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I swear to God, Dempsey should have gone into theater because he certainly likes drawing out the drama of his stories. It’s maddening when I’m dying to get to the point.
“I asked him if it was a sample or if he was selling.” He scowls at me. “He was selling.”
“What did Trevor do?” I ask, voice shaking with a mix of fear and anger. “Please tell me he wasn’t involved.”
Dempsey sits up and then rises to his feet. So close to him, I have to crane my neck up to see him. Intensity rolls off him in powerful waves, threatening to drown me in them.
“Tell me.”
“He didn’t do much until I told Charlie I wasn’t interested in buying. Trevor seemed agitated and all it took was one look from Charlie before he lost it. Threw a punch at me, the fucker.”
It’s then I realize the slight redness on his cheek.
I did this.
I put him in harm’s way.
My family did this to him.
Some cop I am.
“Dempsey,” I rasp out, reaching up to touch his cheek. “I’m sorry.”
He grips my wrist before I can reach his face. His blue eyes smolder with fiery heat and anger. I don’t know if he’s mad at me or Trevor or the situation I put him in, but it’s well-deserved.
“Don’t apologize for him,” he growls, voice so low it vibrates my skin and every cell beneath it. “Besides, I punched him back.”
I open my mouth, unsure what I want to say to him exactly, but he dips his head until our noses nearly touch. This has whatever words I wanted to say dying on my lips. Staring at him this close has fried my brain.
“You can’t touch me, Sloane. I can’t…I won’t be able to handle it.”
He releases my hand, letting it drop, and then sidesteps me to head for the window. I’m left reeling from his words.
You can’t touch me, Sloane. I can’t…I won’t be able to handle it.
Not because he’s angry at me or Trevor. Not because I’m some cop and he’s the town bad boy. Not because I’m his mom’s best friend.
No, he can’t handle it because it would be torture.
He glances over his shoulder at me. Pain is written all over his handsome face, tugging his full lips into a sad frown that breaks my heart.
Why is he hurt?
Why do I feel like I’m responsible for his anguish?
“Dempsey,” I whisper. “I…I’m…”
“It’s fine. It’s nothing. Forget it ever happened.” He shakes his head, teeth grinding together. “See you Saturday.”
But I can’t forget.
It did happen.
Dempsey likes me. His joke about a date wasn’t a joke at all. He really actually likes me—so much, in fact, that my mere touch would have done something to him. What? I have no idea, but I do know he was worried about the outcome.
Holy shit. This is an actual problem.
A big one.
