Good Guy

Part Twelve

Mo was, to put things simply, milking it.

He had a sly grin on in face, which made him look like the cat that ate the canary. There was no doubt in Cleo's head that he knew exactly what he'd been doing—waiting on the other side of that door and listening in so he could crash the party at exactly the right time. Or ruin a delicious first kiss, as was the case.

So yes, Cleo knew Mo was cherishing every second of having one-upped them.

"What do we have here?" he asked, eyeing the way she and Scotch were sprawled on the floor, all cozy and cute. Scotch's arms were around her midriff, and his head had been bent at an odd angle. There was no mistaking what he'd been about to do to her lips.

Now however, they were both looking at Ken Morrison, their cheeks resembling ripe tomatoes. Cleo felt Scotch remove his arms, but he didn't get up from where he was sitting. Maybe because her bum was still as snug as a bug on a rug—or his legs in their case.

"Um..." Um? Cleo snapped at herself. That's all you can say? Words, Cleo! Words!

"Am I interrupting something?" Mo followed up his question.

He was definitely enjoying the interrogation, even though she wasn't. Her brain had been frozen for a heart-stopping moment, in preparation of that kiss, and now it was having a hard time thawing. If only she could get her act together and stop thinking about how disappointed she was with Mo's interruption, then perhaps she could form a coherent reply.

By some unholy but much-needed miracle, Scotch found his voice and answered in her stead. "Only somebody who was trying to steal a phone."

Cleo realized that it was still in her hands. It was the cold, hard surface of the gadget that finally got the gears in her head to start working again. She stood up, brushing her now dusty pants after handing him back his phone.

"I got a little bored and decided to joke around a bit," she said. She'd never had any claim to being a good liar, but Cleo hoped it would get Mo off of her back. Cleo reached down for Scotch, who more than readily accepted a hand up. "Isn't that right, Scotch?"

"If you say so," he said, not helping their situation at all. Cleo looked at his face, and what she saw almost made her want to hit him. His cheeks were still shot with just a hint of red, but he didn't seem to be embarrassed at all! On the contrary, he was having just as much fun as his friend. She could practically hear his mind gloating about the concept of karma. "If you ask me, I thought we were playing a game of 'catch the criminal.' And I had the perfect punishment in mind, but you had to go and ruin it by falling for me."

Mo whistled in admiration, while Cleo simply wanted to melt into the floor. There were so many innuendos in his sentence that Cleo's poor brain couldn't keep up. She didn't know whether to regret her actions or pat herself on the back for finally getting more from Scotch than the usual friendly banter. On the one hand, ever since that confrontation with Jackson, she'd wanted just a bit more between her and Scotch. On the other, she hadn't prepared herself for the stuff that came with said 'more,' primarily teasing from the people around them and Scotch's personal brand of cheezy lines.

"Right," she said, trying to shake off all the crazy emotions rioting inside her. She could freak out—and berate herself for freaking out—later. Right now, she had a dress to try on. "You said you found me an outfit, Mo?"

"I didn't just find you an outfit, Hon." Mo held up the plastic-wrapped dress hanger he'd been hiding behind his back. "I unearthed my greatest masterpiece."

"Oh my god..." Cleo's hand fell away from Scotch's immediately. She put one foot in front of the other, approaching the hanger cautiously, as if the thing was merely a vision that could disappear at any second. But it didn't disappear, even after she'd taken it from Mo and held it in her hands. "This is.... This is..."