Maybe It's Real Read online

  Anna clapped her hands gleefully. “Go and ask your hot guy out.”

  “Ugh. No. Grumpy is not my jam. Besides, I thought we weren’t talking about dating and romance?”

  “I said not just dating and romance. But, okay. If the romance angle doesn’t grab you, go jump out of a plane.”

  “Uh…no, again. Also, jump out of a plane?”

  “Stephen—” Anna’s voice frosted his name, “—stole your spirit. Your joie de vivre. Your risk-taking, what-the-hell, give-it-a-go hellion nature.”

  Hellion was putting it a bit strong. But…yeah. Chloe knew what Anna meant. Stephen had changed her, whether she liked it or not.

  There had been no big drama. Their relationship hadn’t lasted long. Their breakup hadn’t been traumatic. The thing was, it didn’t have to be deep or dramatic to leave a mark.

  Because of the way Stephen had treated her, Chloe had learned what it meant to be cautious where before she’d been nothing but open. She’d learned to feel uncertain, and she hated it.

  She missed her old self, crazy as it sounded. Her pre-Stephen self.

  She still wasn’t about to jump out of a plane in some life-affirming statement, though.

  But Anna didn’t know that.

  Hiding her smile, Chloe said, “All right. I’ll do it.”

  “All right! Go get him!”

  “Nope. I’m gonna jump out of a plane.”

  Anna paled.

  “Come on,” Chloe said. “Let’s do it together! It’ll be fun. Think of the selfies!”

  Anna paled further.

  “No? Okay. I’ll do it on my own. You’ll come along, won’t you? I bet they give you helmet cams to film the plummet, but I like the idea of having someone shooting footage from the ground, too. You can film me as I rush toward you from the distant blue, a tiny little skydiving speck. I’ll post it on Instagram. Hashtag: livin’ my life. Don’t need no men. Love my BFF. Yeah, this sounds amazing. I’m all fired-up now. I’m going to do it.” She grabbed her cell phone and started tapping at the screen. “Nearest skydiving school is about ninety minutes south of the city. Oh, wow. Listen to this. You can reach a speed of up to one hundred thirty miles an hour! I wonder if they have anything open this weekend—”

  Anna snatched the phone out of her hand. “No jumping out of planes.”

  “But—”

  “No jumping out of planes. You’re going to ask him out. It’s easier. It’s cheaper. There are no ripcords.”

  “I’ll ask him out. If you promise to ask out the ice man.”

  If possible, Anna looked even more horrified than when Chloe was talking about herself as a tiny speck in the distant blue. The ice man was Anna’s latest client, a bossy tech company CEO whose chilly reserve Anna could not crack, no matter how hard she tried.

  Even though she denied trying at all.

  “This isn’t about me,” Anna said.

  “If I’m doing it, you’re doing it. Squad goal. Or I’ll jump out of a plane.”

  “Fine. I’ll ask my ice man, you ask your hot guy. But you go first.”

  Chloe laughed. “I’ll ask a hot guy, but not the grumpy one. Deal?”

  “I’ll pick. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  Chloe had expected Anna to at least scan the room before she chose her target, but she immediately tipped her head to the side and said, “Him.”

  Chloe followed the direction Anna indicated, and almost choked on her cosmo.

  The moment Chloe looked at him, the man’s eyes sliced her way and, it felt, right through her. Chloe’s lips parted and a small noise came out.

  “Take it you approve?” she heard Anna asking. Somewhere in the distance.

  He didn’t look away, even as he raised the beer bottle and took a long drink.

  Chloe’s eyes dropped to watch his throat in fascination as he swallowed. Realizing that she was ogling a stranger’s throat, she tore her gaze away.

  “Go,” Anna said, and gave the rung of Chloe’s bar stool a kick. “Get on with it.”

  Chloe stiffened. “I said no to grumpy guy.” She risked a glance back across the bar to where he sat at a table with another man. His friend was a couple of inches shorter and built like a tank. He had buzzed hair, a big smile, and an animated way of talking that had his hands waving in the air. “I’ll go for the happy one.”

