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Waylon grinned. “Christ, I want to fuck you again. That was…amazing.”

I held his gaze, and rasped, “Yeah.”

And just like that, raw lust and a swarm of butterflies roiled inside me. It would be so easy to shove Waylon against the counter and plaster myself all over his very fine body. But I could exercise a little self-control.

I grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge and the chicken I’d marinated earlier, then motioned for him to follow me outside.

Waylon stepped onto the deck and whistled. “Damn, your yard is huge.”

True. My lawn was in decent shape, and flower beds gave a pop of color in purples and reds. Tall trees along the perimeter added a sense of privacy, too. Well, except for the gaping patch behind Mrs. Abrams’s house where a thick branch had fallen on her roof during a particularly wicked storm. It looked a little funky, and it would take years for it to grow back. I chose to believe it added character. Like a gap between your two front teeth.

“Yeah. My kids talked me into getting a pool last summer.” I gestured to the above-ground oval-shaped structure with a cedar deck located at the end of the property. “It’s been a huge hit. Tate might love it the most. Right, boy?”

Tate dropped the tennis ball at my feet. His tail wagged like a windshield wiper on a high setting as he hopped impatiently, trying to communicate that it was time to play. Waylon scooped the ball up and launched it across the yard.

“I bet. I’m jealous. I had to make do with cooling off with sprinklers or jumping in the lake when I was a kid.”

“Same. My dad couldn’t believe I’d waste good money on a bucket of water.” I chuckled as I opened the grill to flip the chicken. “Especially since I sprang for the aluminum frame.”

“Big spender,” he teased.

“Ha. That’s very, very untrue. Ask my kids. But once I decide to invest in something, I do my homework. I weigh pros and cons, chart expenses, read reviews and consumer reports, and then and only then do I go for it. It can be a lengthy process. It took me four years to finally pull the trigger on the pool.”

“I bet this guy had something to do with that decision.” Waylon patted Tate’s head and tossed the ball again.

“Maybe so. Truthfully, I’d love to live closer to the lake and the hiking trails where there’s more for the kids to do, but I won’t be able to afford that for a while. This was a good compromise. Rhys is a teenager and Gretchen will be one soon enough. If they’re anything like me, they won’t want to spend much time at home. The pool is a shameless bid for cool points.”

“What could be cooler than having a police chief for a dad?”

I shot Waylon a blank stare that made him laugh. The sweet sound sent shivers along my spine. Geez, my strong physical response to this man surprised me.

In fact, all of this surprised me.

Sex and dinner, too? It was as though I’d bungled my way into a fucking date, and I wasn’t sure why I’d invited him in the first place. Yes…to apologize.

This was simply a friendly overture. I didn’t have plans, he didn’t have plans, and I had plenty of food to share. All true. It was his insanely hot body and the part where I really liked talking to him that made me nervous.

“Cool? I don’t think so,” I replied, idly moving the chicken on the grill…as if an inch to the left or right made a difference. “I think being the chief of police makes me the king of all things embarrassing these days. At least to my kids.”

“Oh, now you just want me to feel sorry for you.” Waylon launched the ball again, his snug tee clinging to his muscular biceps and broad shoulders.

He’d been wearing shorts and a T-shirt the night he’d bumped into my father near the lake. I’d been too frazzled to notice his toned calves and defined quads. I mean…okay, I’d noticed, but I hadn’t lingered. Tonight, I looked my fill.

I cleared my throat and added a mix of corn, peppers, broccolini, and onions to the grill. “No, I accept that my cool card has expired. I have no interest in renewing it or pretending I still got it. I don’t got it.”

Waylon joined me at the grill.

“That’s too bad.” He picked up the beer I’d left for him on the railing and took a swig. “I’m cool.”

I snickered. “Uh-huh. You’re still young. Enjoy it while you can.”

More laughter.

Waylon’s upbeat demeanor was contagious. I didn’t bother hiding my grin this time. He felt like sunshine and happiness, and I wanted to bask in that sweetness—if only for a little while.

He sobered and stole a stalk of broccolini from the grill. “What are your kids like? You said Rhys is a jock and Gretchen is a genius, right?”

“That’s right. They’re great. Amazing, actually,” I gushed, pleased that he’d remembered. “Rhys is a good kid. He’s got a nice group of friends, he loves sports, and he does well in school. And Gretchen’s mind is a thing of beauty. She’s unbelievably smart. She struggles to fit in, though. Her interests don’t always align with what kids her age are into. I’ve always encouraged her to be her unapologetic self, but it’s tough for her sometimes.”