She studies me for a moment with a sense of wonder in her eyes, as if she can see something she hasn’t noticed before.
She shakes her head, a small smile lingering on her lips. “You should have. It would have gotten you laid, a lot.”
I snort. “It would make this a very different venture.”
She nods, smiling. “Good.”
I’m not even sure what she is approving of, but my chest expands with warmth, as if I’ve just achieved something monumental.
Then she looks away, curling a dreadlock around her finger. And the walls go back up.
“Also, I got laid plenty.” I lighten the mood to save her.
She laughs. “That is evident.”
“Have you just given me a compliment, Little Thunder?”
“Stop gloating.” She swats at me. “Are you staying?”
I shake my head. “Let’s go home.”
The words come out automatically. Casually. Naturally.
We both still.
Home.
I expect her to bolt, but she pulls out her phone. “Let me get us a ride.”
“I guess you’re not going to tell me about your relationship with vintage cars.”
She smiles at me. “I’m going to do better. I’m going to show you.”
“To show me?”
“If you have time for a stop before we go home.”
She’s looking at me through her eyelashes, but it’s not a shy expression. That wouldn’t be her.
She’s smiling that alluring, mischievous smile of hers.
I had never realized that a small victory might feel this monumental.
Twenty minutes later, we pull into an abandoned street and near a guardhouse, an entrance to some industrial yard.
We get out of the car, and Roxy leads the way to the ramp.
The guard yawns, but when he notices Roxy, he straightens up. “Miss Lock.”
“Hey, Omar, how are you? Everything okay here?”
“Yes, it’s been as quiet as ever.”
We walk across the yard that seems to house some warehouses. “So here, you’re not Moretti?”
“Sometimes it pays off to be a Lock. In this case, it apparently saved me a lot of money.”
“What do you mean?”
