His hands slid up my shirt and I did a quick mental inventory. Legs shaved? No granny panties? Just in case condom still in my purse? Check, check, and check. Beefcakes Girl did a mental woohoo! as I kissed him back.
His tongue touched mine and I suddenly felt like Ramirez was wearing way too many clothes. I slid my hands down his chest, fumbling like a nervous teenager at his belt buckle until his T-shirt came untucked. He didn’t protest in the least as I slid the fabric up and over his head. Though he did groan a little as I trailed my hands down his abdomen. Good lord, this guy was built. I bet he worked out more than Dana.
Ramirez picked me up like I weighed less than nothing and sat me on the kitchen counter. My skirt hiked up as his hands slid up my thighs, past my knees, past the oh-that-tickles spot, and on into where’s-that-freaking-condom territory.
I went back to fumbling with his belt buckle again. We were suddenly in a race. Who could get their clothes off fastest and the winner received the orgasm of their life. Ramirez’s shoes went flying across the room. My silk blouse was ripped off so fast one of the buttons popped off, pinging against my microwave. My bra was down around my waist and I heard the unmistakable sound of Ramirez’s zipper sliding open.
And then he froze. Okay, through my vodka-hormone cocktail it took me a second to realize he wasn’t kissing me back anymore. But when I did, I saw he was staring at a spot behind me.
“What?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”
“What is
I turned around to see what he was staring at. My heart sank.
The EPT.
“Uh, it’s nothing. Just, um, a little pregnancy test.”
It was as if I’d said, “Just a little nuclear bomb.” Ramirez instantly put two feet between us, still staring at the bomb like it might go off any second. “Why do you have a pregnancy test on your kitchen counter? Are you pregnant?” He stared at my belly. Thankfully, I was still flat as a board. But I could see him mentally putting a basketball there.
“No! I mean, I don’t know. I don’t think so. Well… maybe.”
His gaze whipped wildly from the test to me. Then he muttered a, “Jesus,” and sat down on my futon, scrubbing a hand over his face.
I slid off the counter, shrugging back into my bra as I sat down beside him.
“Richard’s?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Jesus,” he said again. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t know if there was anything to tell. And, well, I don’t know, you’re a cop and you thought I was in Greenway’s room. And then you came here and you looked so nice and you kissed me, and that was
“You forgot?” He stared at me.
“Uh huh.” In my defense, Ramirez shirtless was enough to make a woman forget her own name.
“Hell, this is… this was…” He waved his arms from me to the EPT, seemingly searching for the right words.
My heart bottomed out when he found them.
“A mistake,” he finally said. “This was a huge mistake coming here.”
A mistake. My bottom lip quivered. Okay, so maybe it was a mistake. In fact, I’m sure had we actually had sex, I would have been thinking the same thing as soon as the Virgin Marys wore off. But did he have to say it like that?
I wrapped my arms around my middle, suddenly very conscious of the fact my shirt was on the other side of the room.
“Maybe you should just go then,” I said. Then bit my lower lip to stop that damn quivering.
“You’re right. I should go.” Ramirez got up and retrieved his shirt from the floor.
“Fine,” I spat back. I’m not sure why I was so mad at him, but it beat being mad at myself. “Go then.”
“Hey, look, I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t come here for this,” he said, gesturing the counter where we’d been
“Oh, so you’re saying this is my fault? That I threw myself at you? That I’m some kind of drunken hussy?” The closer the words hit to home the louder I said them. Damn. I had thrown myself a little hadn’t I? But he’d been more than willing to catch me.
“I didn’t say that. You’re not a drunken-” He paused. “Wait, you’re pregnant and you went out and got drunk?” He stared at me as if I’d just confessed to shooting my grandmother.
That did it. The quivering lip shook out of control and big fat tears rolled out of my eyes. Did I mention I also tend to get a little emotional when I’m drunk?
“I-I-I’m a horrible p-p-person,” I wailed.
“Oh, Jesus.”
“I’ll be a horrible m-m-mother.”
Ramirez sat down beside me. “No, you won’t. I’m sure you’ll be a fine mother.”
“I didn’t mean to get drunk. I was tricked. I would n-n-never hurt a baby.” My words were coming out in big slobbery sobs and I was pretty sure my nose was running too. This was about as unsexy as you could get.
“Hey, it’s okay. I’m sure the baby is okay.”
“If there is a baby,” I reminded him between sniffles.
“Right. If there is one.” He put his arm around me.
“I’m sorry.” I sniffed again. “I’m a mess.”
Ramirez looked at me. He pushed one stray strand of hair behind my ear. Oddly enough it was an even more intimate gesture than having his hands up my shirt. More… touching. Wow. Who knew Bad Cop had a soft side?
“You’re not a mess. You’ll make a beautiful mother.”
Okay, so I knew he was lying. I was so far from beautiful right now. My mascara must be in streaks, my nose was running and red, and I’m sure my eyes were once again puffier than the Michelin man. But it was a nice lie. And he was a nice guy to say it.
“I’m sorry,” I said again. “I’m sure you have stuff to do. Important Bad Cop stuff.”
He smiled. Not that smirky smile and not the sexy, wolfish grin either. Just a smile, like maybe deep down he really didn’t think I was such a mess after all. “Nope,” he said. “I’ve got nowhere to go.”
He pulled me close to him and I laid my head down on his chest. I could hear his heart beating. It was a comforting sound. He smelled like fresh laundry and mellow aftershave. I took a deep breath, inhaling his scent.
I closed my eyes. I wasn’t sure if it was the vodka, the good cry, or Ramirez’s steady heartbeat beneath my cheek, but for the first time in days I felt peaceful. Calm, peaceful and so very relaxed. I closed my eyes and let my thoughts drift, feeling utterly comfortable in Ramirez’s arms.
I heard a phone ringing, echoing through my head like a car with too much bass. Slowly I flexed one limb, then the other. My neck was stiff, like I’d fallen asleep sitting up and my mouth felt like sandpaper. I managed to open one eye a crack.
And saw Ramirez.
Yikes!
I blinked hard against the assault of sunlight coming through my windows. What the hell was Ramirez doing in my apartment? His head was lolled back on the futon cushions, his mouth slightly open as his slept, making deep breathing sounds. Slowly it came back to me as I watched him. The Virgin Mary’s, the EPT. Ramirez’s hands up my shirt.
Uhn. I groaned. Oh God, I’d practically thrown myself at him. And then bawled all over him. I’d made a drunken fool of myself. I shook my head. Ouch. And I had the headache to prove it. And where the hell was that ringing coming from?
I dove for my purse on the floor, every movement jarring my head until it pounded like a marching band. Oh my
