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“Jacob should have come.”
“He has an away game tonight.”
My teeth set, grind. Raw stupidity no longer startles me. I see a lot of it on the job, but this? This makes me want to yell—but only a warning, a plea. Even small towns have dark underbellies. Just last year Tripp worked a month-long case here. I could tell her stories.
I unclench my fist. This is not my problem, and you can’t fix—
No. Hollie isnotstupid. I just…man, I’d hate to see her hurt.Hate.
Her shoulders sink. “I should probably just go home.”
“You’re going to make me miss my midnight pancakes?” My heartbeat stutters.
Her eyes roll. “Okay.”
The beat resumes a normal tempo.
“Good. Now get in.”
Instead of obeying, she scowls. “You’re bossy.”
No argument from this guy. I, too, do what I have to. “You would be too if you had a whole passel of testosterone-driven agents under your command. Multiply Jacob by a…passel…and you would be too.”
Yesss. Her smile is so pretty.
“Please.” And yes, I am totally open to begging ifpleasedoesn’t get the job done.
“Fine.”
Hollie circles the car while I slide into the driver’s seat. I swear, she balks at the open door, and even then, gingerly edges onto the leather. My brain goes off-kilter. One minute the woman is walking home alone, the next, she’s acting like I’m on some offender registry.
Well, I do have thoughts when I look at her. Most men would, and I’m not going to apologize. I keep them in bounds.
But indeed, when we get to the restaurant and have to wait for a table—at this hour, imagine—it’s all I can do not to slip up behind Hollie, wrap my arms around her waist, and set my chin on her shoulder, like I used to with Deann when we were young and in love.
Before I got stupid and ruined everything.
I lean against a wall, crossing at the ankles, and await our turn.
Chapter 7
Hollie
This is how I thought John would be when I first approached him. Polite, serious, wise. Kind. I hadn’t expected the razor tongue or stinging condescension he dished out.
A mildly strained silence hovers between us as I sip my water with lemon, he, his coffee. At this hour? I sensed a kindred spirit the first time we talked when he suggested late-night caffeine wasn’t a concern. Of course, he quipped it in that dry way he has, but the comment nonetheless got me imagining him sleepless, passing the wee hours, sheets around his waist…
I sip the icy water. My brain feels off-balance tonight. Stress and worry do that to a person, don’t they?
That’s all this is, right?
“You look pensive.”
“Do I?” I gulp another sip to neutralize wayward thoughts. “Like I said, long week. Tell me about yours.”
He taps a sugar packet he nabbed even though he takes his coffee straight. “I flew out Tuesday morning. Got in from El Paso a couple hours ago.”
“Work?”