  “You’ll go for the one I’ve watched check you out for the last twenty minutes.”

  “The happy one?” she asked hopefully. He looked nice.

  “Nope. Frowny one. Blue shirt, brown hair badly in need of a cut, still looking at you.”

  “Like…? How’s he looking at me? Like he’s annoyed, or…?”

  “Like you want the man you’re about to ask out to look at you,” Anna said.

  Chloe puffed out a sigh.

  Why embarrass herself in front of two different men on the same night? She’d already made an idiot out of herself in front of him.

  Time for round two.

  CHAPTER TWO

  In his career as a cop, Owen had logged many, many hours of surveillance. Hours on stakeouts being parboiled by hot sun in crappy cars, hours driving all over the city on the tail of suspects, hours waiting for no-show snitches at grimy cafes, diners and restaurants, drinking enough coffee to make him scream if someone so much as breathed heavily in his direction.

  And yet, it would seem, his covert skills were somewhat lacking. He’d been made by the willowy blonde the first time he glanced over, and he’d twice clashed gazes with the brunette who’d been pssting at him earlier.

  Oh no, he had lipread. Not you. She’d seemed so appalled at the possibility of him thinking that she wanted his attention.

  She’d damn sure got it, though.

  Which was why he’d gone over to her once he’d picked up the beers, and asked if she needed something from him.

  He’d been irritated with himself for doing it.

  He’d intended to walk on past the table she’d been sitting at, her spine straight and her expression wary, but before he knew what he was doing, he’d stopped.

  Even as he’d asked that stupid question, he hadn’t known whether he wanted her to continue her awkward squirming under his gaze, or whether he wanted her to volley his abrupt challenge right back with something like—just spitballing here—why, yes. Thank you for asking. I need you and your sweet loving. Please have sex with me.

  Owen scowled at the involuntary thought. It was a knee-jerk douchebag reaction, kicked straight from his lizard brain, which had spotted something it liked the look of and wanted to havehavehave, right to his monkey brain which, when confronted with a pretty face and an infectious laugh that Owen had tuned into even across the noisy bar, was dumb as a box of rocks.

  His cheeks heated and he set his bottle down on the table with a sharp clink.

  He hated that guy. He wasn’t that guy.

  Anymore.

  He’d been that guy, for about a year after May, but it wasn’t what he wanted. It never had been. He couldn’t do casual. He wasn’t built that way.

  He wasn’t a one-night stand man, he was a one-woman man.

  Although there were a handful of women in San Francisco who would laugh in his face if he dared say it to them.

  “Owen?” Jim said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you sure you don’t need a wingman?”

  For god’s sake, was Jim still on that? “Yes,” he clipped out.

  “Reason I ask is because you’ve been staring holes in the lady with the floaty skirt for the last half hour, and now you’re shredding your beer label.”

  He was, Owen noticed with surprise. He brushed the damp curls of paper into a small pile. “She’s been staring at me. I’m assessing the situation.”

  “If you need help coming to a conclusion, I’d say she’s interested.”

  “I don’t need help.”

  Jim was, hands-down, the best partner Owen had ever had. Then again, after Rob, and then Fletche
r, the bar for best partner was way, way down there, so. Not saying much. But Owen wasn’t in a hurry to fill that vacant best-friend slot, and anytime Jim wanted to butt out of Owen’s sex life would be great.

  “Yeah,” Jim was saying, oblivious to Owen’s complete and utter lack of interest in the topic, “you sit in one place long enough and I guess they come to you, huh? Looking like you do.”

  Owen squinted at him.

  “All handsome and shit,” Jim clarified. “I bet you get hit on all the time.”

  “Nope.”

  “I think I know why.”

  “It’s my resting bitch face.”

  “It’s your don’t touch me vibe, is what it is.”

  “Okay.”

  “You really don’t get hit on? Weird. All I know is, when you give me that sultry glare, I get shivers. And, reminder—” he snatched up his phone and stuck it under Owen’s nose again, “—I am the happy thrall of a goddess.”

