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How long had she been in the bathroom? The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was taking so long because she was actually using the toilet. As far as Bryson Tripp was concerned, women didn’t poop. Ever.
After washing up, she steeled herself and stepped into the room.
He stood near the door.
“Are you about to make a run for the mountains or are you guarding the door?” she asked.
“I know you’re just chomping to send out an APB on me, but I’m not going anywhere, sweet cheeks. I’m heading to that crime scene with you.”
He wasn’t the only one who could act. With a purposeful swipe, she flipped her hair over her shoulder. “What did you just call me?”
God help her,the corner of his mouth twitched up in a bad-boy smile that would strip the clothes off some women.
Okay, not some women.
It was her—shewas that woman.
His jeans hung low on his hips and that green cotton T-shirt molded to his body. Somehow his appearance outweighed the fact that he’d just insulted her with that very misogynistic pet name.
She swiped her tongue over her bottom lip, preparing to put him in his place, but all that came out was: “Maybe we should get some dinner.”
He raked his gaze over her face. “You good?”
“Yup.” She started toward the door, hoping he’d move out of the way.
He stood firmly in front of the exit. “You were in the bathroom a long time.”
“I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
She looked him dead in the eyes. “Tripp. I was fixing my lipstick. Okay?”
Her statement had the desired effect—he stopped talking and his focus landed on her mouth instead.
Maybe that wasn’t so good.
With him distracted, she latched onto the door handle and made her escape. She made it halfway to the Humvee before he caught up with her. She slowed her gait—it sounded as if he was jogging.
She whipped around and he dragged his leg behind him.
“You can give up the act, Tripp. I already know you’re not injured.”
“Can you repeat that? My mind’s too riddled with pain to process it.”
She almost laughed. Digging her teeth into her bottom lip, she forced herself not to break down in giggles at how annoying—and amusing—the man was.
Once she was behind the wheel, she waited an eternity for Tripp to get into the vehicle. Punching the ignition button with her index finger, she breezed out, “Where to?”
He pointed at a red and white sign for a restaurant a short distance away.
At the sight of the peeling sign, she sighed and put the vehicle in gear. “Okay…diner slop it is.”
“Unless you want to drive another half hour, this is your only option.”
Luckily, the drive was short and Tripp didn’t talk. A few minutes later, they pulled up in front of the grubby diner.
“I can smell the grease from here.” She cut the engine.
