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“Are you on the college baseball team?” I ask Tucker.
He raises an eyebrow at me, looking surprised.
I hold myself back from telling him that TJ mentioned a team that he himself is on. Tucker shrugs nonchalantly, though his face says otherwise.
“I got kicked off last year.”
Oh…
His words are falsely casual, but the tension in his body is not escaping me. He purses his lips for a second, letting me know that this is a sensitive subject. His jaw contracts several times, and I can’t help but analyze it: this habit is like a mannerism for him. I understand that he is very preoccupied, at this moment.
“Well,” he says, bringing me out of my thoughts.
“Well…,” I repeat as he takes my abandoned computer and puts it in front of me. “Make yourself at home,” I exclaim with exasperation.
While his mouth is a few inches from my ear, he whispers to me, “That’s what I plan to do.”
I don’t turn my head in his direction for fear of getting too close to him. Okay, I’m a coward. It’s true, I admit it. His smell, mixed with the rain, invades my nostrils. I am unable to move away, but I refuse to give in. I slam my hand on the bar and gesture for him to sit in the other chair. “So,” I start, opening my computer, “how do we proceed?”
My angry tone makes him laugh. After I type in my password to unlock the device, he takes it out of my hands again and slides it in front of him. I glare at him and lean in toward him, grabbing his wrist to stop him. “Don’t. Touch. My stuff.”
I realize that my face is now right in front of his. Why the fuck does his beautiful face disturb me so much?!
Maybe I just need to get laid.
Still leaning over him, I feel his hand on my waist. I flinch at the touch of his fingers under my shirt. His expression changes. He seems ready to jump on me.
I hold back a smile. Mister is aroused, now it’s up to me to play. The ball is back in my court.
With an unruffled face, I move away from him and take back my computer. “So, let’s start,” I order, waiting for him to speak.
He stares at my mouth, then at my outfit. “I sent you an e-mail with our subject,” he finally says.
I raise an eyebrow in his direction, my fingers tapping rhythmically on the counter.
“I guess asking you how you got my email address wouldn’t do anything?”
“Well, actually, it was just written next to your name on the list.”
I stop myself from slapping my forehead, remembering it. I ignore his mocking expression and open my e-mails. “What’s the topic?”
“A trial in progress. I’ll explain in more detail what she wants from us, but first I’ll let you read the main facts.”
I shrug. Knowing that it’s an assignment for the criminology class, I can already imagine a sordid case. Maybe a woman who killed her husband because he cheated on her? Or a poisoning?
Only, as I read the first words of the file, my heart misses a beat.
Swallowing hard, I read through the investigation, as sordid as I had anticipated. I feel Tucker watching me as the details chill me.
A man killed his wife then his daughter after abusing her several times. He’d already abused her and raped her in the past without anyone knowing anything about it until this evening, when neighbors called the police after hearing noises. The police found the lifeless bodies of the woman and child, mutilated and sexually assaulted.
It’s impossible not to think about what my little sister went through.
I’m breaking down little by little. Faced with my reaction, Tucker gets up from his chair to stand closer to me. He leans against the furniture and bends his head towards my face. His arm muscles tighten, and I try to focus on them. It doesn’t work.
“Hey?”
My eyes are lost in the void. I find myself plunged months back in time. I see blood. Blood everywhere, and screams. Screams and tears. Those from my sister. My own.
