“No, I’m just… I have something in my throat. Exhaust probably. I’m outside waiting for Mack to bring us some food. First time I’ll have eaten today.”
“That’s not good. A machine needs fuel to run.”
That made me chuckle and feel oddly fuzzy inside. The man was preaching to me about unhealthy habits. Like my sister. Like someone who cared. The thing in my throat got thicker.
“Yep, and this machine will be running on burritos soon. The other thing that I wanted to tell you was that I recused myself from your case, citing a conflict of interest.”
A long beat of dead silence followed. Fear that I had fucked things up already blossomed in my belly.
“So, we can date now?”
“Yeah, we can; I mean, if you want…”
“Oh, trust me, Detective, Iwant.”
If I’d not been a chonky-ass cop, I’d have floated away on those gusty Cali winds.
ChapterFifteen
Oliver
I was going on a date.
Tonight.
With Jackson.
Jamie perched on the edge of my bed while Daisy and Scarlett rummaged through my closet, their enthusiasm barely contained, transforming my bedroom into a chaotic council of fashion.
“Daddy, wear the blue shirt! It makes your eyes look nice,” Scarlett insisted, holding up a shirt that had seen better days.
“Is this a jeans place, or a slacks place, or should you be in your Armani?” Jamie asked for the third time. “Are you sure you don’t want me to message him?” Finally, he picked up my phone and waggled it.
“He said casual is okay.”
“Armani can be casual,” Jamie smirked. Asshole. This from the man who wore waistcoats to go grocery shopping. To underscore that, he tugged at the paisley one he was wearing now, with jeans, and assumed a pose.
“Armani is for games and traveling,” I groused, and he snorted a laugh.
“Wear your nice jeans, not the ones with the paint,” Daisy added, her tone suggesting that my usual non-hockey attire might not be up to par for whatever Jackson had planned. “And not your hockey stuff.”
“Okay, not hockey, got it.”
There was an awful lot of LA Storm purple piled on the side shelves, most of it in plastic still, but it was all splashed with my name and number, and while I wasn’t a Hollywood celeb, I didn’t want to be noticed, unless people really looked.
I stood there, amidst a sea of clothing choices, feeling an odd mix of excitement and unease. The date with Jackson loomed large in my mind, overshadowing even the simplest decisions. I stared at the clothes, unable to muster the energy to make a choice, my thoughts a whirlwind of anticipation and nerves, and I felt suddenly overwhelmed and lethargic.
Jamie, ever observant, watched me with a concerned frown. “Oliver, you okay? You’ve been staring at that shirt for five minutes now.”
I blinked, pulled from my reverie. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… can’t decide, I guess.”
But Jamie wasn’t convinced. “When’s the last time you checked your sugar?” he asked, his voice carrying an edge of worry.
“I’m not in a hypo,” I murmured and picked up a discarded shirt in pale green.
“You haven’t checked your watch in all the time I’ve been in the room.”
“Hmmm?”
