Jeopardy in High Heels (High Heels #12) - Gemma Halliday Page 0,6

his son after we finished taping. They all went out the back door together. He's probably trying to avoid publicity."

"Good luck with that," Dana remarked. "I'm sure the clip of him throwing the buzzer into the audience will be viral by morning."

Even Mrs. R nodded her agreement at that one. "The media's gonna murder that guy."

* * *

After a celebratory lunch with Mom and Faux Dad, and a quick stop at the Beverly Center afterward to find an outfit to wear to the finale taping I'd now be attending on Friday, I pushed through the front doors of my 1950s style bungalow that evening, and two pairs of sticky hands converged on me. My twins, Max and Livvie, met me at the front door, covering me in hugs and kisses as they regaled me with tales of the block tower they'd built in my absence. My heart melted at the enthusiasm, and I almost wished they could stay that age forever. Almost. I was pretty sure some of the sticky stuff on my pencil skirt was Play-Doh, which was not easy to get out of cotton twill.

After I'd paid the babysitter, one of the teenagers who lived down the street, and washed Max's hands, I put Toy Story on for the kids and wandered into the kitchen. I'd just poured myself a glass of Chardonnay and popped a frozen pizza into the oven when the front door opened and cries of "Daddy!" filled the living room.

A beat later my husband appeared in the kitchen doorway.

Detective Jack Ramirez worked homicide for the LAPD, had a big gun, a big black panther tattooed on his left bicep, and a big heart that those closest to him were lucky to be the beneficiaries of. He was tall and broad shouldered, had dark hair that curled a couple weeks past a haircut on his neck, and a pair of dark eyes that could either stare a confession out of a perp or seduce a woman out of her morals with one hot look. Having been married to the man for five years, I'd been on the receiving end of both types of looks, as well as several in between.

Ramirez threw his car keys onto the counter. "Something smells good in here." He nuzzled my neck as he wrapped his arms around my waist.

I giggled and turned around to peck him on the lips. "I assume you're talking about the pizza?"

He shrugged. "That too." He gave me a wink as he crossed the room to the refrigerator, pulling himself a cold beer from inside. "So how did the game show go?" he asked, popping the top.

"You realize it's Jeopardy!, not just some 'game show,' right? It's an institution," I told him, trying to get across the magnitude of the show as I peeked in on the pizza. It needed a couple more minutes to get the cheese bubbly.

"Okay, so it's a big deal game show," Ramirez teased. "How did Ralph do?"

"He did great." I sipped my wine. "He won. He's officially a finalist." I paused. "Shoot. We're not supposed to tell anyone until after it airs."

Ramirez grinned. "Don't worry. I won't tweet the spoiler to all my followers," he joked.

"You know, lots of people love Jeopardy!"

Ramirez nodded. "Sure."

"Anyway, Ralph killed it. He and Mom are celebrating at City Walk tonight."

He raised an eyebrow. "You didn't want to go with them?"

"What, and miss all this?" I asked, gesturing to the cardboard box our dinner had come in.

Ramirez grinned, coming in close again and nuzzling my neck. "Pizza, beer, a playoff game, and a night off with my family. What more could a man ask for?"

I giggled, the Chardonnay kicking in. "What is 'A Beautiful Wife, Alex?'"

Ramirez laughed and kissed my lips. A long, lingering one that left me breathless and suddenly counting the minutes until the twins' bedtime.

Only, before I got too far into that fantasy, his phone went off at his hip.

"Ignore it?" I suggested.

He gave me a look that said he was having the same fantasy, but he was too good a cop to take my advice. He pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the text.

"Lemme guess. Work?" I took a disappointed sip (gulp?) of wine.

"Sorry, babe," he answered, setting his beer down and swiping to call in. He ducked into the living room as I pulled our dinner out of the oven and began searching drawers for a pizza cutter. Which should have been in the drawer by the sink, but