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Backing up to the fridge again, arms folded, I tap a finger on my bicep. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m not sure what to tell Jacob about why you’re here. Who you are.”
“What’s the matter with the truth?” See, this is what’s wrong with people.
She eyes me over her shoulder. “Nothing…normally.”
“I’m an unvarnished truth kind of guy, Hollie. Is that going to be a problem?”
Her eyebrows, perfectly shaped, rise. “Frankly, yes. You’re rather intimidating, and he’s only a kid.”
I don’t bother to stifle ahumph,which I can see gets under her skin. “If the boy’s got nothing to hide, he should be fine with the direct approach.”
She plants that fist on her hip, taking a good, long look. Finally, “Nope. Look at you.” She waves her hand up and down. “The gun. The badge. The…scowl.”
I free an eyeroll. “I told you. This is big boy stuff, Mom.”
There’s another round of eyeballing me. “Uh-uh. Too much.”
Any other man would sigh at this point, but I’m not big on showing weakness of any sort. I jut my chin. “Fine. Tell him whatever you like.” I grab her gaze and hold on. “You could tell him I’m your boyfriend.”
Huh?
She stares, a flush ascending her creamy throat, the wildfire suddenly blazing there reminding me of the brush of our skin a moment ago. “That wouldn’t fly either.”
“And why is that?” No, I do not hold my breath as I await explanation.
Something peculiar flutters through her eyes. “It just wouldn’t.”
I don’t get what she’s so cryptically conveying here. It does pique my curiosity.
She flaps her hand toward the door. “You better go fast and put all that cop stuff in your car. Jacob’ll be here any time.”
Sighing—oops—I come off the fridge. The things I do…
Yeah? Like what, John?
This entire evening is quite outside my norm.
Hollie
I let the counter catch me when I hear the front door close behind John—but the relief won’t last. If do-overs were a real thing, I’d never initiate a conversation with him in the first place. And this craziness of him meeting Jacob? In my home, no less? Bad idea.
My stomach knotted itself into a ball after we talked this morning and didn’t ease until I realized I’d never given an address. Sure, I was nowhere on my problem still, but at least I wouldn’t have to deal with a harsh, egotistical, and rudely blunt DEA agent.
And a handsome one...
Both a flush and a chill manage to overtake me.
Nope. Not going any of the places my mind is tempted to wander.
I pick up a potholder and swat it down again. Honestly, in what way did I think John was going to help in the first place?
I drop the colander back into the pot, putting the lid on to keep warm. Oh, dear. Do I have to ask him to eat with us?
I bury my face in my sweaty palms. Not offering would be rude. Besides, Jacob will descend on the kitchen the minute he hits the door.
Ugh. Why amIworrying about rudeness?
