The Do-Over (The Rooftop Crew Book 5) Read online

  The Do-Over

  Piper Rayne

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  © 2020 by Piper Rayne

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  Cover Photo: Wander Aguiar Photography

  Cover Design: By Hang Le

  1st Line Editor: Joy Editing

  2nd Line Editor: My Brother’s Editor

  Proofreader: Shawna Gavas, Behind The Writer

  Contents

  About The Do-Over

  Free Downloads

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Cockamamie Unicorn Ramblings

  About Piper & Rayne

  Also by Piper Rayne

  About The Do-Over

  She was always the one.

  Or so I thought.

  Turns out my instincts were dead wrong.

  Years ago I was faced with the choice between two women. Both were perfect in opposite ways. One was carefree and against commitment. The other was a woman you’d bring home to mom.

  I was young, naïve and stupid. I’m sure you can guess who I chose.

  Now, I’m older, wiser and know what the hell I want.

  So, when the same two women pop back into my life it’s my chance for a do-over. But they flipped the script. Just like me, they want different things now. Leaving me with one choice—convince the woman I want that she wants me too.

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  Chapter One

  Knox

  “How come female police officers don’t get all the googly eyes you men do?” Patrice takes her sandwich from the pick-up counter and glances at a table full of women checking me out.

  I don’t have nearly the same ego as my friends, but I can’t deny that I’m a good-looking guy. I also have twenty-twenty vision and I can see all the wedding rings on those women’s fingers as they sip their coffees. It doesn’t take police training to figure out that they’re at this all-night sandwich shop because of the crying woman in the middle. She hasn’t glanced in my direction once.

  “It’s the whole fantasy thing. They imagine me using my cuffs on them while I worship their bodies.”

  We find a two-person table by the windows and sit, quieting our radios so as not to disrupt the other patrons, but leaving them loud enough that we’ll hear a call come in.

  “I don’t think they’re thinking anything like that when it comes to Ben,” she deadpans.

  “Leave Ben out of this.”

  She opens her sandwich. “Ben needs to get off desk duty and run a mile or two.”

  Ben was hurt a year and a half ago and just never got off desk duty. He’s fine now and his injury was a result of slipping on a piece of garbage but he insists he prefers paperwork over policing now. It’s a running joke at the station. One of many.

  I straighten the paper from my sandwich and pick up half of my Rueben.

  “I should have gotten the Rueben,” Patrice says before nibbling on her turkey club.

  “Then get the Rueben tomorrow.” I bite my sandwich, ignoring her stares of longing.

  She lifts the top of her bun. “Ugh, they put mayonnaise on it. Didn’t you hear me say no mayonnaise?” She moves to get up from the table.

  I sigh and push my sandwich toward her.

  “You’re the best partner a girl could have.” Patrice smiles wide and bites into my Rueben.

  I grab the corner of the paper her sandwich is on and lift the bread, seeing no mayonnaise at all. She laughs then chokes on her sandwich, quickly grabbing her drink.

  I point at her. “That’s some insta-karma right there.”

  Switching sandwiches isn’t really a big deal. She’s been my partner for three years, and she’s got my back whether we’re dealing with a busted window or a bank robbery. Not that our small town of Cliffton Heights sees a lot of bank robberies. Over the years, I’ve debated heading into New York City where there’s more crime, but then I’d have to leave my friends. And when you grow up in a shitty neighborhood where your friends are the ones you depend on when you’re out of the house, you view them as family. Dylan and Jax were foster kids and hung out so much at my house, they’re like brothers. We ran the streets and got into some trouble but I always knew they had my back.

  Hopefully with the detective position opening up next week after Louie retires, I’ll see some bigger cases. I passed up the opportunity to apply for promotion two years ago when I was dating Leilani because she’s not exactly police officer wife material and I cared more for her than I did my job. But like my mom always says, looking in the rearview mirror never did anyone any good. I have to stop thinking about the time wasted and take my shot now.

  Our radios squawk on our shoulders, and Patrice’s hand raises to answer the call. Sounds like it’s time for us to go. I pick up Patrice’s original sandwich and toss it in the trash. She carefully folds the paper over the Rueben and shoves it into the bag for later.

  Great, she’s going to eat in the car again. I hate when people eat in the car and she knows it. Half the reason I took her sandwich was because by the time we waited for a new sandwich, she’d have no choice but to eat it in the car.

  She smiles at me, lifting her bag like a taunt.

  “What’s the call?” I ask, waving to the shop owner before opening the door for Patrice and exiting the small deli.

