He ignores it, and so do I.
“So,” I say when he doesn’t speak, “what’d he clock you at?”
There’salmosta twitch to his lips. “One ten.”
I let out a low whistle.
“In a fifty,” he adds.
My eyes widen. “And he didn’t write you a ticket that would land you in court?”
“Surprisingly, no.” He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest. His muscles stretch against the material of his shirt like they’re threatening to bust loose, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
I do, maybe a little too much.
“I got lucky,” he continues, “considering this would have been my third ticket in less than three months.”
I arch a brow. “Lead foot?”
“I like to go fast.” He shrugs, not looking the least bit apologetic, and I like that. “What was your crime? Had to be bad if Sheriff Turner hauled his own daughter into the station.”
“Actually, that was Deputy Jenkins.”
“Fucking Jenkins.” He repeats my dad’s words, and it makes me grin.
“I might havestirred up the crowdat the Mid-Summer Fling.”
Another near twitch of his lips. “And how, exactly, did you do that?”
“Went on a bit of a rant about the patriarchy.”
He nods. “Makes sense.”
“Excuse me?”
“The patriarchy sucks.” He sits forward and folds his hands together on the table. A piece of his black hair falls over his eye, and I have thestrangest urge to reach across the table and brush it back. I resist. “Why, what’d you think I meant?”
“I was waiting for you to call me an insufferable feminist.”
No twitch this time. No reaction at all.
Okay then . . .
I clear my throat. “Anyway, I guess I hit a button with Jenkins, and the next thing I knew, I was in cuffs and in the back of his squad car.”
“And now you’re being blackmailed into working for me.”
“I take it you’re the other owner of Stick Taps?”
He looks a little stricken that I’m asking. It’s almost like he’s shocked I’m not falling at his feet or something.
I suppose it’s not surprising, given that if the rumors are true about the owners, he was once a big shot hockey player. I bet people used to worship him. Too bad for him that I’ll never be included in that list.
“That’s me,” he confirms.
“Well, thanks for the sympathy hire and all,Mr. Rawlings, but I’m not interested.”
He tips his head to the side, like he’s studying me, and I shift under his gaze.
