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I huffed. “What? I can’t go to spin class? I wanted to work up a good sweat. It was a great workout. You should try it sometime.” I poked him in the ribs. “You’re getting a little soft in the middle, ya know.”
He wasn’t.
He was so sculpted, it was as though he were made of granite. I was baffled by how he maintained his physique when I never saw him work out or even leave for the gym.
“You’re deflecting,” he drawled, snapping my attention back to our conversation and away from thoughts of running my fingers over his abs.
“Oh, all right. I was out with my other boyfriend.” I dropped my chin, working hard to keep the smile that was my tell out of his sight, but he just tipped my head back and narrowed his eyes at me.
“Still deflecting.” His eyes roamed my face as he tried to figure out what I was hiding from him. “Anything new happen with the case yesterday that you haven’t told me about?”
“What case? There is no case anymore. I’m guilty. I wrote drugs for people I wasn’t supposed to and they took my medical license from me,” I snapped.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. “What happened?”
“You’re such a pain in my ass, you know that?” I snapped again. “I went to see a therapist, okay?”
His brows shot up, the surprise of my confession evident.
“Please don’t make a big deal about it.”
It wasn’t that I didn’t want him to know. As a matter of fact, I was going to tell him eventually. Once I decided if it was going to help or not. Instead, here I was, mentally kicking myself for not being a better liar.
“Big deal? Why would that be a big deal? I went to see my therapist yesterday too.”
“You did?”
He grinned and shook his head. “Nah. I don’t have a therapist here. Just trying not to make a big deal.”
I shoved his shoulder but breathed a sigh of relief that I wasn’t going to have to tell him it had been a brutal hour. “Asshole.”
He nodded. “Heard that one before.” Glancing over my shoulder, he asked, “Is that the mail?”
&nb
sp; I picked up the stack I’d already looked through and handed it over before popping a shrimp into my mouth and stifling a groan at how good it was.
My hand was halfway to my mouth with another one when Lawson interrupted with a shout. “What the fuck is this?”
He waved a folded sheet of paper at me, his face a mixture of outrage and fear.
“What?” I dropped the shrimp and took what he was offering and looked it over. “Oh, this is the kid I sponsor.”
His jaw fell open before he clamped it shut so hard I was convinced he’d broken a tooth or twelve. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”
“Is there something wrong with sponsoring kids?” I asked incredulously.
The paper had a picture of a seven-year-old boy from the Philippines attached, smiling with a mouth full of missing teeth and the cutest dimple I’d ever seen on his cheek. The first time I’d seen him, my heart had melted into a puddle of mush and I’d immediately filled out a hefty check for a donation.
“Sponsoring a child is fine. Sponsoring a child for The Children of the Ministry is not. Jesus Christ, Piper. How long have you been sending these people money?” The more he talked, the deeper the shade of red across his cheeks grew. Even though I didn’t think I’d done anything wrong, I was starting to feel like I was in trouble.
I couldn’t think with him so clearly agitated, so I sputtered, “Uh, uh. I don’t know. Like, uhm, I think, maybe—”
Lawson fisted the paper in one hand and with the other one tapped his temple. “Think, Piper. How long?”
“Why are you yelling?” I cried.
“Because!” he clipped. When he spoke again, his voice was much softer but was just as urgent. “Please, just think. When did you start sending them checks?”
