Page 119 of The Friends and Rivals Collection

DEREK

I don’t always remove marbles from noses, but when I do, I’m awesome at it. “Stay still. I’ve got it.”

Thanks to forceps fixed firmly in place, the small blue marble slips out easily from the tyke’s nose and into my waiting palm.

“Oh, thank God,” the mother says, relief flowing off her in waves. “You’re a lifesaver.”

She turns to the three-year-old with the predilection for testing his nasal cavity. “Don’t ever scare me like that again, Oliver.” She grabs her son and tugs him in for a crushing hug, the kind that won’t end for days.

“I won’t, Mommy.”

“He’s going to be just fine,” I tell the worried woman, who called mere minutes ago.

“You’re a godsend. How can I thank you?”

“No need to thank us. It’s our job, and we’re happy to do it.”

She extends a hand. “I’m Claire. I work in events at the Windemere Inn. If I can ever do anything, let me know.”

Something about the name of her workplace tugs at my memory, but I can’t quite place it.

“Derek,” I say, then introduce Hunter. “And don’t worry. We are all good.”

Hunter offers her the marble. “Want to keep it as a memento?”

Claire laughs as she hugs her son closer. “No, I want him to never play with marbles again.”

“I won’t play with them, Mommy.”

“Take care, and hopefully you won’t need us again, but you know where to find us if you do,” I say.

We head down the stairs of the apartment building. “If only all our calls were that easy.”

Hunter drums his fingers against the banister. “But I’ll take easy when it comes our way. And it’s been an easy day.”

“Couldn’t agree more. Today is just one of those fantastically good days.”

As we reach the van, he shoots me a curious stare. “I’m not sure I’m buying that marbles are the reason for your happy mood.”

I yank open the door. “Why not?”

He scratches his jaw. “Call me Sherlock, but I think you might be one happy camper thanks to a certain lady cop.”

I smile as I get into the passenger side.

Once he’s in the driver’s seat, he turns to me, pressing the issue. “You two were putting on quite a show at bowling the other night.”

“Glad you enjoyed our special performance. Be sure to tune in again every night.”

“Every night, is it?”

“Hey, you want lunch?”

“Dude, it’s ten in the morning. Even I’m not hungry just yet. Don’t change the subject. Are you guys a thing now?”

I shrug. “I don’t know.”

He turns on the engine and pulls away. “You might be slow on the uptake, then. If I were you, I’d get on that right away. I’ve known Perri Keating for years. I can’t tell you the last time she dated anyone.”

That intrigues me to no end. “That so?”

“She’s pretty much a solo rider. But man, she’s a catch. That’s why if she were into me, I’d make damn sure no one else had a chance.”

The mere prospect that any other man might look at her with desire makes me snarl. “No one does have a chance.”

“Oh, it’s serious, then?”

“No,” I grumble.

“Then make it serious, dickhead. She’s a special lady.”

Trouble is, I don’t know how to make it serious. All I know is we can’t exist in this in-between state forever. The kissing contest is this weekend, and we made a deal. We set a deadline.

Sure, I could tell her I’ve revised my stance. I could let on that I’m ready for her to be mine and only mine.

But if I’m going to do what Hunter said—make sure no one else has a chance—I need to figure out when and how to make my case.

Relationships aren’t my strong suit. I’m more than rusty, and even though flirty banter and dirty phrases fall easily from my lips, words vex me when it comes to what to say to a woman who’s declared relationships off-limits.

When I return home that night, open the back door, and turn into the kitchen, I find a note on the blackboard.

For the baby.

Next to the blackboard is a gift, wrapped in pink paper with a bow. This woman. My God.

How can I convince her to be mine when she doesn’t want to be?

I don’t fucking know.

But I have to figure it out.

My ears zoom in on the sound of water running. She must be taking a shower. As I regard the empty kitchen, I figure food is always a good start with Perri.

Peering into the fridge, I spot broccoli and mushrooms. I start chopping so I can sauté the veggies for her, along with some jasmine rice.

As I’m cooking, the shower stream cuts off, and I hear the telltale signs of her moving around her bedroom. A few minutes later, she emerges, entering the kitchen wearing her witch jammies and a black tank top.

My heart stutters.

