Opposites Ignite by Sadira Stone (crime books to read .txt) 📗

common sight in Tacoma, she bet Eddie’s family wouldn’t be quite so welcoming if they saw the tattoos covered by her winter clothes.

Eddie’s dad leaned forward and fixed her with a sharp-eyed gaze. “What is your family’s business, Rosie?”

“I—uh—pardon?”

“Your parents have a restaurant? An import store?”

Eddie shot to his feet. “For Chrissake, Dad, could you be more offensive?”

Babka clucked. “Don’t be racist, my son. You need to get woke.”

For Eddie’s sake, Rosie kept her voice steady. “My mom is a history teacher.”

Undeterred, the older man pressed on. “And your father?”

“He died when I was small.”

Alina and Babka glared at Eddie’s dad as if he’d personally caused said death.

And on that awkward note…She pushed to her feet. “It was lovely to meet you all.” Except you, Dad. “Thank you for the delicious food, but I really have to go. My family’s waiting.” And will give me shit when I show up in last night’s clothes.

“I’ll walk you out.” Eddie shot another glare at his dad, then clasped Rosie’s hand and walked her back up to his place where she’d left her bag and coat. “Listen, I’m sorry about all that.”

“Don’t be. Your grandma’s adorable. Your mom too.” Already, sharp-toothed guilt gnawed her for deceiving two such welcoming women. But it was for the best. Strait-laced, serious Eddie would never fit into her crazy life, and his family’s warmth would cool if they found out his supposed girlfriend was a college dropout tattoo artist wannabe who used their son for a quick, selfish thrill.

“Well, I appreciate the act. I know you didn’t want to stay. I’ll call you a ride.” Eddie pulled on a jacket and lifted his phone.

After making the call, he waited beside her on the sidewalk, shoulders hunched against the cold. Tiny snowflakes swirled around them and stuck to his hair like sparkly confetti. He stared up the empty street and sighed.

She fought the urge to slip one arm from her coat and enfold him in its poufy warmth. Whispers of sensory memory swirled with the snow, snippets of pleasure from last night, smooth skin beneath her lips, lean hips rolling against hers, driving his heat into her again and again…

Her sharp exhalation clouded the air. A red Prius rolled toward them.

“Here’s your driver,” Eddie muttered. He averted his gaze as he opened the passenger door and waited while she climbed in, then closed it gently and turned away. No word of good-bye, no crooked grin, just a thin, lone figure out in the cold.

She twisted in her seat to watch him until the driver rounded the corner, then let her aching head thunk back against the seat. So much for remaining friends. She’d be lucky if he even spoke her at work.

Voices echoed in her memory. Accusing fingers pointed. Rosie, when will you learn to think before you act?

Chapter Three

“There you are.” Mom’s tone held an edge of impatience as Rosie stepped into the overheated kitchen. “We’d nearly given up on you. Fix yourself a plate.” She gestured to the stove, where skillets of scrambled eggs, supermarket hash browns, and dry turkey sausage waited. You’d never know it was a holiday by Mom’s outfit. With her dark hair pulled back in a short ponytail and her crisp blouse and slacks, she looked ready for work at Stadium High School. The leopard-print lounging PJs Rosie bought her for Christmas were probably still in their wrapper, tucked away to be regifted.

Rosie shed her coat and scarf. “It’s like an oven in here.”

“Because you just stepped in from outside,” her younger sister quipped. Early in life, Amara developed the annoying habit of parroting Mom’s favorite sayings. Rosie should be used to it by now, but it still grated her nerves.

“Happy New Year, Rosie.” David, Amara’s brown-nosing boyfriend, at least had the decency to treat this like the special occasion it supposedly was, even though the menu here was much less inspiring than the Russian spread at Eddie’s place.

A vision swam into focus: Eddie at her side, holding her hand as she faced her family’s nitpicking. She gave her head a shake and pushed that thought away. Just friends. If I’m lucky.

“Make yourself a plate, dear.” Without asking, Mom filled a champagne flute nearly to the rim with Prosecco before adding the tiniest splash of orange juice and setting it beside Rosie’s empty plate.

“I really don’t want any more alcohol, Ma.” She scooped up a tiny portion of too-dry eggs and slid bread into the toaster. The coffee carafe wafted a burnt-grounds scent, but a big glug of Mom’s too-sweet, plastic-tasting creamer would cover the bitterness.

“Nonsense,” Amara chirped. “We always toast the new year with mimosas. It’s a family tradition.”

Mom clucked. “Perhaps our Rosie had too much alcohol last night?”

Yeah, and a shot of killer vodka this morning. “I work in a bar, Ma. Of course we toasted the new year. River made these delicious champagne sparklers with raspberry liqueur and—”

“That’s nice, dear. Come tell us about your evening.”

Ugh. She sat and lifted her glass. “To the new year.” Clinks all around. Hopefully, no one noticed her spit her mouthful back into her glass.

Mom pushed the jam jar toward Rosie. “Did you have fun last night?”

“Meet any cute guys?” Amara added.

“Lots of fun.” She crunched her toast and kept them waiting while she chewed. “We had games at the bar, and karaoke. By midnight, it was one big singalong. Then everyone went out onto Sixth Ave to yell Happy New Year.” In the jostling crowd, Eddie managed to position himself at her elbow, so when it was time for a midnight kiss, there he was. It was unlucky to greet the new year without smooching someone, right?

David forked up a mouthful of bland, crumbly eggs. “Nothing like a good ol’ dive bar.”

Rosie bristled. “Bangers is not a dive bar, it’s a neighborhood tavern.”

“Isn’t your specialty tater tots?” Amara sniffed. “Sounds like a dive bar to me.”

“Oh, hush.” Mom gave her youngest a dismissive wave. “Your dad and I used to