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Lock’s eyes locked on mine.
“Yeah, I do,” he said.
I studied him for a long moment before I started explaining more.
“Kris was sixteen, as I said.” I paused. “He used to cut himself. I used to walk in on him doing it. As if he was wanting me to catch him.”
Lock’s eyes narrowed.
“Did you tell your parents?” he asked.
I nodded.
“I did,” I confirmed. “And they confronted him about it. Took him to counseling. But that didn’t fix him. If anything, it made him worse, and honestly more secretive about how he did his cutting.”
“What else happened?” he wondered, leaning forward as if he knew there was more.
I frowned. “How do you know that there’s more?”
He grinned. “I’m a cop. Cops are curious by nature.”
“I forgot that you were a police officer,” I admitted.
He nodded his head with a small grin forming on the corner of those perfect lips.
“Nice,” he said. “Now, tell me what happened.”
“After I told my parents what happened,” I said as I walked the bowls over to the sink and rinsed them. “I used to get visits from him in the middle of the night.” I shivered. “He never did anything, just stood there and looked at me for hours.”
Lock was at my side moments later, reaching his nearly empty coffee mug out and filling it halfway with water before dumping it out beside my bowl.
“Sounds like he’s definitely freaky,” he confirmed. “What happened then?”
“I told my parents, and they decided enough was enough and found him another place to live.” I licked my lips. “But over the next year or so, I used to get dead birds and shit on my windowsills. I swear to God, it was him.”
“Fucking creepy,” he said. “Sounds like you dodged a bullet, though. Your parents trusting you like that is awesome.”
“My parents are the best,” I agreed.
“No, mine are the best,” he corrected me. “Yours are probably second best, though.”
My brows rose. “I think we’ll just have to agree to disagree.”
He winked.
“Probably for the best,” he admitted. “Are you hungry? I can order lunch.”
Actually, I was absolutely starving.
“No,” I lied. “Thank you, though.”
He eyed me from where I stood at his kitchen sink, washing my dirty dishes.
“I’m going to order Waitr anyway,” he said. “And I’ll get you a hot dog unless you tell me what you really want.”
I tilted my head.
“Maybe I’m really not hungry,” I told him.
“Or maybe you just feel bad like you did at the ballpark when I got you that hot dog,” he countered. “Which, might I add, I have yet to receive my beer for.”
I looked over at him in surprise.
“You’re actually right,” I admitted. “I completely forgot about that.”
He pulled his phone out of his pocket.
“Chick-Fil-A, Taco Bell, The Back Porch or pizza?” he asked.
“Surprise me,” I told him.
Actually, they all sounded great. Though I could seriously go for one of Chick-Fil-A’s sweet teas, a taco supreme from Taco Bell, a slab of ribs from The Back Porch, and a slice of pepperoni pizza to finish off my unhealthy meal.
Not that I’d tell him that.
“Pizza then,” he said. “Is there anything you don’t want on your pizza?”
“Anchovies, olives, or mushrooms,” I told him instantly. “The rest is a-okay in my book.”
I turned the water off in the sink as he lifted the phone to his ear.
“You forgot the spatulas.” He pointed at the objects still covered in batter.
I picked up the closest one and started to lick it.
“Isn’t it bad for you to lick the batter off of the spoon?” he asked. “I’ve always heard it’s dangerous.”
“The cost/risk ratio is acceptable to me,” I said as I licked the batter. “I’m fairly sure I won’t get salmonella poisoning. And, if I did, then I’d just go to the doctor and still come out okay on the other side. I might change my tune later, but so far, nothing bad has ever happened when I licked the spoon…only good.”
His eyes stayed on mine as he ordered our pizza.
And when I finished the first spatula and moved to the second, his eyes went dark and hot.
By the time he’d ended the phone call, I was halfway tempted to put the spoon down…which I did, or at least started to do, moments later.
“Don’t stop,” he urged. “Please, finish it up.”
I felt a bloom of heat on my cheeks as I said, “No, that’s all I wanted.”
Lies.
Total lies.
What I really wanted was an entire bowl of the stuff, but a couple of licks of a serving spoon would be enough for now.
Maybe.
“How much time is it going to take to get here?” I wondered aloud.
He shoved the phone back into his pocket and said, “Twenty-five to thirty-five minutes.” He paused. “That means that we’ll probably get it around midnight.”
I burst out laughing at that.
Sadly, with Luigi’s being the best pizza place in town, sometimes they got a little far behind when it came to deliveries.