  The table full of women all giggle like thirteen-year-olds, watching us leave.

  “Looking for someone.” She opens her door and I get into the driver’s seat.

  In the years we’ve been partners, we’ve come to agreeable terms. One of those being we share the driving even though, and don’t tell her, I’m the better driver. I won’t even mention the time she rear-ended an armored truck we were supposed to be guarding. She’d just tell you about the time I hit a pothole so fast the tire flew off.

  Our sixty-five-year-old dispatcher Mildred’s voice comes through our radios. “Suspects shot paintballs at male and female as they left Cliffton Heights Country Club. Victims believe it to be an attack on the female’s fur coat, but they hit the male in his groin. He’s being transported to the hospital. Suspects’ descriptions are two males in their late twenties. Not any more to go on than that. And a female in her twenties with long dark hair in a ponytail, believed to be Hispanic.”

  I drive us in the direction of the country club, looking for the suspects.

  Six hours later, we’ve pulled over a few cars, responded to a domestic abuse call, and kicked kids who should’ve been home in bed out of the riverfront area. We stroll around our assigned area, still on the lo
okout for the suspects of the paintball incident, but no luck. At this point, they’re probably long gone, on the highway back to New York City.

  Rumors around the district are that it was the Floyds who got shot with the paintballs. The Floyds are the wealthiest people in our city and tend to have their name listed with top billing at every fundraiser. Another set of partners took their statement at the hospital, and besides having a swollen set on him, Mr. Floyd will be fine in a few days.

  “So? Gone on any dates lately?”

  I groan that Patrice has chosen to bring up this topic now. She’s happily married, and ever since she said, “I do,” she thinks it’s her part-time job to play matchmaker, though she says her friends are off-limits.

  “No.”

  “Please don’t tell me you’re still fucking girls and not asking for phone numbers afterward?”

  I turn slowly down a dark alley. “Why are you so concerned about my love life? Other than the fact that you’re in marital bliss and seem to think everyone wants what you have.”

  She’s quiet for a moment, which for Patrice is unusual, so I arm myself with a few comebacks. “You’re too good of a guy to just be the douchebag who disappoints women all the time.”

  “Did you just call me a good guy?” Rarely do I receive compliments from Patrice. We have one of those relationships where telling one another what a dumbass the other is being is our way of showing love.

  “You know what I mean.”

  I shrug. “Maybe I’m still getting over her.”

  She blows out an annoyed breath, not having to ask who her is. “Give me a break. She’s a felon.”

  “A few protest arrests doesn’t make you a felon.” And there I go, sticking up for the woman who broke my heart as if it was a twig underfoot—with no care for its fragility and no backward glance. Still, I’m over Leilani now. But I don’t want a relationship, and if I say I’m over her, Patrice will make it her personal mission to give me heart eyes for someone.

  I slow down as we near my apartment. My buddy’s shop, Ink Envy, and his girl’s bakeshop, Sweet Infusion, are right here. Rian is usually already baking at this godforsaken hour, but it’s the dark-haired girl walking down the street who grabs my attention. I know the cadence of that walk. I know that ass.

  What the hell is she doing here?

  Patrice looks at me when I stop the car, then follows my line of sight. “Fits the description of the female suspect, right?”

  I hold up my hand, put the car into park, and quietly shut my door. “Leilani,” I say into the cool morning air.

  It wouldn’t be the first time a witness has labeled someone with olive skin as being Hispanic rather than Polynesian.

  She’s in jeans and a sweatshirt. Patrice is wrong—Leilani can’t be one of the suspects. But on her right jean leg, I spot paint, and the more my eyes scour her clothes, I spot the cast of spray on her clothes.

  “Knox.” Her voice is as sweet as candy as she saunters to me, her hips swaying, her eyes eating me up as though she’s going to welcome me with a kiss after she bolted from town. “It’s been so long.”

  I nod. “Since you left me, you mean?”

  A door chime rings behind me. Although I don’t bother looking, I know it’s Rian.

  “I came back to see you. I was going to ring the buzzer, but I didn’t want to wake you.” She breaks the distance between us.

  I grab her wrist to stop her before she touches me. “Where were you earlier?”

  She shrugs. “I told you. I was here, waiting for you.”

  I’ve been around this block twenty times tonight. This is the first time I’ve seen her. “Did you take up painting?”

  The truth lies in her eyes. Or should I say the lies. It’s the same look I’d get when I’d ask her about moving in together, or her job prospects in town so she could stick around.

  “You need to come down to the station. There are some officers who’d like to talk to you about your aim with a paintball gun.”

