Secrets

glasses and bottles of alcohol followed. She took a minute to study the women because they weren’t people you’d put together, different not just in looks but mannerisms. Maureen was dressed in a buttercup yellow sundress and four inch heels, her silky blonde hair was down around her shoulders, her makeup looked professionally applied and her painted red lips were smiling wide. The woman with the vodka was smaller, had red hair, dressed in khaki shorts and cotton tank top. And then there was the woman who was currently stuffing a drumstick in her mouth. She was older than the others, maybe late fifties. Brown hair that was fading to gray and yet it was beautiful, cut into a bob that was flattering to her angular face. She was dressed in loose fitting linen pants and a cotton button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Arissa’s eyes darted to the cane, one she’d heard stories about. As she watched, the women all took a seat, right in the middle of Maureen’s lawn. They had barbeque and alcohol and were looking like they were waiting for the festivities to begin. She then heard the sound of a truck, watched as the ladies sat a little straighter in their chairs. Arissa followed their gazes to the landscape crew that parked down the street.

Shirts came off and the catcalls started. “That’s it, a nice even tan.” The older woman shouted. “I got something you can mow.”

“Oh me too, Sugar.” Maureen called. “Every damn day.”

The woman with the vodka took a healthy drink. “My bush could use some trimming.”

The older woman cackled. “Trimming more like a machete.”

Arissa bit back a laugh, looked at the lawn guys who weren’t hiding their laughter. It went on for about twenty minutes before the lawn guys loaded up their equipment, which was odd because they were in the middle of mowing a lawn.

The older woman stood up, waving a drumstick in their direction. “You’re not done,” she screamed down the street.

The truck pulled down the street, slowing when it reached Maureen’s house. Arissa couldn’t hear what was said, but when the truck drove off, the women were piling into the convertible and chasing after the truck, the remnants of their impromptu party still on Maureen’s lawn. What the hell just happened?

Not even a minute later, Hank’s SUV came down the street. Arissa felt flustered for an entirely different reason now. She watched as he parked, climbed from his SUV. Her heart was tripping in her chest because damn he really was a sight. He crossed the street to Maureen’s, grabbed the plate of chicken before he turned and headed her way. Her gaze drifted down his body, enjoying how that big, muscled body moved. He took the steps two at a time, her gaze taking its time, she lingered on the plate of chicken that looked mouth watering before she settled on his smiling face.

He pushed the plate in her direction, the smell wafting from the plate to fill the porch. “It’d be a sin to let the birds get to Hya’s barbeque.” His head jerked down the street, signaling to the abrupt disappearance of the Belles. “They’ll forget about it anyway since they got a full day ahead of them now.”

Arissa took the plate from him. Her mouth opened, then closed. She glanced down the street before looking back at Hank. “Why do I have the feeling you had something to do with that lawn crew leaving so quickly?”

Hank smiled. “I might have so I could avoid being interrogated by the Belles. Told the lawn guys to go over the park a few times, give the old broads something to drool over.” Hank started back down the steps when he finished, “Plus, they’ll tip them real well next time.” He pointed to her garage. “Can I shove my truck in there…” He looked up and down the street. “Keep the eyes off us?”

Realizing how the Belles had reacted to the lawn boys and looking at the man before her, yeah, she understood why he’d called them away. “Yeah. Let me open it for you.”

“No.” Hank threw a hand up. “I got it, you bring the chicken inside. I’ll be right in.”

Arissa didn’t leave right away, waited to see as Hank lifted the garage door, enjoying the play on his muscles. Then she smiled, bit her lip and headed inside. She was just getting the plates out when she heard the sound of Hank’s heavy foot falls. She called to him, “Do they do that often?”

Hank appeared in the doorway; leaning against the jamb, he studied Arissa. They’d only been around each other a handful of times but he couldn’t get her out of his head. Dressed in cutoffs and a tee, she moved around the kitchen with ease. The same ease he felt being around her. She was different from most of the women he’d been with. Not having to answer the fifteen million questions they’d ask or the doe-eyed stares from the younger women. Watching as she grabbed for the dishes high on a shelf, her shirt rode up on the side, showing her soft skin. A soft lusted grumble escaped his chest.

She glanced over, and saw him staring. For a man who had his attention pulled countless times throughout the day, she loved that he gave her his undivided focus when they were together. She also liked the look in his eyes. Her voice was a little rough when she asked, “Did you say something?”

Hank shook the haze from his head, righted himself and said, “No.” He looked blankly at her and asked, “Did you ask a question?” Jesus. Hank needed to get a fucking grip. If this were a case, he’d be fucked.

Arissa smiled. Walked to the fridge, grabbed two beers. She crossed the room to him, handed him one and said, “I asked if the Belles do that often.” Twisting the cap off she said, “Pretty remarkable that you