doctor, and she owns her own recruiting agency." Another pause as his smile spread. "No, not serious, not yet, but you never know," he said, winking at me. "Maybe. We'll see. It depends on when you arrive, how long you stay, what's going on, and if she's busy."

A chill passed over me. I knew what that part of the conversation was about. I wasn't sure I was ready to meet the parents just yet.

"I know, Mom," he said, his smile growing wider, "and I will." He paused as he began nodding his head and rolling his eyes. "Yes, Mom, I know. Don't worry, okay?" He winked exaggeratedly at me. "If we decide to get married, you'll be the first to know."

My blood ran cold with his words, but after a moment's thought, I realized he'd probably said that for my benefit. I slapped him playfully on the shoulder for scaring me as I grinned. He listened some more, grunting occasionally, before he began to twirl his free hand in a hurry up and finish motion.

"Yes, okay. I look forward to seeing you too. Uh-huh. Yes. Maybe. Sure. Okay, bye, love you too," he said, his words broken up by pauses of various length. "Wow!" he said with a smile as he ended the call.

"Married?" I asked, struggling to keep my face and voice neutral.

"Mothers. What can you do?" he said, still smiling. He clearly thought it was funny. "She's worried I'll get hurt again. We go through this every time I start dating someone."

"So, you've had this conversation a lot?" I asked, fishing for more information.

"Not a lot. Depends on the woman if I even mention her."

"Is it good or bad I made the cut?"

"Oh, it's good. It's very good," he rumbled in his bedroom voice. "If you couldn't guess, they'll be here in a couple of weeks, and Mom invited us to dinner."

"She wants to check out the woman sleeping with her baby?"

He chuckled. "Something like that. She's a little protective."

"You're still her baby," I teased.

"Yeah. That's probably part of it."

His tone was slightly off, and I frowned slightly. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing. My sister disappeared about ten years ago, and we haven't heard from her since, so Mom—"

"Oh my God! I'm so sorry!"

"No, no," he said, waving away my comment. "Nothing like that. She, Mom, and Dad used to fight like cats and dogs. Bobbie, Roberta, is three years older than me, and she was always getting into trouble. Fights and cheating at school, drugs, alcohol, pregnant, the works. She's probably bipolar or something. Anyway, after getting tossed out for not paying her rent... again... because she spends all her money on drugs and can't hold a steady job, Mom and Dad told her she couldn't move back home unless she got some help. She refused, like always, told Mom and Dad to go fuck themselves, and disappeared. I've found dozens of Bobbie, Robbie, or Roberta Hushers around the country, but who knows if any of them are her?"

"I'm still sorry. Did you try to contact any of them to see if they were your sister?"

He slowly shook his head. "No. It was her choice to leave. If she wanted us to know where she was, she'd have contacted us. I know Mom blames herself for Bobbie leaving, and I think that comes out as her worrying about me." He shrugged. "Like I said, Mothers. What can you do?"

"Don't you want to know?"

"Of course. We all tried to help her, but she didn't want our help." He smiled, but there was no humor in it. "People have to want to help themselves, and she didn't. She's totally self-destructive, sleeping with anyone that will help her support her drug habit. As things got worse, I had to avoid being around her because..."

"Because?" I asked when he didn't continue.

"Because I didn't want to see anything that would force me to arrest my own sister. Nothing good could have come from that."

I was quiet for a long moment. I suspected his sister was part of the reason he was so steady now. "That had to be hard."

"It wasn't easy, especially seeing how much it hurt Mom and Dad. They dealt with the worst of it for more than ten years before she left. I hate to say it, but her leaving was probably the best thing that could happen. It broke their hearts in the beginning, but she was slowly killing them when she was here."

We were quiet for a time, each of us lost in our own thoughts. I couldn't imagine how hard it must have been for him. I hadn't known Ryan long, but I knew enough about him to know he was a good cop, and he'd do his duty, no matter what it cost. He clearly cared about Bobbie, but because he knew she was using drugs, he had to isolate himself from her, lest he be forced to do something that would only hurt his parents more.