Author's Note: OK, I had an authorial crisis of conscience and did a rewrite on this chapter, so there are some changes within. But for those keeping score, Hydriotaphia got me to write another chapter as a result of her comments/critique of the previous incarnation of part 10 - so, expect part 11 in addition to the forthcoming epilogue. At this point, Mick's interaction with Beth/Josh is gone (don't worry, it'll be back with a rewrite or two in part 11).

God bless you all for your support and patience with my authorial ambivalence.

Part Ten

"Fuck!" The swear erupted with the crunch of metal and plastic. The screeching of brakes. Beth rummaged in her glove compartment for her insurance information and slammed it shut once she had the little card.

When she had begun her call to her editor at Buzzwire, there had only been two or three cars scattered through the parking lot. Now she'd managed to rear-end the only car in sight. Thank God her lead foot hadn't been square on the gas yet or she'd be towing her car home.

Her annoyance fizzled a little when she saw him, bent over the crumpled bumpers.

This guy was too cute for his own good. And he wore a suit. Nothing good or fun came from men in suits. But there was something about him.

"I'm sorry," they both began.

"It was my fault," the man informed her, giving her a smile with full dipple, and stood up. He was taller than Beth had expected. "I didn't think you were moving and I just stopped looking. I should have been more careful."

"No, I was on the phone and didn't check either," a giggle was bubbling up in her throat. Very unlike Beth. Calm, cool, sometimes hyper, but never giggly.

"I'm Josh Lindsay."

"D.A.'s office, right?" Beth had seen his name on the docket entries that made their way to her desk. The new assistant district attorney was ambitious and, in her opinion, overly optimistic about what an avalanche of depositions could accomplish.

"Yes," he delivered another killer smile, one that reminded her of male models and toothpaste commercials. "Does my reputation precede me?"

"Not exactly, I'm Beth Turner. I'm with Buzzwire," she flicked back her jacket and tapped her press badge.

"Is that a new blog?"

"More like CNN minus the TV broadcasts. Plus a little Page Six," Beth said. "Actually, a lot of Page Six."

"Sounds juicy," he bit back a slight grimace.

"I know. But I'm less Paris Hilton and more the crime beat. Except today I guess I took that 'beat' part literally," Beth rubbed the silver scratch her old beater had carved into his new looking Ford. "I think your car took the brunt of the blow."

"Seriously," Josh lifted her hand from the car, his touch lingering. "It was my fault. Let me make this up to you. I'd hate to think you were out there in the world thinking badly of me," he said.

Beth moved to protest again, then thought of her insurance rates and his eyes and shut her mouth.

"What do you have in mind?"

"Friday night. I know a good bar, good people, so-so drinks. I'll get this baby buffed and shined for a night out on the town." Every one of his smiles melted Beth's heart a little more. She hesitated for a moment.

This was not the guy she usually went for. Beth aimed for guys a lot less … respectable than this. Musicians, unemployed artist types, someone with at least a 5 o'clock shadow by 10 a.m. And guys like Josh never went for her. She was too loud, too brash, too pushy and too competitive. But there was something sweet about him and something that said he was sweet on her.

"Okay."

Josh pulled out his cell and Beth rattled off her number.

"I'll call you," he hopped into his car, giving a little wave.

Beth had expected a martini bar. Or maybe a microbrewry. Something with clean walls and spotless glasses. Not this.

Josh's neat little car was parked in front of the Downtowner between a Pontiac 6000 and a Honda Civic pockmarked with rust. He fit in about the same inside. It was clean but dark. The smell of spilled beer permeated the room and the main decorating theme was Beer posters. The regulars seemed to know him, though. There were waves from the bar when they walked in. A few lecherous grins, a couple of comments.

"Sorry," Josh flashed his grin again as he pulled out a chair for her. "They like to give me a hard time. My dad used to work here."

"Really?" Beth couldn't reconcile the pinstripe suit of the parking lot with the dive bar they were now in.

"He did a little of everything -- bartending, checked the books, bounced guys with too many drinks and not enough sense," Josh said. "I'll be right back."

He came back with two bottles of honey-colored beer and Beth resisted the urge to make a face.

"You may not be into beer," Josh caught a whiff of her distaste, "but this is the best beer you'll ever taste, Allagash. A friend of mine from Maine makes it. Just try it."

Beth grabbed the mug and sniffed. With a wrinkle of her nose, she chugged.

"Not bad," she admitted. "It sort of tastes like wine."

"See, stick with me and I'll take you places," Josh poured his own glass and leaned back, looking straight into her eyes. "So tell me what it's like on the other side of the microphone. What's it like to be Beth Turner of Buzzwire?"

"I haven't done a broadcast yet," Beth reddened. His eyes were actually twinkling. "I'm just doing copy, writing the stories."

"So tell me some stories."

Four hours, two pitchers of beer and another bar later, Beth was buzzed and standing awkwardly on a rubber mat in front of a big screen.

"You know lawyers have game, right?" Josh clutched the club in his hands, giving it a twirl.

"Get the ball on the green before you start the smack talk, Mr. Lindsay," Beth raised an eyebrow. Josh turned to the screen, raised the club and sent the digital ball flying.

"Can the smack talk commence now?"

Beth swatted him against the shoulder, letting her hand linger a second too long.

"That's all the smacking we'll be having around here." She moved to where he'd stood. Beth tried to remember the golf stance. Did you lock your arms or not? Bend the knees?

Suddenly, Josh's warm body was against hers. The smooth flesh of his tan arms intertwined with her pale ones. His chin sunk into her blond curls.

"Here, let me," the whisper sent echoes down her spine. She felt the tight cords of his muscles guiding her slack arms up. Beth just wanted to breathe in his scent of mints and cologne.

He smelled pretty good right now and Beth wanted a taste.

She tipped her head back, offering her waiting lips to his. She didn't have to wait long.