Page 15 of Jonny’s Redemption

“Like I’m in an interrogation room and you’re trying to crack a case.”

That was the wrong thing to say and I knew it when Jonny completely closed down.

“Not a cop anymore, Bobby. And we’re on my deck, not an interrogation room.”

I would’ve preferred for him to tell me I wasn’t a suspect, that I was the woman he cared about, the woman he was starting a relationship with and wanted to get to know. But that wasn’t what he said. And if I was being honest, that stung.

I refused to be one of those wishy-washy women. Go, stay, run, come back. But right now, I wished I were one of those women. I wanted to run. Go home and lick my wounds, fortify my walls, and wait for Jonny to come home so we could start anew. Now that I knew a little about who his people were and the legacy they’d passed down through the generations, I’d be prepared. I just needed a little bit of time to come to terms with our differences.

Unfortunately, I’d stubbornly demanded my place. Now I had to stick to my guns and stay. My problem was I didn’t know what to say, which was totally out of character. I always had a snappy retort or some smartass comment at the ready. But snappy and smartass didn’t work on Jonny.

“I don’t know what to say,” I admitted and Jonny’s brow once again arched.

“You, Bobby Layne, are speechless?”

“No, I’m not speechless. There’s plenty I can say. But you said you didn’t want fake so I thought I’d save us the trouble of another go-around and just admit I don’t know what to say to take us back to the light, friendly conversation we were having before I complimented you on your cooking. We could sit in silence, but that’d suck. Or I could make a snappy remark about that damn eyebrow of yours and how you arch it right before you say something smartass. Further, I could tell you that one morning you might wake up to your brows Nair’ed off. You’ll look stupid but in the long run, you’ll thank me for not waxing them. Though, I reserve the right to use wax and not Nair if you continue to annoy me with the brow thing you do.”

Throughout my monologue, Jonny’s lips started twitching. This was highly attractive as was everything he did, including the annoying eyebrow thing, thus making it even more annoying.

Then I watched in rapt attention when his head dipped and he busted out laughing; making everything—every-last-thing about him—even more attractive. He’d laughed more in the last few hours than I’d ever seen but I knew it was a sight that would never get old. It was glorious. Deep and rumbly and made my body come alive in new ways.

“Only you,” he said through a chuckle.

That felt amazing.

“I want all of you, Bobby.”

That did not feel amazing. That felt terrifying.

“And I want you to have all of me.”

Back to floating on cloud nine.

I wanted all of him. I was just worried when he learned I wouldn’t be able to give him parts of me, he’d rescind his offer.

“How long can you stay?” he asked.

“I have my laptop,” I told him and when my answer was met with confusion, I reminded him, “I can work from anywhere. Evie doesn’t care where I set up shop just as long as my work gets done.”

“I want a week.”

“A week?”

“Here, alone, at the beach house. A week of just you and me before we go back and our well-meaning friends stick their noses in our business.”

Holy shit. Jonny Spencer wanted a week. A week alone with me.

Hell to the yes.

Instead of jumping up doing a jig or something similarly lame like pumping my fist in the air or breaking out into jazz hands (thankfully I’d never actually done any of those things), I remained in my seat and calmly said, “I can do a week.”

“Let’s take these inside.”

Jonny didn’t wait for me to answer. He picked up his plate and mine then walked across the deck to the door. I gathered up the silverware and our empty beer bottles and followed.

A week.

I’d have a whole week of Jonny all to myself.