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And since when do we have a relationship anyhow?
Since you paid him a little midnight visit, the Damsel points out, sounding quite pleased with herself.
And sure he’s rescued me from celibacy and given me my first hands-free orgasm in what feels like forever, but that’s not really a relationship. Like one that involves talking. And feelings.
You’re talking now, Damsel points out.
And you’re feeling shit.
Damn her for being right.
Pick apparently gets tired of waiting for me to finish my internal monologue because he busts in. “There more to it than that?”
“Probably.” Absolutely. I can practically feel Damsel gloating. She thinks this night is going to go her way.
“He going to be trouble?”
“He’ll be back.”
“I like trouble just fine.” The helmet can’t hide the slow grin tugging at the corner of Pick’s mouth. When he looks like that, my panties are in serious jeopardy. Damsel and my inner hussy both urge us to reach on over and reward the man for his help tonight. In fact, I should totally reciprocate, right? Give him a helping hand wherever he’d like it? A roadside blow job?
“No worries there, honey,” he continues. His dark eyes never leave the road, but I know he’s aware of me, of how my fingers pick nervously at his T-shirt because Damsel really is winning and how I can’t stop the betraying gesture. “Now would be a good time to tell me what happened.”
Of course he’s right, but that doesn’t make the confession any easier. Who really likes to air all their sins?
“Let’s just say that Thad and I have a past,” I suggest. Maybe we can go for the simple, not-as-embarrassing executive summary and skimp on the details.
Pick’s not on board with that. “I’m going to need details. This isn’t a game of connect-the-dots where you throw out a few hints and I fill in the lines. Tell me what kind of trouble you’re in.”
“You can’t help.”
Truth, right? I mean, unless I need someone to beat the shit out of Thad and possibly help me hide the body. I let myself enjoy that fantasy for a moment. I know violence doesn’t really solve anything, and I actually don’t condone murder under any circumstances, but it’s been a long night and I’m feeling weak.
“Try me.” Mr. Safety First actually takes his eyes off the road to look back at me. It’s a short glance, but he packs a lot into it. “Give me a chance, Sarah Jo.”
Chances are risky business. I knew riding with Pick was a bad idea. I hate the fear I feel about what Thad might do to me, but that feeling isn’t anywhere near as bad as the uncertainty. Thad Hill has decided to make my life his own personal playground, popping in and out with devastating effect. He won’t just leave me alone. Somehow, I have to defuse the threat he poses, but I’m fresh out of genius plans. I tried going to the authorities and that was an epic disaster. Running was my Hail Mary pass and it failed, and I don’t have much experience with standing my ground.
Pick, on the other hand, knows everything about holding his line. He’s an expert on digging and refusing to be pushed back. One inch at a time, he takes back whatever ground fire has claimed, day in and day out, summer after summer.
“Four months ago.” Start at the beginning, right? “I was living in Auburn, working as an in-home caregiver. There was a fire in my client’s home.”
Thank God, Mrs. Joan hadn’t been home. No, she’d gone off on the bus to Bunco night like she always did on Thursday evenings. At least Thad had waited until the elderly woman was clear. I wasn’t supposed to be there, either, but I’d forgotten my favorite sweater and swung back to get it just in time to catch the rat-thieving bastard pulling away from the curb. In hindsight, I realized that he’d popped the batteries in the smoke detectors during that visit, cracked a gas main, and set the microwave to go off. I’d got in, got out, too excited about my evening to notice the whiff of gas.
Stupid.
The timer went ding and Mrs. Joan’s home blew up, taking most of her possessions with it. All fingers, of course, had pointed my way from the get-go. I was the last one in the house, and no one listened when I insisted that Thad’s car had pulled away as I arrived. He was a deputy sheriff, just out and about doing his job. I got painted as the disgruntled girlfriend, because he immediately claimed we’d been having relationship problems, saying I’d wanted a ring and commitment, but he’d been unsure.
