Flashpoint by Jill Shalvis

didn’t do relationships. Relationships always came to an end, and he hated endings. He didn’t need a shrink to attribute that to losing his parents so young, to growing apart from the brother he had nothing in common with except grief and, in a way, losing him, too.
    No, he didn’t like endings, and therefore, avoided beginnings.
    Still, Brooke drew him. She was a little buttoned-up, a little rigid, and—and hell. She had a smile that could melt him from across town, and a way of looking at him that suggested she could see right through to all his flaws, and she didn’t mind those flaws.
    Jesus. He went back to his laptop, burying himself. He had property deeds, architectural plans, records of sales, and looked it all over for the hundredth time to see if there were any obvious connections.
    When his doorbell rang, he figured it was Aidan. When he opened the door, it turned out to be a beautiful redhead.
    Nope, not Aidan, but his neighbor Jenny with a pizza in one hand, a six-pack dangling from her other, and a fuck-me smile firmly in place.
    â€œHi, neighbor.” She lifted the pizza. “Interested?”
    She was a high school librarian, but nothing about her was a stereotypical keeper of books. She hosted a weekly poker party, enjoyed car racing, and brewed her own beer. They were friends, and so far, just friends, but she’d made it clear that she was ready for that to change. Now here she was, flirting. Normally he’d flirt right back, but he didn’t. Stress, he decided. Stress and frustration. “I’m sorry, Jenny. It’s not a good time—”
    â€œDon’t even try to tell me you’re not hungry. I’ll have to take your temperature.” She pushed her way in, carrying the food, swinging the beer. “Everyone has to eat.”
    True. And she’d obviously decided the way to his heart was by way of his stomach, maybe with a side trip past other certain body parts. Up until a few weeks ago, he might have been happy to take that side trip, but he no longer wanted to. Not with another woman on his mind.
    Jenny turned to face him, and her smile slowly faded. “What’s the matter?”
    â€œI’m not sure.” Yes. Yes, he was. He wanted a blue-eyed, sweet, sexy EMT with a smile that slayed him.
    And only her.
    â€œZach?” Jenny waved a hand in front of his face. “You look like you were just hit by a train.”
    Uh-huh. The Brooke train. At some point, probably during the wild kiss, he’d decided no one else would do. Holy shit.
    Jenny set down the food and popped the top off two of the beers, handing him one. “Here. You look like you could use this now.”
    â€œThanks.” He took a long pull.
    â€œSo who is she?”
    â€œI didn’t even know there was a she until two seconds ago. How did you know?”
    â€œIt’s all over your face.”
    He scrubbed a hand over his face, images of Brooke coming to him. That very first day when she’d woken him, or when she’d so fiercely approached Code Calico, and then Viagra Man…or the way she’d looked at him with her heart and soul in her eyes when she’d said she wanted a relationship.
    â€œDamn,” Jenny said softly, still staring at him. “She’s…special, isn’t she?”
    â€œI—yeah.” He managed to meet her gaze. “I’m sorry.”
    â€œNot as sorry as I am.” With another sigh, she stepped toward him, and in a show of how stunned he was, managed to nudge him down to the couch with a single finger. Then she plopped next to him and clinked her bottle to his in a commiserating toast. “You’re good and screwed, you know that, right?”
    He leaned back and shook his head. “You have no idea.”
    Â 
    O N THE DRIVE to work, Brooke took in the high morning surf on her left, and the joggers, walkers and bikers on her right. She’d lost track of how many times