  Red and blue lights reflect off the glass of the storefront, and I glance over my shoulder to see Patrice shrugging.

  “You can’t arrest me. You have no proof that I’ve done anything wrong.” She squirms to get out of my hold.

  I’m sure her assumption is that I’d let her go because in her mind, I’m probably still stupidly in love with her. I can’t deny there’s still a soft spot there, but I no longer pine over her like a sappy schmuck.

  “I’m not gonna argue with you Leilani.” I grab my handcuffs and secure them on her wrists.

  “What are you gonna do? Take me up to your apartment with these cuffs on? Just like the old days, huh?”

  “No.” I try not to let the visual she’s so eager to produce in my mind come to fruition.

  I turn her toward the cruiser and Leilani balks. “Seriously, the lights? Why not put your siren on too?” At least she finally realizes this is serious.

  Patrice isn’t even trying to bite down her smile as I walk Leilani back to the squad car, open the door, and press my hand on her head to lower her in.

  “Hello, Leilani,” Patrice says.

  “Patrice.”

  As I round the back of the car, I catch sight of all my friends on the balcony. I assume Rian must’ve alerted them. My gaze falls to Rian on the sidewalk outside her shop, her hand covering her mouth and a look of sorrow in her eyes.

  I hate that damn look.

  “Go back inside, Rian,” I say and climb into the driver’s side.

  Just to be a dick, I turn on the sirens, but it’s me who’ll suffer for this. Move on over, Ben—I’m the new joke at the station now.

  Chapter Two

  Knox

  “I think you’re the first to have to arrest your girlfriend,” DuPont says, snickering with Milliken as they pass by my desk.

  “Ex-girlfriend,” Patrice says, but she’s talking to air because they’re busy spreading the gossip.

  Back when we were an item, I brought Leilani to the precinct’s Christmas party and to a wedding for an officer at the station. So when Captain Donnelly saw me walk her into the station in cuffs, his chin fell to his chest. I’ve never been more embarrassed in my life—except for that time back in fourth grade when I stuttered my way through my read-aloud session and got stuck with the shitty tagline of “Knox is as dumb as a box of rocks.”

  At the moment, Leilani is with the detectives and in a room where she’s out of my sight.

  “How did you ever meet her in the first place?” Patrice asks, tapping her pen on the desk across from mine.

  I shake my head, remembering that night for the first time in a long time. Leilani has weaved in and out of my life so often that I never really think about the first time we met. But the way I would describe it is that she flew into my life rather than walked in.

  “We were at this bar named Duke’s. Me, Dylan, and a few other guys. There was this table of girls nearby that we started talking to.”

  “Leilani was one of them?” Patrice asks over a stack of papers as she moves to the other side of her desk.

  I shake my head. “No. They were friends with the waitress.”

  I smile, remembering the waitress. She was Polynesian, just like Leilani. I’d been flirting with the waitress originally.

  “Waitress?”

  I nod. “She was waiting on us the entire night and brought us some drinks from her friends. One of them was into Dylan.”

  “What’s not to be into?”

  I raise my eyebrows. “You’re married.”

  “And he’s engaged. Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a good-looking guy.”

  Shaking my head, I continue. “She had this smile that lit up the entire room. She was sweet and funny and—”

  “Was Leilani the waitress?”

  “No. Leilani came later. I’d just forgotten about that waitress until you brought this up.”

  Patrice’s eyebrows furrow as she stares at me as though she wants me to get to the point.


  “I’d been talking with the waitress most of the night, flirting, and I was gonna ask her what she was doing when she got off. But one of my friends was saying she was like the girl next door. You know, the kind that you bring home to your mother. That set off the alarm bells in my head.”

  “Men are such jackasses.” Patrice opens a drawer at her desk and grabs a Snickers bar, opens the wrapper, and takes a big bite.

  I shrug. “I was young. Like… twenty-three? The last thing I wanted was something serious. Someone who’d want to meet my mother. Someone who’d be weighing my capability of taking care of them for the rest of their life. So I came to my senses when my friend said it. Then the door opened, and Leilani blew in.”

  Patrice sighs. “Let’s not make it sound like a romance movie. You didn’t live happily ever after, remember? You just arrested her.”

  “I know, I know. But I was blown away by her demeanor. Like she was there to party and live life as it came to her instead of having some predestined plan of what she wanted.”

  “And now she shoots people with paint guns.”

  I hear Patrice, but my mind is still at that bar. I’m thinking about that waitress and the path my life might have traveled if I’d asked her out instead of hooking up with Leilani.

  “She won you over in bed, didn’t she?”