“Jesus Christ, you’re not going to stop, are you?”
Grinning, he shakes his head. “Nope.”
“Fine,” I growl before my body deflates and I sigh. “I’ve just been thinking a lot lately with all of you settling down and starting families.”
“You want the same?”
I nod. “Yeah, I do.”
“So, do it. What the hell is holding you back?”
An image of Piper pops into my mind, her smokey green eyes boring into mine and asking me the same damn question.
“Shit…” Smith breathes and I meet his gaze as he looks up at me. “What’s her name?”
“What?”
He rolls his eyes. “Oh, don’t give me that, Fuzz. Your fucking face says it all. There’s a woman and she’s got you by the balls.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
“Yeah, okay,” he murmurs, flashing me a look that makes it clear he doesn’t believe a word coming out of my mouth. “You know what… I’m picking up on that scent again.”
“Fuck off,” I grumble as a petite little thing stops by our table with a pen and pad in her hand.
“Hey, boys. I’m Kenzie and I’ll be your waitress today. What can I get you to drink?”
“Uh,” I mutter, glancing back at the hostess who is playing on her phone by the front door. “We ordered a water and a beer already.”
She follows my gaze and whispers a curse. “I’m so sorry. I’ll be right back with those, okay?”
“Sure.”
As she stomps off, I turn back to Smith who flashes me an expectant look. “So, what’s her name?”
“Go fuck yourself, that’s her name. Why don’t you focus less on me and more on the case?”
“The way I see it,” he replies, leaning back in his chair. “I can do both. Now, what’s her name?”
“Anyone ever tell you that you’re a goddamn pain in the ass?” I ask and he laughs.
“Yeah, it’s part of my appeal.”
I shake my head. “I doubt it.”
“Name, please,” he repeats with a shrug and my irritation grows. It’s clear that he is not going to let this go and I would much rather get it out there and move on with my damn life.
“For fuck’s sake. It’s Piper, my ex-wife.”
“Oh,” he whispers, nodding. “The one who cheated on you when you were deployed and then left you?”
Gritting my teeth, I nod. “That’s the one.”
“Hold up,” he demands, holding his hand up in front of him. “Why the hell does your ex-wife still have you by the balls?”
“Just forget about it, Smith.”
He studies me for a second before his eyes widen. “Are you still in love with her?”
“Absolutely fucking not,” I snap as the waitress stops at our table with our drinks and I am thankful for the interruption.
“Here you guys go. I’m so sorry about the mix-up. Who had the beer?”
Smith raises his hand and she sets the bottle down in front of him before setting my glass of water on the table by me and wiping her hands on her apron. She pulls the pen and pad out again and flashes us a bright smile.
“Okay. Y’all know what you want to order?”
Smith nods. “Yeah, I’ll get the lasagna.”
“Okay,” she answers, scribbling his order down before turning to me. “And you, sir?”
“Chicken Alfredo.”
Smiling, she writes my order down on her notepad before scooping up our menus and turning toward the kitchen. When I turn back to Smith, he looks like he wants to delve deeper into our conversation but I shoot him a warning look and he rolls his eyes as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. Relieved, I scan the dining room again, searching for our subject as I try to push thoughts of my least favorite person in the world out of my mind but even after all these years, she’s fucking relentless. Like a parasite that no amount of medicine can kill.
“So…” Smith starts and I shake my head, flashing him a look that makes it clear I’m done talking about this. He sighs as he leans back in his chair. “Dude, come on. How long has it been since she left?”
“This conversation is over.” I don’t want to think about how long it’s been since Piper destroyed everything we had and walked away from me or how empty my life has felt in the years since. She doesn’t matter to me anymore. Someone walks out of the kitchen and I glance over before nudging Smith’s foot with mine. “Look who finally decided to show up.”
Ben Girouard walks toward the register and smacks our waitress on the ass as he passes by her. Hatred burns in her eyes as she glares at him and I shake my head.
“What a pig,” Smith growls and I nod.
“I know but we need something concrete.”
Smith nods and pulls his phone out of his pocket, pretending to be playing a game as he begins recording Ben. We both watch him as he strolls right up to the register and opens it before pulling a couple of twenties out and shoving them in his pocket.
“Did Marina say anything about missing money?” Smith asks and I shake my head, disgust twisting my stomach as Ben shuts the register and starts walking toward the hostess who seated us.
“No, but she may not know.”
He nods. “We need to get Streak to dig into the restaurant’s finances.”
“Not that there will be much to dig into,” I reply, scanning the almost empty dining room. “My parents used to come here for their anniversary every year and they had to make a reservation like a month in advance. They said it had gone downhill but I didn’t realize it was this bad.”
The waitress walks out of the kitchen with a tray in her hand and Smith sits forward, tucking his phone away.
“Well, let’s see how the food is.”
“Here you boys go,” the waitress says as she stops at our table and sets a plate in front of each of us. “Can I get y’all anything else?”
Smith smiles up at her. “I think we’re good for now, darlin’.”
“Just holler if you need me,” she replies with a blush staining her cheeks and I nod as she turns and walks back to the counter. By the time I glance back at Smith, he’s already shoving a huge piece of lasagna into his mouth and I sit back with an arched brow to see his reaction. He chews for a second before his face contorts with disgust and I laugh. To his credit, he doesn’t spit it out but once he has forced the first bite down, he doesn’t take a second.
“That’s fucking terrible,” he whispers and I nod, combing through the noodles on my plate that look like they were cooked a week ago.
“Yeah, we should get pictures of this shit, too.”
He nods as he pulls his phone out again and starts snapping pictures of the food. “I gotta tell ya…”
His words are cut off by a crash from the kitchen and we both turn as Ben slaps one of the waitresses across the face. I’m out of my chair before I even realize what I’m doing but I don’t get far before Smith grabs my arm.
“Sit down, brother,” he hisses, his gaze flicking around the room and I do the same, deflating when I see the two other tables brave enough to risk lunch here, watching me. “We have to keep a low profile.”