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…and I couldn’t let it go.
7
Fiona
Iwas nervously puttering around my motel room, getting ready for my shift, when my cell phone rang.
I had been trying to keep my emotions from running away with me. My emotions about Ali, about Jack, about the fact that their paths had crossed, and in a way I still wasn’t sure about. The mystery of what their connection was, and whether it had been a dark one.
When the phone rang and I saw JACK on the display, I almost jumped out of my skin.
I thought about not answering it… but then I remembered I was a private detective under deep cover.
Plus… I desperately wanted to hear his voice again.
I was hoping against hope that what he had said earlier was true: that Ali was someone he lost. Someone he cared for, but not romantically.
That would have made him a good guy in my book.
And I could use a good guy in my corner right about now.
I steadied myself before I answered the phone. “Hello?”
“Hello, beautiful.”
That voice… like warm golden honey, with undertones of deep, resonant, throbbing bass…
I reminded myself to play the part I’d begun earlier.
“Hey,” I said, forcing an air of relief as well as contrition. “I wasn’t sure you were going to call.”
“Why not?”
“Because of… because of this morning.”
“What, your little jealous outburst?”
“…yeah.”
I could hear the grin in his voice as he said, “Ah, well, it’s always good when the woman puts her cards on the table upfront and lets you know she’s a total psycho.”
“You asshole!” I laughed. I couldn’t help myself.
I had a British friend back in LA who would have said he was a cheeky bastard, through and through. She would have been right on the money.
“Well, you know what they say: the crazier the chick, the better she is in the sack.”
“Is that so.”
“Yep. So now I know why you’re so good in the sack. Cuz you’re cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.”
I have to admit, I went googly in the knees a little.
He thinks I’m good in the sack.
But that backhanded compliment? I wasn’t going to let that one stand.
“That’s a children’s breakfast cereal.”