  Owen folded his arms across his chest and considered Jim. “Maybe I’m shy,” he said.

  “Hah.”

  “I’m not shy,” he conceded. “I’m private.”

  “Are you at least open to being hit on?”

  No. He wasn’t open to it. Owen wanted to date even less than he wanted to sleep around. He wasn’t going to start that conversation with Jim, however, so he said, “Sure. Why not?”

  “And if a lady were to come over and ask you to dinner, you’d date her?”

  “Yeah.”

  Owen felt secure in his bluff.

  It wouldn’t happen. Used to be the wedding ring made enough of a statement. Although he no longer wore his ring, in the two years since he’d taken it off, he had yet to lure a woman in with his devastating handsomeness.

  In his entire life, Owen had been asked out a grand total of once. He’d been eighteen years old, a freshman in college, and a hell of a lot more approachable when May Spenser had waltzed up to him on campus and informed him that he was taking her out for pizza.

  Owen sighed. “Are we done discussing my love life yet?”

  “Almost.”

  “What else could there possibly be to say?”

  “I do believe the lady in the floaty skirt is about to come over and ask you out, and when she does, we’ll find out whether or not you’re full of shit, partner.”

  Owen followed Jim’s big smile over to the pretty brunette, and once again their eyes clashed. She was half out of her seat, but whatever she read in his face made her drop back to sitting.

  “Nice move, buddy,” Jim said. “And that’s cheating, by the way.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You weren’t trying to put her off?”

  “Nope. That was my come-hither smile.”

  “Weird. It looks remarkably like your make my day, motherfucker smile.”

  “You probably didn’t notice, but I added bedroom eyes.”

  “Good call. I think you cinched it.”

  “What—”

  “Hi,” a bright voice said beside him.

  Owen turned and gaped up at the woman.

  * * * *

  Why had she let Anna talk her into this again? Right. Because Stephen stole her spirit of adventure, and she was claiming it back.

  When Chloe opened her mouth and said hi, the man had twisted at the waist to gape at her in disbelief.

  The exact same way she imagined he’d have reacted if his beer bottle had started tap-dancing in front of him, complete with a tiny top hat and cane.

  It took every ounce of nerve she had not to say never mind, and fast-walk out of there.

  For a horrible moment, Chloe thought he was going to turn back to his friend without even acknowledging her, but then he jerked and grunted—she saw his friend kick him under the table—and thrust up to his feet.

  Her head tipped back. He had a good eight inches on her.

  “Detective Owen Vance,” he announced, as abruptly as he’d stood.

  All right. She stuck out a hand. “Physical therapist Chloe Abbott.”

  He took her hand in a warm, firm clasp and gave it a businesslike shake, without a flicker of amusement at her playful greeting.

  “So,” she said. “Owen. Can I interest you in dinner?”

  He frowned, and slid a look at his friend, who was grinning. The friend caught Chloe’s eye. He winked.

  God, this was awkward.

  Please say no, Chloe thought. Save us both the repercussions of my terrible judgment in letting Anna convince me this was a good idea, and say no.

  Say it.

  No.

  “Yeah,” Owen said. “Sure.”

  “Oh. Well, hey. That’s great.”

  “Yeah,” he said.

  He was still holding her hand. They stared at each other some more. Chloe knew she was second-guessing herself here, what with the near-toxic and still-rising levels of awkward, but physical attraction wasn’t a problem.

  He was… He was something else.

  Tall and lean muscled with straight, broad shoulders. Chestnut eyes that only looked more intense when he narrowed them, like he was doing right now. Thick, light golden-brown hair that curled over his collar. The dark-blue sleeves of his shirt were rolled up over corded forearms. His body hummed with a restless energy. She’d felt it tingle in her palm when he shook her hand. She still felt tingles.

  He still had her hand in his.

  Chloe glanced back at his face, and the heat of those narrowed eyes sank all the way down to her bones.

  Okay, then. Physical attraction wasn’t a problem for him, either.