Holy hell. She’s so damn beautiful and . . . sad? Her eyes are rimmed with red, like she’s been crying. What the hell?

“Hey, kitten. What happened?”

Her mouth is a straight line, but then her lower lip quivers. “I didn’t get the promotion,” she whispers quietly.

“Shit, babe, I’m sorry.” I turn off the burner, setting down the spatula.

I reach to hug her, but she winces and holds out a hand. Stops me. Whispers one, two, three, then jerks up her gaze. “How long are we going to do this?” Her tone shifts instantly from sad to tough as nails.

“Do what?”

She flaps her hands wildly. “Play house? Cook and screw and pretend we’re a couple?”

For a long time , I want to reply, but tears spill from her eyes, and I’m thoroughly confused. I don’t know what to say or how to say it or if now is the time.

“I like cooking for you.” As soon as that comes out, I’m positive it isn’t what she needs to hear. But I’m also certain I’ve no clue what to say to fix a damn thing. I try again. “How long do you want to do this?”

She swipes a hand across her cheek then takes a deep breath. “We agreed to do this till the contest. Get it out of our systems. But we’re acting like a couple.”

Wait. I’m wrong. This is the time. This is my entrée to wedge my way into her heart. “We are. That’s true.”

That’s a start, right?

She frowns. “But we’re not. You know that?”

“I do know that,” I say tentatively, trying to figure out how to keep moving the conversation forward.

She points at me. “You made it clear from the start. You said no relationships . You said you didn’t want anything. And now we’re living together, and we can’t just keep going on indefinitely. You’re my roommate, I’m your landlord, and the more we keep doing this, the stupider we get.”

I blink, trying to process why we’re dumb.

She sucks in a breath, and her voice catches again as it rises. “And it’s distracting. It’s totally distracting.”

“It is?”

She flings up her hands, her eyes shining with tears.

“Obviously it’s distracting. I didn’t get the job, and that means I’m not focusing on work enough.

All I think about is you. Seeing you and being with you and kissing you and talking to you.

” She snaps her gaze away, covering her face with her hands.

“And it’s stupid. It’s so stupid because we made a deal. ”

Carefully, I step forward, peeling her fingers from her face. “You think you lost your focus?”

She swallows roughly, nodding. “I’ve been laser-focused on this forever, but then you showed up and look what happened. I missed the biggest chance of my career.”

I hardly know what to say.

I barely know what she needs.

I don’t know how to make this right.

But if she were an emergency call, I’d have to figure it out.

Once I apply my work problem-solving skills, the answer flashes before me.

Brilliantly and awfully.

She needs an out. She needs an end.

I have to give it to her, as much as it hurts.

I’m not simply ripping off the Band-Aid. I’m tearing away a piece of my heart that she inextricably owns.

But that’s the only way to fix her emergency. I look her in the eyes, staying strong, treating her like a patient who needs help, who needs a calm and competent guiding hand. “Maybe we should cool things off. What if we go back to being housemates? Like we agreed. Does that sound good to you?”

She closes her eyes like everything hurts.

And everything does hurt.

Every damn piece of my heart and soul screams at me. But I have to give her—and us—the treatment we need. “We can also call off the contest if you think that’s best.”

Her eyes snap open, and I expect a fiery answer. Something like No way, we’re going to nail it, and then we’ll go back to being roomies . Instead, she shrugs. “I don’t know anything anymore.”

My fingers itch to soothe her, my arms to wrap around and comfort her. But I remain unyielding as a statue. “Sleep on it, Perri.”

She seems to flinch when I say her name. Maybe because she’s used to being kitten . Maybe because I can’t call her that anymore.

“I’ll sleep on it. But you’re right about everything else. Housemates—that’s all we can be.”

The pain radiates through me, but I know she’s hurting too. I add, just to be sure, just so I give the patient exactly what she needs, “We’ll go back to how it was.”

“Yes. There’s no other choice.”

I want to tell her there are a million other choices. There is being together, there is falling in love, there is taking care of each other.

But she’s not in this the way I am.

And I’m not in it now either.

She leaves for her room, and I finish cooking, but when I take a bite, the food tastes like dust. I clean the dishes, grab Devon’s present, and carry the hat for my niece upstairs, wishing it didn’t feel like a parting gift.