Page 31

“I’m Bruce. Come with me, ma’am,” I say to her. She waves to Lexi, who has now returned to sit with Ice. I take her outside and signal to one of my men to take her information.

“Please, keep her safe,” she says, holding my hand.

“I will,” I answer. She sniffs.

“Thank you. I will await her call.”

I nod and watch her give her information to one of the guys; he knows to have Malik run the woman’s information.

I step back into the store to find Lexi laughing with Ice, who apparently has gotten her another scoop of ice cream that’s loaded with sprinkles.

“Hi,” I say, taking the seat next to her.

“Hi,” she mumbles in between eating her ice cream.

“Didn’t know you speak French.”

“Dr. Pierre taught me to speak French. She was my mom’s best friend, also a doctor. I haven’t seen her since my dad fell sick. I lost contact with her,” she answers, even as she doesn’t stop with the ice cream. Ice is chuckling.

“Would you like to see her?”

She stops eating the ice cream and turns to me.

“I would very much like to see her again, please.” Her voice dulcet.

“Okay, I’ll see what I can do,” I reply.

“Thank you.” And returns to eating her ice cream. We are quiet when my phone pings from Malik.

Malik: Just got the information, should I run it or wait for you

Me: Run it

Lexi finishes and burps, making Ice frown at her. She giggles.

“Come on, I’ll take you home,” I say, taking her hand. She smiles.

“Is Ice coming too?” she asks, turning to Ice.

“Yes, he rides behind us,” I say as Ice leaves the store and signals to the guys that we are on our way out. We get to my SUV, and she tries to get in front. She doesn’t know Smith is driving.

“Back seat, sprinkles,” I say.

“I always sit in front with Ice.”

“You sit with me today.” I say, opening the back door for her to get in.

Smith pulls out, and I see the other guys and Ice all pull along with us. She’s quiet on our drive home, just as I spend most of it checking her out. We haven’t discussed our kiss; we are still dancing around our raging and blatant attraction, but neither one of us is giving in. Our ride up to the unit is quiet. But as soon as we enter, I ask,

“Can I ask about the name Dr. Pierre called you?”

“She called me Jola, short for Jolaade. It’s my middle name. She’s the first person to call me that since my dad died,” her eyes teary.

“Do you dislike her calling you by your middle name?”

“I actually prefer being called Jola.”

“Is it okay if I start calling you by your middle name?” She smiles.