Page 35 of Forced Proximity

Whoa. Record scratch time. I thought the other night was a fluke when he shared about his family and sister. I want to hear so much more about him, his life, his family. I’m trying to convince myself it’s for research or for protection, but I know that’s not true. I’m intrigued. Which is a dangerous place to be. ‘If you ever want to tell me more, I’ll listen.’

‘Ack. This is your story time, not mine,’ he says. ‘Not that you aren’t great, because you are, but there must be women all over the country. Did he say why he chose you, specifically?’

‘Yeah, Dave sent him videos of me teaching and a few old basketball tapes, and Marcus told me I had je ne sais quoi. I remember just staring at him before I finally told him that I didn’t speak French.’ So freaking embarrassing.

Justin laughs. ‘How did he pick that up from the tapes?’

Who knows? Now that I know Marcus better, I swear he has a sixth, seventh and eighth sense. ‘He said I was quick on my feet and watched me give up a good shot for a teammate to have a great shot.’

‘This is giving me so much insight into how you were as a player. Not nearly as cocky as I thought.’ He grins. The most perfect, disarming, lovely grin. ‘Then you got the job?’

‘We ended the conversation with him saying he’d fly me out to LA for a skills test. I didn’t even have a suitcase; can you believe that? It was just me and a duffle bag.’ I want to swoop in and hug my scared, but excited, twenty-one-year-old self, getting on a plane for the first time. ‘A month later, Katey and I packed our things and made the drive from Minneapolis to LA to begin a new life.’

He smiles. ‘Who’s Katey?’

Oh my God, why did I just bring her up? ‘My wife,’ I say, then add, ‘Well, my ex-wife.’

‘You were married?’ His eyes widen a bit and he pauses. ‘And … to a woman?’

I kind of love the flush filling his cheeks, even though I shouldn’t. I get the sense that he wants to ask about my identity. Maybe he’s felt the growing attraction I’m fighting, or maybe he’s curious.

Or … maybe he’s fighting it, too.

But I’ve also come to know Justin. Even with his grin and buttery, slight Nashville drawl that can pull stories out from the most unsuspecting people, he’s too polite to straight up ask. ‘I was,’ I say. I’m not normally open about my identity, or marital status for that matter, with a client. But with Justin … it feels like I can be open about anything. ‘I’m bi. In case you were curious.’

Coming out always has a layer of awkwardness to it. But did I need to add ‘in case you were curious’?

‘Ah.’ He nods, and his lips curve into a grin. ‘So, you were married. Did your family like her?’

‘Yeah, they really did.’ I grab another two glasses of water, and hand him one. ‘My dad especially. He thought Katey was good for me. He worried less when she was around. Like he knew she’d force me to take care of myself.’

‘How did they handle it when you got sick?’ he asks as he slices into a lemon from the fruit bowl and a burst of citrus mists the air. ‘I’m not sure what happens when you develop diabetes, but I’m assuming it’s not good.’

It wasn’t good. I was so tired, had this horrible, insatiable thirst, guzzled apple juice a half-gallon at a time, and no one knew what was wrong with me. ‘I lost a ton of weight, which scared the hell out of my parents. My dad thought I was losing weight on purpose and kept saying things like, you know guys like meat on bones – gives us something to grab on to while shoving extra potatoes on my plate.’ I smile, but it’s not funny. ‘A few days later, he carried me to the car because I was too weak to walk and flew down the highway to the hospital. He just changed after that, you know? Even to this day, he never stops worrying. He has the same fear of sugar for me as a bullet.’

Several moments of silence pass, which is a very good thing. I’ve been talking so much that I’m parched. I grab a sliced lemon from the cutting board and squeeze it into my water.

Justin pulls his lips into his mouth for a long moment. ‘You admire your father a lot?’

The understatement of the century. My father sacrificed everything for me. From him and my mom adopting me, to how they raised their family, to giving up their time and personal items. ‘After I got sick, I heard my parents whispering about things they could sell to pay for my medical bills. A week later, a man drove off with my dad’s beloved 1970 Chevelle, “Betty”. It killed me. I spent years watching my dad fix this car by hand. Betty was part of the family.’ To this day, the look my dad had that afternoon haunts me. ‘Know what he said when I asked him why he got rid of her?’

‘What did he say?’

‘He just said: “Time for Betty to go to a new owner, kid. Your mom was jealous of my mistress.”’ Why am I telling him this? The memory guts me almost as much today as it did seventeen years ago. ‘But I knew why he sold the car, and I hated myself for it.’ Enough. I just trauma barfed all over the man I’m supposed to protect. What’s next, me diving into the debilitating pain from my divorce and how I’m not sure I can ever open myself up to love again?

These over-the-top personal conversations stir too many emotions, which is the exact opposite of what should happen while on duty. Never before have I ever wished a perp would break in and deflect everything happening. ‘Jesus. I can’t believe I talked this much.’

I can’t decode Justin’s softened expression, but a rare warmth rushes my body. He touches the top of my hand, his large hands dwarfing mine. They’re firm and warm, and I want to interlace my fingers and have him touch my skin a few moments longer.

‘Thank you for sharing a piece of you with me,’ he says. ‘It means more than you know that you trusted me enough to open up.’

And, shit. That tone, those kind eyes, this desperation for him to keep touching me …

Yep, it’s official. I’m a goner.

Chapter 16

Justin