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“To be honest, I haven’t spent a lot of time there myself yet.” I glance over. “You’re my first guest.”
She reaches over and rests her hand on my thigh. “I like that.”
I curl my fingers around hers, and we stay like that until I pull into the lot behind my apartment.
“This is a nice place,” she says, staring up at the new brick building.
“It sure beats my last housing situation.”
She doesn’t laugh at the joke. Probably because it wasn’t all that funny.
“You weren’t kidding about being all the way upstairs,” she says once we’re three flights up.
I’ve been too busy staring at her legs as she climbed ahead of me. The skirt of her dress swishes and teases the hell out of me with every movement. I don’t dare raise my gaze to her ass.
I’m so focused on controlling my hands so they don’t accidentally flip her skirt up, I don’t notice when she stops at the top of the stairs. I plow into her, almost knocking her over, and have to grip her arms to keep her upright.
“Mr. Lock,” a deep voice says. “There you are.”
This cocksucker had to show up tonight.
My parole officer warned me that he might make home visits to make sure I wasn’t out creating havoc after ten p.m. At the time, I hadn’t taken him seriously, since the club said he would go easy on me. I should’ve known better.
“Evening,” I growl.
He dips his chin at Serena. “Are you going to introduce me to your friend?” The way he says friend sounds more like hooker, and I don’t like it one bit.
“Serena, this is my parole officer, Hank Grillo.”
She doesn’t offer to shake his hand, just nods hello.
He does a slow twist of his wrist and checks the time. Asshole could’ve been in the show we just saw, he’s so fucking dramatic. “It’s after ten, Mr. Lock.”
Look at you, telling time like a big boy.
“It is,” I answer.
“One of your conditions of parole is to be home by ten.” His gaze lands on Serena again. “And where did you two meet?”
Again, he seems to be assuming Serena’s some random woman I picked up for the night, and it’s pissing me off.
Serena’s nervous eyes meet mine. Fuck. She’s not going to want to tell this prick she’s my physical therapist. She could lose her damn job if he decides to verify our story.
“Where’ve you been tonight, Grayson?” he asks when she remains silent. “You’re not supposed to be at bars and—”
“We were at Johnsonville High for my friend’s play,” Serena cuts him off with an easy answer.
He scoffs. “Seriously? I’m supposed to believe the King of Cell Block A was at a kid’s show?” He rakes a scornful gaze over her. “Where’d he pick you up, honey?”
“My name isn’t honey,” Serena says through clenched teeth. She opens her purse and pulls out the program. Thrusting it into his hands, she explains, “My friend’s sister is in the play. That’s where we just came from. Look.” She flips the page and taps Libby’s autograph. “She signed it for me.”
I raise my eyes to the ceiling. Thank you, Libby.
He stares at it and clearly wants to dismiss what’s right in front of him. But the date’s on the program in black and white.
“It ran longer than I thought it would,” Serena says. “I didn’t realize Gray needed to be home at a certain time or we would’ve skipped the reception afterward.”
His eyes ping-pong between us for a few seconds, finally landing on me.
I shrug. “It was dark; I didn’t notice the time. We came straight home after.”
“Do you live here, Serena?” A hint of a smug smirk plays over his face.
Fuck.
“No,” she answers. “I live in Empire.”
Hank’s upper lip curls, like he thinks he finally caught me. “Did you drive yourself tonight?”
Again, Serena’s eyes flick my way. “No.”
“How are you planning to get home, then, if Mr. Lock can’t drive you?”
This just keeps getting worse.
It wasn’t my intention to trap Serena tonight. I never thought the curfew was going to be this much of a headache.
If Serena’s mad, it doesn’t show. She slides her arms around my waist and leans into me. “Not that it’s your business, but I wasn’t planning to go home tonight.”
“I’m allowed overnight guests, aren’t I?” I ask.
Hank’s eyes narrow, but after a few seconds of rolling his options around in his big, bald head, he seems to relent.
“All right.” He hands Serna the program and slips on a knit cap. “High school play’s a pretty wholesome night for an ex-con, so I’ll let it slide. But try and watch the time from now on.”
Wholesome. I like that.
Too bad none of the feelings I’m having for Serena right now are anywhere near wholesome. I’m harder than a telephone pole after watching her stick up for me and go toe-to-toe with Hank.
