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mostly due to her anatomy and the things I’ve imagined doing to it. The moment she started crying I felt the need to see her, hold her, make the sadness enveloping her usually succulent voice disappear.
    This is a strange and unwelcome reaction to a woman, but I’m still driving to her fucking house. My stalker brain remembers how to get to there after following her months ago.
    I pull up in front of her tiny house and take in my surroundings. It’s a quiet street that’s well manicured, feeling lived in and comfortable. Natasha fits here if only for the tiny amount of information I know about her.
    The pale yellow bungalow has an inviting porch with a swing covered in protective green vinyl for the winter. Her front door is a recently painted creamy white. I knock softly and wait. What the fuck am I doing here?
    The door swings open and I have my reason staring back at me.
    Natasha is standing there in black yoga pants, an over-sized Chiefs T-shirt with a little baby puke staining it, her pale blonde hair piled on top of her head and her light grey eyes bright red from crying with dark circles shadowing them. She needs a hug. I move to do that and am stopped by a threatening growl.
    “Don’t touch me,” Natasha says to me softly. “Zeus, off.”
    The German Shepherd immediately obeys and moves away from me, still watching my every move. I see why she was crying about her dog.
    “Why are you here?” she asks, not welcoming me an inch into her space.
    “You needed someone and I was available,” I say in a shrug.
    “I’m fine. You made an unnecessary trip.”
    She moves to slam the door in my face. I’m going to have to give this woman something more than my usual cocky attitude. I’m a ladies’ man. I can get a woman out of her clothes and in any position I want with five words and a well-practiced smile. It’s a talent. Natasha doesn’t need the asshole womanizer. She needs the professional attorney that can handle clients with care and concern while keeping them out of prison. I can do that.
    “Listening to you cry made me sick to my stomach. I don’t know you and you sure as shit don’t know me, but let me assure you, I don’t typically care if a woman is cryin’. I want to be here. Let me help you, Natasha,” I finish softly.
    Okay, that’s not usually what I would say to a client either. What the hell am I doing here? As her brow furrows making her look even cuter than she already does, I have my answer. It’s not one I want, but it’s an answer.
    “You’re trouble. I can see it all over you. I saw it the first time you hit on me and it’s still beaming from that cocky grin permanently smeared on your face. You’re bad news, Sully,” she dictates and it takes my fucking breath away.
    First, nobody but Kid calls me Sully. I hate it. I’ve hated it my entire life. Yet my heart just fluttered like something a girl describes happening when she’s twelve when Natasha said it. I’m totally fucked.
    “You’re right. I’m usually trouble. But I’m also really good at gettin’ people outta trouble. Let me help you. I just wanna help you, not cause you any more problems.”
    I keep my cocky smile in check and offer her a sincere one. It must work because she steps back and allows me entry into her home. Thank fuck because it’s January and icicles were forming on my balls.
    Her living room is warm and inviting. A small fireplace surrounded by red brick is the centerpiece of the homey space. The walls are a soft blue, covered in family pictures and a few paintings. Her hardwood floors look original and I’m guessing this house is well over seventy-years old. Someone put in a lot of blood, sweat and tears to bring this house to the place it is today.
    I follow her over to a plush couch with a soft green slipcover hiding whatever is beneath it. Zeus follows me with his eyes from a large black dog bed in front of the hearth. I ease myself onto the couch a cushion away from Natasha not wanting