CHAPTER THREE

. . . . .

. . . .

Carlton read the text from Manda and didn't know whether to be pleased or alarmed.

It said: Hope I didn't scare you off. You're way too hot for me to give up too soon. :-)

Last night for their first date, she'd suggested they go to an open-air concert down by the beach, and in the spirit of Keeping An Open Mind, combined with the mix of musical styles and audience ages, he'd felt moderately comfortable until she scooched over closer on the beach blanket and put her hand on his thigh.

Then he'd felt both uncomfortable… and aroused.

Too fast. Moving on is one thing, but this is too fast.

But then she nuzzled his ear, and for a bit he forgot he was in a very public place.

She kissed very well, Manda did, and she smelled nice and felt quite sexy moving up against him.

He kissed her back and that seemed to be all the cue she needed; she straddled him and almost had him flat on his back before he remembered they were surrounded by hundreds of other people and this was not his thing, no it wasn't; he preferred privacy for his intimate endeavors no matter how very very well she kissed.

Next to him, people were snickering. Someone else whispered quick, get that on camera.

Disentangling from her immediately—but with difficulty because she was still kissing him—he somehow got her off his lap and over to her side of the blanket.

There were sounds of disappointment from around him.

Manda snuggled close. "Sorry about that. I just couldn't wait to find out how you kissed."

"I think everyone knows now," he muttered, and she laughed. "For the record, since we don't know each other, and also because it's against the law, I don't do public."

She made a little moue of regret. "Noted. My apologies, Detective. Was it too awful, though?"

Carlton couldn't help but grin. "Technique and delivery? A-plus."

Still, he had to remove her hand from his thigh more than once.

He reread the text now and answered her: I don't scare easily.

So you'll see me again. No question mark.

I hope I will.

I'm free tomorrow night.

No you're not.

She sent back a smiley and they set up their next date: dinner Sunday night at seven, in a bistro near the boardwalk.

It would be fine, he thought. Manda had the message now: he was a slow-moving guy when it came to beginning a relationship.

Slow was good. It was necessary to build real, lasting connections.

(Like the one you have with Juliet.)

He'd been noticing Juliet at the station recently. Noticing how she continued to resist working with Psych, how she often seemed tired but on the other hand seemed more in sync with him than ever when it came to their investigations.

She could finish his sentences sometimes, and it worked the other way too. Many was the time when one of them would be startled by the other completing of a half-expressed thought, and he didn't know how she felt about it, but he thought it was pretty damned cool.

Imagine if we were this in sync and a couple, he couldn't help thinking, but Mr. Enough Now stomped on him immediately. You're not, so shut up, and get on with dating Manda.

Sunday's meal was pleasant—Manda was quite witty and kept him laughing—and by nine Carlton was in her apartment, drinking wine and flirting and feeling confident this might be going somewhere.

He was still feeling mellow about his prospects when she hoisted herself up on her kitchen table and drew him in closer by his belt buckle. He was nuzzling her throat when she murmured something about having forgotten to put on any underwear before dinner.

She hoped he didn't mind.

While he was debating the permutations of "going somewhere," Manda put her hand directly over his crotch.

Carlton the slow-moving guy was quickly dispatched by Carlton the hasn't-had-any-in-a-long-time-and-damn-that-feels-good guy and that's how he ended up naked in her bed.

She seemed to enjoy it, and certainly he did.

So much for slow-moving, he thought later as he stared up at her ceiling.

Manda was an energetic creature. Very intense in how she approached love-making, vocal about her needs as well as her appreciation of having them met.

But he didn't know her, and this was unsettling.

Carlton liked advance knowledge. He liked knowing what he was up against. It was useful in his police work, particularly in defusing volatile situations and eliciting confessions: the more you know going in, the more you come out with when it's over.

Every time he moved too quickly where a woman was concerned, he regretted it. Screw up in haste, repent at leisure. The name Ursula Gibbs popped into his head, and he banished it as fast as he could.

Manda stirred, curling up next to him; her soft, warm flesh tantalizing.

Six weeks of hand-holding and minor make-outs with Emily and when she dumped him he was okay; two dates with Manda and he'd been aggressively boinked… but was having regrets?

You're an idiot. Hello? Naked sex kitten just availed herself of your naked resources—twice—and you're questioning why you're here?

What kind of red-blooded male are you?

Carlton sighed.

One with an overly-developed sense of what was right for him. Dammit.

One who'd entered into this phase of his life not to find a sex partner but to find… a partner. Someone to share himself with, not just a bed.

Someone who could, if not come out ahead compared to Juliet, could at least come out ahead compared to being alone and unloved for the rest of his life.

