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Fuck. I really don’t want forty-four ounces of sugar coursing through my body, but he’ll shame me with every slurp he takes if I don’t. I grab the damn cup. “I can let loose even without her here.”
“Yeah?” He glances, his expression contorted in disbelief. Skipping the ice, I go right for the soda. I’m not watering it down. If I’m doing this, I’m winning this round. “No ice, huh?”
“Ice is for wimps. I like my soda straight up for the full effect.” I rip off another big bite of my corn dog.
His shoulders shoot to his ears. “So you’d be up for a candy bar as well?”
“Fuck yeah. Bring it on.”
Laughing, he walks down the snack aisle and grabs one from the box. “Don’t you dare say Snickers are for wimps.”
It feels good to laugh. “Wasn’t going to, but real men eat the king-size Reese’s Cups. Just sayin’.” I leave him on the aisle and head for the register.
The blonde smiles as soon as I step up to the counter. She can’t be a day over forty, but her clothes skew younger. “Haven’t seen you before. You passin’ through town?”
“Yep.” Brady comes up beside me and shows her his snack supply. “Add his to my bill.”
Her eyes widen along with her smile. “Oh.” She fluffs her hair. “Hello.”
“Hey,” he replies, leaning against the counter like some convenience store Romeo.
Not sure what’s happening here . . . Actually, I know exactly what’s happening, but I don’t like it. I tap the card to the reader and grab my stuff. “I’ll see you outside.” Usually, I make a great wingman. My brothers can attest. I’m not in the mood today to help him get laid, though. I chunk the soda after a few sips and lean against the vehicle until Brady comes out.
With Tuesday still on my mind . . . always, I text the private investigator to see if he’s found out anything else about her life. He replies a few seconds later: No. I’ll be in contact when I do.
I appreciate the confidence. Not if, but when he finds new details and clues.
Always jolly, he’s laughing when he pushes through the door, and aims the fob at the vehicle. The locks are released, and I start to get in. “Judge Judy wouldn’t approve of you flirting with another woman.”
“Don’t worry, she’s into that kind of thing. Anyway,” he says, eyeing me over the windshield. “We’ve run our course. I made sure she got bored of me.” He climbs in on the driver’s side.
“Too wild for you, huh?” I open the front passenger door and get in.
“I want to be with someone I can take home to meet my mom. Not someone who wants to role play as my mom. Ich.” He shakes his head as disgust makes him cringe.
Why does it not surprise me she tried that with him?
“What are you doing, Loch?”
“What?”
With a grin that he always seems to be wearing, he thumbs toward the back seat. “This is my domain up here. Get the fuck back there.”
It was all fun and games until Brady called the front his domain. So much for our bonding time. I get out and move to the back. “Take me to the office when we get to the city,” I say, not hearing any argument from him.
And just like that, we’re back to our pre-Tuesday relationship.
I’d forgotten about the party until I walked into the office.
Leisa rushes to me and places a sash around my neck that reads “Partner,” with a horrid drawing of a holster and a cowboy hat. There’s no fighting this embarrassment once the room erupts in a round of applause and laughter. I’m glad Brady isn’t here to bear witness to this embarrassing situation.
He refused to hang out after the corn dog conversation, claiming he had cooler friends to hang out with, but I know he’s joking. No one is cooler than me.
I chuckle, probably still high off the Reese’s Cups I devoured, or maybe I’ve just discovered my sense of humor again. I wish Tuesday was here to see this, especially since she planned the party.
“Congrats,” Leisa says. “We got cake.”
Great, more sugar. Bring it on. “Nice touch on the cowboy theme.”
“The partner reference made Tuesday laugh since there seems to be a lack of ‘attorneys making partner’ supplies on the party market. She said you’d lose it. I couldn’t tell if she meant laughing or your temper, but this is what she went with.” Looking toward the door, she asks, “Where is she?”
“Long story.”
Walking through the crowd, I’m shaking hands and getting pats on the back. Even the Reinhold Group execs are here to celebrate. Before we reach the cake, she whispers, “How about the short version?”
“She found out who she is.”
“What?” Her shock pulls my attention away from the clients ahead. I stop to look back to where she planted her feet, recognizing the emotions engulfing her face. I’ve felt it all day without minor distractions keeping it at bay.
