“I just want to read my book. I was already interrupted by your friend Eva, but I actually enjoy talking to her so I didn’t mind as much.”
“I don’t have a friend named?—”
“Save it. She told me about The Blacksmith.”
“Really?”
“Yes. The visit was fine. The officer was friendly and polite. I’ve known him awhile. He asked me out last summer but cancelled our date because an icicle fell on his car. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about what my friend Kelsey said.Maybe he saw you from across the room one dayand became obsessed with you.This was the perfect set-up to find out.
“I dunno. What’s the guy’s name? I drop a lot of icicles on a lot of people.”
“And what about cars?”
“When and where was this supposed icicle dropped on his car?”
“Last June, near Henderson and Taggle.”
“Hm.” He paused. “I very well may have. I do silly things to keep myself entertained.”
I didn’t fully believe him but I dropped it.
“Alright. He gave me his business card again. I guess he must have a new phone or something. He told me to call if I needed anything, isn’t that nice?”
“That’s what you have me—us for.”
I bookmarked my page and set my book back on my end table, then put the phone on speaker, laid it on my pillow, and pulled my comforter over my shoulders. If this was going to be a long conversation, I might as well get more comfortable, right?
“Are you jealous? You sound jealous.”
“Of some blond-haired fuckboy cop?” He snorted. “No chance.”
“How did you know he was blond?”
“I assumed it was the officer who responded to the mugging. Was I incorrect?”
“No.” I chuckled. “But you know you’re blond too. Just saying.”
“Less than 10% of the time.”
I could practically feel him rolling his eyes.
“So less than 10% of you time, you’re a fuckboy? What’s that like?”
He mumbled something incoherent before sighing.
“I hate you.”
I grinned. I’d been waiting to throw his words back at him for days.
“You absolutely do not. You might wish you could but I’m too adorable.”
“Can’t argue with that, Nightshade.”
There it was again. I was sure I’d imagined it that day in the bar when he was all up in my personal space. I hadn’t been thinking clearly then; he’d been standing so close, heat radiating off of him, lips so close I thought for a second he might— But now I had a clear head and he definitely said it.
“Nightshade? Why Nightshade?”
