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I growled. “You’re interrupting.”
Billie went rigid before pushing at my chest until I lowered her back down. Her face went pale, and she scrambled away from me a few steps. Not far. I caught the edge of her shirt, keeping her within touching distance.
His eyes went to that touch, and he growled as well. “We’re on a date, Broudou.”
“Oh, God.” Billie groaned, her head dropping forward.
I smirked. “Doesn’t look like it’s going well.”
She groaned again.
“You’re a dick.”
I inclined my head. “Well. Yeah. It comes in handy with my job.”
Another rumble came from him before he drew in a controlling breath. “Billie…”
Her gaze lifted as she gulped, smoothing some of her hair back. “Travis. I…”
I could see her mind working. Both of us were aware of her situation, but she needed to choose. I’d crashed two of his dates, only one on purpose, but there couldn’t be a third time. For him or me.
She let out a soft, defeated sigh, her hand finding mine. “I—”
“I got it,” he said immediately. “Since I need to pay, I’ll let your sister know you’re finding your own way home.” He skewered me with a glare. “I’m trusting you won’t fuck that up?” He shifted, just slightly, but I caught the edge of his holster clipped to his pants.
I smirked again because fuck, but I couldn’t help it. I was still a Broudou. “Got it, Detective.”
“Good.” He was still glaring.
My phone buzzed.
I pulled it out.
Callie: I’ll make my own way home.
I tugged Billie along with me as I turned. “Have a good evening, Detective.”
We went around him.
He didn’t turn to watch us go, but he called after me. “Fuck off, Broudou.”
I couldn’t blame him.
14
BILLIE
I had never done that. Ever. Gone on a date and left with a different guy? That wasn’t me. I was responsible—overly responsible. Overly cautious. Overly reserved. Overly guarded—overly everything.
“So…” My voice broke. I felt Brett’s eyes on me, and I could feel his presence like a heaviness that coated me, a calming blanket. It soothed me, but then I remembered all the other ways he could make me feel. My chest constricted, just remembering how he’d lifted me, how my legs had wound around him like it was the most natural thing to do in the world.
“So?” he prompted.
Right. I’d started thinking. “So…” My voice cracked again. “This isn’t usual for me.” I gestured to the dashboard.
He was quiet. “You’re not used to gloveboxes?”
“What?” I looked at him.