  He didn’t look very happy about it, though.

  They were in agreement. Chloe was growing less enchanted by the minute. She pulled her hand away.

  “Soooo…”

  They both turned to his friend, Chloe with relief and Owen with irritation.

  He seemed to be irritated a lot. Perhaps it was his default setting.

  The other man had an elbow on the table and his chin propped on his fist. His brown eyes danced with humor. “You need any restaurant recommendations for that dinner? I took my wife to a great new place last week. Best. Steaks. Ever.”

  “I’m vegetarian,” Chloe said with a smile. “How’s their veggie menu?”

  Owen made a dismissive noise beside her.

  She swiveled to face him. “What’s that?”

  “What?”

  “You tutted.”

  He shrugged.

  “Don’t tell me that you don’t approve of vegetarians, detective,” she said.

  He shrugged again. “I don’t get the appeal.”

  “Of what? Vegetables? Eaten one recently? Fries don’t count.” At this point, drowning in the awkward, Chloe spotted a glimmer of daylight at the surface, and kicked for it. “Is this a deal breaker, me being a vegetarian?” She eased away, putting some distance between them. She hadn’t noticed that they were standing so close. She was sure they hadn’t started out that close. “Would you like to reconsider? Call it off? I don’t mind. No harm done.”

  Back out, man. We both know this isn’t working.

  “No.” He aimed a scowl at his friend, who returned it with a big grin and a thumbs-up. To Chloe, Owen said, “We’re doing this.”

  Yay.

  “You free tomorrow?” he asked.

  Chloe blinked. “Tomorrow? Saturday?”

  “Yes. Tomorrow is Saturday.”

  “No, sorry, I have plans already.”

  His jaw tightened and his cheeks darkened. “Of course. Sunday?”

  “I—”

  “Monday.”

  Wow, he was keen to get this done.

  “Monday works,” she told him.

  They agreed—because he insisted—that Owen would pick her up at her apartment at seven on Monday night. She declined his invitation to join them for a beer, and marched back to Anna.

  “How did it go?” Anna demanded as Chloe slid onto her stool. “I was watching, but I honestly can’
t tell. Body language? Promising. Facial expressions? I got nothing.”

  “It was awkward.”

  “Don’t sugarcoat it, now. The pair of you looked more like you were exchanging insurance information after a fender bender than embarking upon a romance for the ages.”

  Chloe nodded. That was a pretty good description of how it had felt.

  She picked up her cosmo and took a heartening gulp. “I think I’d rather have gone skydiving. Or swimming with sharks.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Chloe lay on the couch, her head on one arm and her feet propped on the other. She held her phone up and stared at the time.

  7:59 p.m.

  As she watched…8:00 p.m.

  It was Monday night and Owen was an hour late.

  Or the bastard was standing her up.

  She rolled off the couch and stomped in the direction of her bedroom, ready to strip out of her fancy date outfit and throw on some yoga pants, when someone pounded on the front door.

  Chloe snatched it open and took a step back.

  Man, Owen looked rough. His hair was damp, although it wasn’t raining, his shirt was wrinkled and had a suspicious stain on the left side of his chest that looked a whole lot like ketchup, and one of his dark-brown shoes had a deep scuff along the side that showed pale against the leather.

  “Long day?” she said when he didn’t offer a greeting, or anything else like, say, a polite explanation for being an hour late.

  “Uh.” He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Sorry. I got caught up at work. You ready to go?”

  “I don’t think they’ll have held our table, Owen.”

  “Right. I’m late.” He glanced at his phone, clearly checking the time.

  “It’s eight.” Chloe leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb.

  “Shit. Eight? I didn’t realize it was… Sorry. Again. I’ll call the restaurant, tell them we’re on the way.”

  “You still want to do this? Really?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Why?”

  “You’re an hour late and…well…you don’t look like you’re into the whole idea. I assumed you were standing me up, to be honest.”

  “What?” He was indignant. “No. I wouldn’t do that. Wait there. I’m calling the restaurant.”