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“What if I get a German Shepherd and train it to go for Knox’s gonads on command?”
“I’d pay good money to see that.” She gathered the empty plates and put them on the writing table and then adjusted the sash of her robe. “I’m fucking wiped.”
“Me too,” I said. “I guess I should be getting home.”
“What? No. Crash here.”
“I can’t crash here.”
“Why not? I’m crashing here.”
“Where? Does this couch pull out?”
“The bed.” She gestured to the bedroom. “Dad won’t mind. He’ll take the couch.”
“I don’t feel right about it.”
“Too bad. I’m not letting you take a cab home where you’ll sit and stew over all this. Just stay here.”
“Well…” I looked in the direction of the bed. I was tired and the alcohol had long since run its course. “You sure your dad won’t mind?”
“I doubt he’ll even be back before dawn,” she said with a grin. “Not if he’s still on that winning streak.”
I followed Tavy into the bedroom. She shut the door and then went to the bed. “I have one rule.”
“What?” I asked, kicking off my heels.
“Don’t try and spoon me. I’m a violent sleeper. I’m liable to hit you by accident.”
“Noted.”
We crawled beneath the covers, Tavy in her hotel robe, me in my black dress. She hit the light switch and darkness engulfed the room.
“Tavy?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for going to jail with me.”
She sniggered. “Any time, Logan. Any fucking time.”
* * *
“Tavy,” I muttered into the pillow, wincing at the early morning light. “Tavy, answer your phone!”
With a grumble, she reached her hand out toward the nightstand to grasp her cell. “Shit, it’s my job.” She hastily sat up, swiped her phone, and put it to her ear. “Hello?”
She paused for a few moments, nodding along at whatever was being said. “Sure, that’s no problem. I can make that happen. See you then.” Tavy hung up and tossed her phone aside and immediately crawled out of bed.
“What’s up?” I asked her.
“My new boss needs me to start sooner. Someone left unexpectedly and I have to fill in immediately.” She hastily made her way to the bathroom. “This fucks up all my plans. I was supposed to ride shotgun in the moving truck with Dad. Now I’m gonna get to Waco days before my stuff, so I can’t move into the apartment they’re putting me up in.”
A resounding knock echoed in the room.
“Come in,” I called out.
The door opened and Smoke walked in. He was barefoot, but he wore jeans and a tight white T-shirt, showcasing his muscled, inked arms. His dark hair was askew. He looked both masculine and boyish and my stomach flipped.
