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“Very funny.” I don’t really have to use the bathroom, but I go anyway. And I do look around, as if some secret inch of this place will contain the key to fully understanding Shane Royce. I'm surprised by how much I want to find it. But it’s a blank slate, even more so than the living room, which at least had that framed photograph as a clue.
So Shane has a weak spot for his mother and an aversion to talking about his father. Duly noted. It’s nice to know he has a weak spot at all. Most of the time, I go around feeling like I’m a collection of them, and he comes off as someone who’s invincible and knows it.
Again, I have that desire to know him. It’s a strange feeling to have toward someone I have, in some way or another, known for most of my life.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Shane
Sitting in my car next to Ruthie, stuck within a couple of feet of her, is an exercise in self-restraint. I knew it was going to be hard to see her again without begging for a repeat, but I told myself it wouldn’t be this hard. It turns out my imagination was lacking again, because my hands seem to keep reaching out for her, wanting to touch her hand, brush against her coat, pinch her ass.
At least I had enough presence of mind to hold back from doing that last thing. I tell myself that part of her power over me is the dress she’s wearing. Her coat might cover most of it, but it’s her new coat, not the dirty puffer, and I can see enough that my imagination very gamely fills in the rest.
It’s a sexy red dress with a thigh slit. She knows her legs are fabulous and brings attention to them—a confidence that’s as much of a turn-on as the flash of leg covered in sheer black stockings. They’re the kind with the little line up the back. I could stare at Ruthie in those stockings for hours, but I’d prefer to take them off her, to watch the translucent material slide down her legs.
I’m in trouble. More so because it’s not just sex that I want. After my meeting with Josie, I wanted to call Ruthie and tell her more than I should, because I figured the situation would amuse her. Then I got drinks with the guys on Wednesday and finally had a long talk with Burke, who should resent me but doesn’t, and I wanted to tell her about that too. Because I really don’t deserve my friends, and she was right to think so. I also wanted to ask about her conversation with her mother and, more distressingly, I wanted to hold her hand while she told me about it. I don’t understand what’s happening to me, other than that I broke my rule, my most important rule, and now I’m living in the fallout.
I desire my wife…and I also care about her.
I try to swallow the thoughts, but they’re in no mood to cooperate.
“Soooo,” she says, “Josie the Great, huh? How’s that going?”
I don’t want to talk about Josie the Great right now. I’d prefer never to talk about Josie the Great again, but the subject has one advantage: I’m much less likely to get hard while sitting in traffic if we’re discussing the case.
“She wants me to make the argument that she’s actually psychic,” I say, giving her a quick look. It’s dark, but I can see the outline of her face, the glitter of her eyes in dusk. Her lips are a pop of color. “You want to go on the stand?” I tease. “You’re a big fan of hers.”
“Are you really doing it?” she asks, ignoring my comment. I can tell she’s laughing at me, even though she hasn’t let out the sound.
“Yes, she has me in a corner,” I admit. “Freeman’s taken a shine to her. She bumped into him when she was leaving the office and told him he had purple energy. They both seemed pretty pleased about that, so apparently it’s a good thing. I’ll give Freeman this, he thinks there are less risky stances we could take in the trial, but he’s going to let me do what I think is best.”
“Which in this case is what she thinks is best.”
“Precisely. So we’re all screwed.” I give her another side-eye glance. “She’s coming tonight. He wants her to give readings for everyone.”
Ruthie flinches, lifting her fingers to her painted lips. I understand the impulse—I’d like to touch them too. I’d like to suck them, bite them, and I’d really like to see them wrapped around my cock.
“What if she gives us away tonight?” she asks, her fingers moving back and forth.
I train my eyes out of the windshield and tell myself it’s because I need to keep us safe, not because I’m too weak to look at her right now without touching. “Like I said, she has me in a corner. She might be full of shit, but she’s not stupid. She’s observant. If she gives us away, I’d lose my job, and she’d lose her hold over me. There’d be no benefit to her.”
“But she could ask Freeman to represent her,” Ruthie argues, then pauses and laughs. “You don’t think she’ll do it because you think you’re better than Freeman.”
I stop at a stoplight and steal a glance. She’s smudged her lipstick a little, but maybe the people in the party will assume I’ve done it. I like the thought. I want them to think she’s mine.
She’s not yours, and you don’t want her.
If I repeat it more, it could start sounding true. I do that sometimes before a trial. He’s innocent. He’s innocent. He’s innocent. Because if you don’t believe it, the jury won’t either.
“I didn’t say I was a better man, Ruthie. But a better lawyer, yes.”
She rolls her eyes.
“How’s Izzy?” I ask. “Is Goldie still insulting her Polly Pockets? I mean, honestly, with a name like that it’s pretty rich of her to be insulting anyone.”
Her mouth gapes open as the light changes and I start cruising again. “You remembered all of that?”
“Why wouldn’t I? When people are important to me, I remember the things they say.”