Because he really, really didn't want to be that guy. He wanted to be the guy who had a companion, a lover, a friend—a wife, and maybe the mother of his children. It couldn't be Juliet, but that didn't mean he couldn't make it work with someone else.

Well, come the light of day he'd find out whether Manda was willing to stay the course and actually get to know him without nudity being involved.

At least for a little while.

After all, he was a red-blooded male, and she looked extremely good naked.

. . . . .

. . . .

Juliet watched Carlton from across the room. She liked to look at him; she could admit that to herself. His lean frame, his black and silver hair, the glimpses of his chest hair and of course his crystal blue eyes. His long-fingered hands were as expressive as his eyes, and even the way he strode down a hall could sometimes set her imagination aflame.

Was there an answer for her?

Perhaps. She would be single again soon. She would give herself time to be truly free of Shawn, and then she would… what?

Nothing. Because Carlton had Emily now.

But these past two days Carlton seemed… something was different. He had something on his mind and it wasn't any case they were working on. She wanted to ask him, but what if it was something horrible like deciding whether or not to propose to his girlfriend?

Don't be silly. You know he can't have been with this woman more than… she did the calculations… two months. You know he was completely unattached the night you… the night you stuck your tongue down his throat and rubbed yourself against him and wanted him naked up against his car.

Well. Yes. So he probably wasn't about to propose to Emily. But something was off. Maybe they'd broken up?

Stop smirking. It's unkind of you.

You could ask him. You are friends, right?

Juliet told herself sternly to stop ogling her partner and start doing her job.

The admonishment hadn't worked in quite a while, but maybe this time…?

To her left, he stretched, which drew her attention back to his chest (that tantalizing glimpse of fur) and arms.

Sooo… no. Didn't work this time either.

Eventually Tuesday was over, and she went to the house she shared with Shawn.

Home, sure. Whatever.

He and Gus were still working on the perfect setup of the Hot Wheels track, and she didn't mind: if he was busy with a toy, he wasn't in her space.

Stirring soup in a pot, a choice she made largely because she knew Shawn wasn't keen on soup (couldn't eat it with his hands and she wouldn't let him use a straw) and would probably go out with Gus to get something he liked more, she thought again about her life and how things had turned out and where they were going.

From the dining room, she heard their voices, arguing, laughing, rising and falling in intensity, amusement to annoyance to outright bickering. They were so in sync with each other. So perfectly attuned, despite their huge differences.

She'd never had that with him. Only Carlton.

Stop thinking about Carlton. Carlton is irrelevant here.

But that left her only one other thing to think about, something she'd been putting off thinking about, and if she was completely honest with herself, there wasn't even that much left to think about it.

Enough, Juliet. Enough.

Juliet nodded to no one, ate her soup, washed and put away the dishes, and went to the bedroom to pack a few small bags. After she'd loaded them into the car—not even sure where she was going—she returned to the house and stood in the dining room doorway.

"Shawn, could you come talk to me for a minute?"

She had to wait for it to register.

Gus thwacked him on the arm to get his attention. "Juliet wants you."

No, she doesn't, Juliet thought sadly.

Shawn looked up expectantly from underneath the table, which they'd left in place to provide a Most Excellent Cliff for their track. "'Sup?"

"In the kitchen?"

"What is?"

"Shawn, she wants you to go to the kitchen with her."

"I took out the trash!" he protested.

Juliet sighed. "Gus, how about if you go into the kitchen?"

"Don't mind if I do," he said, "because I need a refill anyway."

When he was out of sight she said quietly to Shawn, "I'm leaving."

"Yeah? Where are you going?"

She looked at him.

For once, he didn't play dense. He clambered up off the floor without knocking his head against the table and crossed to where she waited. "Sweetie, why?"

"This isn't working. At least it's not working for me."

"It's working for me," he said earnestly, and it probably was.

"I need to step back." Her heart was squeezing, but This Was Right.

"No, no, no, we should talk about it first. You should have told me there was a problem."

"I have, Shawn, many times. Now I'm done."

He looked around the room, at a loss, and obviously not sure where to start. "What about..."

"I'll come over in a few days and we'll talk about everything. I think Gus should move in here. This place is big enough for you two to both have your separate spaces, and as long as you pay your share and do your share—"

He started to shut down; she recognized that distant look. "Yeah, Jules, I really don't see that happening."

It was rare honesty, and Juliet was impressed. But it wasn't enough. "The lease is up in three months. I know I can pay my half for next month. We'll work it out."

