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“Not usually, but the older places, I do,” he said. He appraised her and asked, “So you're only part giant?”
“Only part,” she said, grinning. “Still, I felt it my duty...”
He gave her a mock frown and said, “Duty, huh? That's a little disappointing, I've gotta say.” He knew his flirting was unwise.
“Not entirely duty,” she conceded, a light blush tinting her cheeks.
He studied her flushed face for a moment and then asked, “There's hope then?”
“Hope for what, exactly?”
“That if I were to ask you to have dinner with me on Saturday night, you wouldn't shoot me down,” he said, ignoring the very loud and insistent warning bells going off in his mind.
“There's hope,” she confirmed shyly.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so intrigued by a woman, suspect or not. He threw caution to the wind and asked, “Would you like to go out on Saturday, then?”
The flush crept back into her cheeks again as she said, “I would. I don't exactly have a pen on me at the moment, but I'll give you my number tomorrow so we can work out the details.”
“I'd like that. I'll see you tomorrow then?”
At her nod he said, “I need to go soak in the whirlpool. I might have overdone it a little.” He gestured at the punching bag.
She gave him a sympathetic wince and said, “I hope that helps. I'll see you tomorrow.”
He watched her walk away, silently thanking the inventor of yoga pants. When she was out of sight, he retreated to the whirlpool and soaked his aching back. As he rested against a jet, he tried to convince himself he hadn't just made a huge mistake.
Could he in good conscience date her even as he was investigating her? He was still far from sold on her guilt. So what if she made some copies? She was leaving Cynertex? No big deal. He probably would too if he had to work for Marty full time. Perhaps he could treat this fact finding mission as a way to eliminate her as a suspect.
Even as he thought it, he knew his logic was flimsy at best. It had been years since he'd truly wanted anyone for himself. He hadn't been a monk by any stretch of the imagination, but he hadn't pursued anyone in long time. Certainly never a suspect.
Two hours later, he as he read over the background check on Tessa, he set it down with a frown. A month after Armitage had taken their last prototype to market, Tessa had purchased a house off Roncesvalles. It could be a coincidence, though, he reminded himself.
Chapter Four
Tessa laughed as she pulled him toward the Twirling Teacups.
Rick groaned and asked, “You know they're gonna take away my man card, right? I just have to give it to the guy taking the tickets.”
“C'mon,” she said, nudging him. “We can't come to Centreville and not ride the teacups!”
She tried not to laugh as he made a big production out of it. He counted the tickets, then looked at the ride. Then he looked back at her and asked, “I can drive, right?”
Deadpan, she said, “I thought I would drive.”
He raised his eyebrow but said nothing. The slight smirk on his face spoke volumes though. It clearly said, “There is no way I'm letting a chick drive me around in a teacup.”
“Fine. You can drive.”
Rick grinned and handed the tickets to the ticket collector, who clearly overheard her complaint if the smirk on his face was any indication. He just pointed and said, “You folks can have the pink one on the right.”
Tessa laughed and said, “Oh good. My favorite color.”
Rick said nothing, though his look promised retribution. He merely slid into the tea cup and patted the bench next to him.
When she was seated next to him, her thigh brushing against his.
His tone conversational, he said, “So, this is the most emasculating first date I've ever had. This is a record.”
