A girl of eighteen?
Yuck.
Not good.
“Bit of a predator,” I said carefully.
“At least he waited until she was legal,” he replied in a way it was clear he was reaching long to find some silver lining in that sitch.
“Do you still talk to her?”
“She wants me to come home.”
That got me up on an elbow. “Say what?”
He pulled me back into his arms.
“She wants me to come home,” he repeated. “She says Rocco has taken over the crew. Dad is semi-retired, but from what Gypsy says, it sounds mostly like Rocco humors him. She says, now, they’re a big deal. They’re heavy hitters. He even has legit shit running alongside the other shit. She says Crew and Poe are dufuses. Good with their fists, they can follow orders, and they might be a year and a half apart, but they still share a brain cell. She thinks with me and Rocco partnering up, we could all make it so we can buy an island when we’re forty and retire.”
“She’s trying to recruit you?”
“Yep.”
“You, former army, current badass investigator?”
There was a slender thread of humor in his tone, but at least there was humor, when he repeated, “Yep.”
“And you’re disabusing her of this notion.”
There was more humor when he replied, “Oh yeah, I’m disabusing her of it.”
“Don’t make fun of my vocabulary. It isn’t like you talk like a caveman.”
“I’m not making fun of you, honey. You having so many words and using them is a massive turn on.”
Interesting.
“Really?” I asked.
“I know there are guys who dig dumb chicks. I am not one of them.”
“Thank God.”
He aimed his mouth to mine in the dark and hit his mark.
When he pulled away, I asked, “Why would she think, when you were never into that, not only would you be, but you’d be good at it?”
“Honestly, I have no clue,” he answered. “Mostly, I think she just wants me home. Close. It was always her and me against all the rest. It’s twisted now for her. It’s become her life. And she wants me to be a part of her life, but she doesn’t get it isn’t healthy. Not for her, me or anybody.”
To that, I said quietly, “I’m sorry you have to deal with all of that with your family.”
He blew it off. “Everyone has a story.”
“That doesn’t mean yours doesn’t suck,” I pointed out.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “Mine sucks.”
“Are they still bothering you with that?”