"Why can't we work this out instead?" He was sad, and that was real too; she knew he cared about her. "How can you say you're leaving and not tell me why or how to make it right? You even quit sleeping in the same room with me and I don't get to know why?"

I couldn't tell you why, not… the first reason why.

Juliet took his hand and drew him into the living room to sit beside her on the sofa. "When you left town, when you and Henry were estranged, you pretty much flitted around the world for a few years, right? Never settling anywhere or sticking to anything?"

"That was a long time ago. I've changed." He grabbed one of the pillows to hold.

"Yes," she agreed, "you have. It's wonderful that you came back, worked things out with your dad, founded Psych and put down real roots. It's very good."

Shawn was studying her, but clutching the pillow as if it were a lifeline. "I also found you."

"Yes, you did. You found me, and you worked on me, and after how many years finally got to where you sincerely wanted to commit to a relationship. Maybe for the first time in your life." When he nodded, she smiled and touched his arm. "That's good too, Shawn."

"So why are you leaving? I love you. I know you love me."

Juliet sighed. "It's just… look at Psych. You have it, sure, and you've stuck with it, but… you don't do anything to keep it going. You don't advertise, you don't go out and get cases. You count on the SBPD to let you horn in on investigations we don't need you for, Gus pays the rent and utilities and the TiVo bill and mostly it's just a little clubhouse. Or it was until we moved here. Now this is the clubhouse."

He protested, "No, honey. This is our home."

She kept going, keeping her voice calm. "Thing is, I can't help but compare it to our relationship. You attained it, but then you stopped growing it. Like merely having a live-in girlfriend is all you needed. We sleep under the same roof now but nothing else changed. I just pay more rent and do more housework. I'm not complaining," she pushed on when he again tried to speak. "I knew going in it'd be like this. I never thought you'd change your whole character for me, or even should. I just thought we'd… somehow go forward, somehow find a way to adapt to each other. I was optimistic, Shawn, without any reason to be. I just… know that what we have isn't what I want. And I know it's not going to change."

"Look," he tried, his voice low and earnest. "You said it yourself. The fact that I have Psych, and you, and even my dad, says I can change. It shows I have changed. You should have told me what you wanted. I could have worked toward that. I still can."

His ability to deny who he was, down to his core, had always amazed her. She said quietly, "How many times has your very best friend Gus asked you not to use his credit card?"

His hazel eyes darkened. "That's different. He's—is this about Gus?"

"No," she promised. "I love Gus. He's a great guy and in another universe you'd be happily married. You two have a twisted, backwards, unbalanced and completely unhealthy relationship which is totally perfect for you."

"You're perfect for me, Jules," he insisted.

"No, honey. If I were, I wouldn't need to leave." She leaned in and kissed his cheek. "I'm not half the partner for you that he is." Getting up, she looked down at his unhappy face and felt pain for what she was doing, but resolve because it was necessary and long overdue. "You did the best you could and so did I, but this is the end."

He didn't get up when she walked out, and she didn't start crying until she was several blocks away.

. . . . .

. . . .

Before he left Manda's place on Monday morning—but after he was fully dressed and safely on the other side of the room—she swore she did want to see where this thing with him was going, and promised to slow down, because he was all kinds of cool and sexy and she wanted to get to know him.

He didn't know if he was sexy (he didn't mind being thought of as cool), but took her at her word.

She had to work the next few nights but was free on Thursday, and they went out to Stearns Wharf for dinner at Moby Dick's. As always, he found her witty and charming and enjoyed the flirtation. She seemed to prefer keeping everything light, but he figured there was still time to learn about each other. Early days yet, he assured himself.

So when she dragged him behind an SUV after the sun went down and mauled him a little, he could take it; it wasn't too public and it wasn't too intense… up until the moment her hand wandered under his belt and he came back to his senses and stopped her.

"Sorry," she said breathlessly. "I just find you so very very hot."

He smoothed her lavender lock of hair and kissed her previously roaming fingers. "You're hot too but the last thing either one of us needs is an arrest for public indecency." He tucked his shirt back in and ran his hands through his own hair to smooth it down from where she'd mussed it.

"Not again, anyway," she teased.

"Not ever." Detective Dipstick couldn't afford it. He could just imagine what career-wrecking havoc someone like Spencer would make of an arrest report of that nature involving him.

Manda consented to merely holding his hand as they returned to his car, and laughed when he refused to walk her to her apartment door. He did watch to make sure she got in safely, and thus didn't miss her raising her skirt to flash him before she disappeared.

Damn. Hormones aside, he was starting to see there'd been an up side to the "nice, but…" aspects of his ill-fated relationship with Emily.

. . . . .

. . . .