Ivy and the Cop (Power Play) by Selena Kitt Page B

“Well, this is awkward.”
    “What are you doing out here?” He sounded all business-like now that the initial shock had worn off. She could deal with that.
    “I was babysitting at the Forresters.”
    He raised his dark brows. “Aren’t their kids old enough to stay on their own yet?”
    “Almost. Ten and eleven.” She used to babysit them back in high school, when they w ere just preschoolers and she’d been dating Patrick. She wondered if he was remembering how he used to come over and visit her at the Forresters after the boys were asleep.
    Tonight that would have been impossible, of course—the two boys had invited a friend over to spend the night and the three of them had stayed up playing Assassin’s Creed III until the Forresters returned. The Forresters usually had a strict bed time, but they suspended it for sleepovers, and the boys and young Brian had taken full advantage. The kids were at that in-between age, and Brian had kept coming down from their room to talk to her, a little kid with a babysitter-crush.
    It was cute. She’d felt sorry for him, poor kid. He’d never seen an X-Box before, he said, and didn’t know how to play the game. Instead he wanted to spend his time with Ivy, devouring popcorn and ice cream and anything else he could find in the fridge, fascinated with her talk about her parents’ farm and horses. If she’d been younger, she would have been annoyed by  his attention, eager to get them all to bed so she could invite her boyfriend—back in the day, Patrick—over, but that night it was just mildly annoying and kind of sweet.
    “Car trouble?” Patrick asked, breaking her reverie.
    She sighed. “Yeah. It won’t do anything. My dad kept telling me I needed to get the oil changed.”
    “Did it make any noise at all when you turned the key?”
    She shook her head. “Nothing.”
    "Try it again for me,” he urged.
    She unlocked the driver’s side door and got int o the car, putting the key in. When she rolled down the window, he leaned on the edge, watching as she turned the key in the ignition. He was still just as good-looking as he’d always been, with all that thick, wavy dark hair, and even in just the light of the dash she could see the hazy gray heat in his eyes as he watched her turning the key over and over.
    "See? ” She sighed, pulling the keys out of the ignition and putting them back into her purse. “Nothing. I know I should have had the oil changed…"
    "If you didn't have any oil, you'd know it.” Patrick stood, a looming figure in the darkness the buttons on the front of his uniform shirt gleaming, his thumbs hooked in his gun belt. "Sounds like the battery or the alternator. If you had no oil, your engine would seize up. It makes a horrible, grinding sound. You don't want to ever hear that sound."
    "Oh." Ivy peered up at him, embarrassed by her lack of automotive knowledge, but saw that he was smiling, even amused. They exchanged knowing looks and a familiar feeling washed over her, something comfortable, like slipping into an old robe and well-worn slippers. How many times had Patrick rescued her from situations just like this one? The occasions were too numerous to count. Like her father, Patrick had often reminded her to get her oil changed, lock her doors, and always remember her pepper spray.
    "Want me to take a look? ” Patrick offered, already heading toward the front of the car. “If it's the battery, I could give you a jump."
    "Would you?" Ivy swung her door open, hopeful. Patrick to the rescue again!
    “Sure. ” He patted the rocker panel of her Honda. “Pop the hood.”
    She pulled the hood lever for him, and joined him at the front of the vehicle, peering into the engine where his flashlight was shining, as if she had any clue what might be wrong. Patrick, on the other hand, seemed to know just what he was looking for. She watched him checking over engine parts with his big, capable hands.
    “See anything?” Ivy asked.
    Patrick