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Chapter Eleven
Monroe
I could pound out miles in a grueling run. I could prime acres of bedroom walls. But try as I might, I couldn’t outrun the memory of Knox and me dancing, grinding, coming, the hottest climax of my life. We’d been clothed, and the entire encounter had lasted only a couple of songs, but it had seared my soul.
Thus distracted, I arrived at the weekly trivia night at Harbor’s Edge, the sports bar-style tavern downtown across from a bank and on the same street with some other small eateries.
“So…how’s the roomie?” Holden greeted me with a grin, rolling to the side to let me in so I could claim a chair at our usual round table. Funny how I hadn’t been back that long, yet I already had a regular spot at the table. Holden and Sam had recruited me during my first visit to Blessed Bean because they’d recently lost a few trivia team members.
“Fine.” I signaled a passing waitress for the microbrew lager I favored.
“No wild parties yet?” Holden was having way too much fun with the teasing, waggling his eyebrows before sipping his pale ale.
“Nope.”
“What’s with the shifty eyes?” Holden tilted his head as he passed me the basket of fried pickles from the center of the table. We’d split a few different appetizers over the course of the evening, settling up at the end. “Did you catch him with weed or something and don’t want to tell Rob?”
“Nah. It’s not that. He’s a good…person.” Damn it. I hadn’t meant to pause there, mentally reframing Knox from kid to man and dialing it back to person. But that brief hesitation gave Holden more than ample opportunity for more ribbing.
“Oh my god, you like him.”
“Holden.” Sam hurried in, still in a Blessed Bean T-shirt, nabbing the seat next to me right as the waitress returned with my beer and an iced tea for Holden. “Perhaps he meant Knox is a good person, full stop. Not everything has a want-to-get-in-his-pants subtext.”
“Thank you, Sam. A vote for sanity.” I saluted him with my drink. Sam regarded me with quietly speculative eyes like he saw far more than he was letting on.
But he’d succeeded in tamping Holden down, and for that, I was grateful. We put an order in for cheese sticks, Buffalo-style cauliflower, and honey hot wings before the emcee started the quiz game. It didn’t take long for us to fall behind in the standings, thanks to a spate of questions all relating to various professional basketball stats.
“Darn it.” Holden groaned as the electronic leaderboard updated to show us in last place after the emcee announced a ten-minute break before the next round. “We really need a sports trivia person.”
“Knox likes basketball,” I shared absently before I could think better of it.
“Does he now?” Holden sounded more than ready to resume his earlier teasing.
“You should bring him around.” Sam made the offhand suggestion with an easy tone as he nabbed another cheese stick.
“I don’t think so.” My voice came out too sharp.
“What?” Holden scoffed. “He can drink. And we need more warm bodies.”
“You can socialize with Knox,” Sam said to me, far gentler than Holden. “It’s okay.”
“Maybe.” After taking a bracing sip of beer, I deliberately tried for a change of topics, turning toward Holden. “So, when do you want to record the podcast? I’ve been thinking about the Stapleton case more. It’s a good one to explore, and not only because of the Worth connection. So many early missteps in how it was handled.”
“Yep. A good example for the need to approach every investigation seriously.” Holden stretched his heavily muscled arms over his head. “The initial theory was she’d taken off after a domestic argument with the assumption that she’d be back soon. But the lack of a money trail has always made me doubt that explanation.”
“A lot of the first interviews were also sorely lacking.” I shook my head. “I’m supposed to go to a wedding in California later this month. I might try to look up Worth, get his perspective.”
“That’s a good idea. Doubt he’ll talk, but might as well try.”
“I know I was younger that summer, but they went to our church.” Sam’s cheeks were surprisingly pink, and his words came more quickly than usual as if speaking fast would stop us from remembering how he’d followed Worth around.
“And you had a monster teenage crush.” Holden laughed, but his voice was kinder than when teasing me.
“Maybe.” Sam’s full lips thinned to a narrow line. “But the family always seemed happy. Which is no guarantee, but I’ve never bought the theory the husband killed her and hid the body.”
“Statistically—” Holden started, but now it was Sam’s turn to groan.
“Yes, Professor. We know. But I prefer to give people the benefit of the doubt. Some marriages are actually happy.”
