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“Eddie I can get a ride with—”
He jerked me to a halt and gave me a look that shut my mouth. Then he started walking again, pulling me along behind him.
He walked me to a shiny, red, Dodge Ram. It even had those fancy lights on the top. He opened the passenger side door for me and I tried to get into the high seat gracefully, considering my short skirt and slut shoes. I managed it, but just barely.
“Why don’t you take me home first?” I asked him when he got in the car.
“Because I missed my opportunity to talk to you this afternoon. So even though it’s nearly two o’clock in the fucking morning, I have you all to myself for the first time and you’re gonna answer a few questions.”
I buckled my seat belt (safety first) and then crossed my arms on my chest. I didn’t have time to talk to Eddie (not to mention, I didn’t want to talk to Eddie). I needed sleep. I didn’t have a full day off until Sunday.
That was…
I was too tired to count them, but it was too many days away not to sleep.
I tried to talk him out of it. “I don’t understand why you’re so curious about me. I’m just a quiet, normal person. I know you don’t want me bringing a bad influence into Indy’s store, but—”
He’d started the truck while I was speaking.
At my comment, he turned to me, forearm on the steering wheel.
“This doesn’t have anything to do with Indy. And, I hate to break this to you, but you’re anything but normal.”
My head gave a little jerk and I glared at him. “Yes I am! I’m your normal, average, everyday girl.”
He shook his head. “Your normal, average, everyday girl does not work in a strip club. She does not get bizarrely serenaded by her father in a bookstore. She does not transform into a new girl every time she does something to her hair or makeup. And she does not guard every scrap of personal information about her life like it’s a state secret.”
“I do not guard every scrap of personal information!” I snapped.
“Tell me something personal then,” he returned.
I tried to find something interesting about myself. I was too tired and freaked out, and anyway, there wasn’t much interesting about me. So I threw out the first thing that came to mind.
“My favorite color is green,” I told him.
He turned away from me, put the truck into gear and said, “Doesn’t count.”
“Why not?”
He pulled out onto Colorado Boulevard. “Your favorite color is not a piece of personal information.”
“Yes it is.”
“Okay, then, your favorite color is a boring piece of personal information that doesn’t tell me a thing about you.”
I gave up and looked out the window. It seemed a good way to go.
We were silent all the way to the station.
When he parked, I jumped down from the truck, wishing my slut shoes resided in perdition. He came around and grabbed my hand again and we walked into the station.
I’d never been to a police station in my life. It was cleaner than I expected it to be. It didn’t look likeNYPD Blueat all. He walked me through the halls and took me to a room with lockers. He opened one, obviously his, pulled out a flannel shirt and handed it to me.
“Put that on.”
It was a nice thing to do. It wasn’t only chilly, but I didn’t wear my Smithie’s uniform anywhere but at Smithie’s and his shirt would cover me up.
I put his shirt on and it smelled like him. It was then I thought the shirt wasn’t a good idea. Smelling Eddie on Eddie was disturbing enough. Smelling Eddie on me was too much of a good thing.
