I Crave You - C.C. Wood Page 0,3

to crash to the ground with alarming regularity.

Then there was the dust. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d taken a rag to the desktop computer and I knew it would be the first thing Sierra would look at when she came into the office. Hmmm, now that I was thinking about it, I hadn’t dusted the computer since Sierra installed it two years ago when my last system crashed. Lucky for me, she’d been visiting then as well.

Which lead me to my current situation. It was one in the afternoon and the shop wouldn’t open for a couple of hours. It gave me ample time to clean but not the motivation. Thus the rock n' roll turned up to window-rattling volumes. If rock couldn’t keep me moving, I had no hope of getting it done.

AC/DC changed to Def Leppard and I danced around my office, tossing my hair and shaking my ass like an extra on an 80’s music video. In between wild gyrations, I put folders in the filing cabinet, put away bits and pieces required for clerical work like paper clips and sticky notes, and took a dusting cloth to every surface in the office.

I’d just completed one badass, complex turn followed by a dramatic pose that consisted of me arching backward over my desk when the sound of someone whooping and clapping pierced the sudden silence at the end of Pour Some Sugar on Me.

I jerked upright but the abrupt movement overbalanced me and I fell face first into what were admittedly a nice pair of boobs. At least that’s what Sierra insisted.

“Good to see you too, partner,” my friend said drily. “If I’d known you were so hard up I would have stopped at one of those sex shops in Dallas and bought you something special.”

I managed to disentangle myself from Sierra, pulled my phone out of my pocket, and paused Led Zeppelin. My Bluetooth speaker fell silent.

“You know, you’ve got some pretty good moves. Or you did until that last one,” she commented.

“Hey, it was spot on if I wanted to motorboat someone but still make it seem like an accident.”

“Surely there are less dangerous ways to accomplish that goal.”

I grinned at Sierra then glared. “You’re early. You weren’t supposed to be here until after closing time.”

“I woke up at five and decided to head out,” she replied with a shrug.

That was Sierra. She went wherever her instincts took her. It was something I both loved and hated. Sometimes it meant we went on a spontaneous adventure and others it led to us not seeing each other for two years.

"Well, I'm glad you're here. I'll take you to the house, get you a spare key, and help you get settled in. I have to be back at the shop in two hours to open up, but we can have a late dinner together tonight if you want."

Sierra nodded. "Sounds great. I'll cook."

I stared at her.

I clearly did a poor job of hiding my fear because she burst out laughing until she snorted. "You should see your face." She looked at me again then bent over, giggling uncontrollably. "I promise, my cooking has improved in the last two years. I took some classes."

I tried not to cringe. I wasn't sure classes would help. Sierra was a disaster in the kitchen. She was one of the smartest women I knew, but even working from a recipe, she couldn't make simple dishes like meatloaf or fried chicken. I'd even been witness to her scorching canned soup.

I opted for physical safety over honesty and said, "Sounds great."

"Your enthusiasm is overwhelming," Sierra commented. Her tone was as dry as mine had been.

I shrugged one shoulder. "Until I see the evidence, I'm withholding judgment."

"No, you're not!" Sierra exclaimed.

I grabbed my purse out of my desk, ushered her out of my office, and locked the door behind us.

"Okay, so I'll try harder."

She scoffed but didn't argue.

We walked down the short hall that lead from my office to the main part of the store. There was a bathroom to one side and a small supply closet on the other. When we emerged from the hallway, I saw a tall, male figure standing at the huge shop window at the front, his hands cupped around his eyes so he could see inside.

"Who is that?" Sierra asked, her voice warm with interest.

"Benjamin Murphy," I replied.

"Wait, Murphy. Murphy? How do I know that name?"

"You're thinking of Brody Murphy, J.J.'s best friend."

We drew closer to the