Libby is five-foot-something, short, with stocky legs, toned shoulders, and mousy brown hair. When she wears her uniform, much of her muscle is washed out by the boxy shirt. But I feel it now, the strength, and her unbending opinion that I should be moved far, far away from Jason Donnerson.
“First of all,” she says as we climb the stairs. “I have no clue who Ally is. So that’s great. And second, you’re not allowed to fight in public. I just saved you a six-month sleepover on tax dollars.”
“But he’s trying to net my girlfriend!”
“I didn’t even know you had a girlfriend! Weren’t you in court a month ago because of a different girl?”
“Well… yeah. But this time it’s—”
“Different?” Smiling as we stop on the second floor, Lib turns and studies me. She reaches up after a moment, and fixes my collar, and when she’s satisfied with that, she re-plumps the roses I ruined. “You found a girl that feels different, huh?”
“Why is everyone on my case about this? This conversation is supposed to be about that dude downstairs. Not about me and feelings and emotions and shit.”
“Pretty sure feelings and emotions are synonyms, but okay. You picked pretty flowers, by the way. Whoever she is, she’ll love them.”
“I need you to go downstairs and goose that guy along. Get him out of this hotel, and out of this town. You and I both know you have the power to do that.”
“I’m a cop, Hart. I absolutely do not have that power.”
“You are a Griffin,” I growl. “You have all the power you’ll ever need. Get your husband onto this shit, and have him deal with it.”
“Deal with—?” she sputters. “Who the hell do you think you’re speaking with? Al Capone? We don’t deal with people, Luke. In fact, we tend to leave the law-abiding folks alone for the most part.”
“Just find out who he is for me. Find out where he came from. Find out if he came here looking for her, or if he just so happened to see her and decided he liked her.”
“That guy downstairs?” She thrusts a hand in his direction. “Is twice your damn age. He’s not looking at the same women you are.”
“Hell he ain’t,” I snarl. “He’s looking, alright. And it’s pissing me off.”
I reach up to fix my tie – except it’s already gone – so then I drop my head back and close my eyes. One deep breath, one cleansing exhale, then I glance down again. “I’m not going to make this into a big deal. I will not lose my head over this guy. But I’m telling you, Lib. You have a predator in your town, and it would do you good to mention the name Jason Donnerson to your husband. That’s all you have to do – mention the name – and whatever happens after that, happens.”
Libby cocks her hip to the side and plays with the clip holding her gun in place. Flick, flick, flick. “And if I don’t?”
“Then maybe I’ll mention it to Sophia. The results will be the same. I just have to leave a Post-It on her desk with the name. If there’s nothing going on, then nothing comes of it. But if there’s something under the surface, shit will be taken care of. Either way, it’ll be out of my hands.”
“So you think you get to deploy soldiers to take care of your dirty work, simply because you’re mad a guy is looking at your girl?” She shakes her head. “And to think, you said you wouldn’t lose your head over this guy.”
“I’m not. I haven’t yet.” I point toward the stairs. “Losing my head would mean he and I have already fought. He’d be laying on the floor in a pool of his own blood, and I’d be ready to celebrate my win in the most primal of ways.” I look to Ally’s door. “With her, in that room. Me walking away just now, that’s me keeping my shit on lock.”
I step away from Libby, rearrange the bouquet in my arms, then I bring a hand up and ready it to knock. “Just mention his name, Lib. To Griff, or to Soph. Either is fine with me. But before that, maybe move Donnerson along so he ain’t downstairs when I bring her down in a few minutes. If I have to see him again, I might give him a tap, and we both know the judge isn’t gonna like that.”
With a noisy sigh, Libby shakes her head and backs away, so when her feet hit the top step and she turns to walk down, I draw a cleansing breath, let it out again, and then I knock.
Ally
Dinner With A Gentleman
It’s five minutes past seven, which means I’ve had four minutes to stare at the door and get a little cranky that Luke is late. It’s not that I’m looking for a reason to be mad, but rather, my life is literally about human behavior. It’s about watching people’s actions rather than listening to their words.
And right now, as a thumping knock at the door brings my head snapping up, Luke’s actions say that to him, five minutes late isn’t a big deal. It means I’m not important enough for promptness. It means no matter what he says, his actions indicate perhaps he doesn’t feel quite the same as I do.
And that knowledge burns me, because I never wanted to catch feelings for this guy.
Standing from the chair I’ve been occupying for the last half an hour, I grab my purse and phone, and head across my room with an odd excitement-to-cranky ratio swirling in my blood. I’m excited for tonight, more than I expected or wanted to be.
It’s that thing about not wanting to catch feelings for the town prankster.
But there’s also five percent or so, the cranky five, that somehow feels more potent than the other ninety-five.
My heels tonight are a little taller than those I wear to work. My dress, just a little shorter. Neither of which are inappropriate. But together, they make me feel sexy. And feeling sexy, right now, helps lift me up and propel me toward the door with the annoying excitement-to-cranky thing on full blast.
Stopping at the door and peeking through the peephole, I study Luke and all the ways he dressed up for me tonight.
More actions. More human behavior.
White shirt with the buttons done up until the last two.
Black pants with a sharp pleat ironed into the front of each leg. There’s a definite bulge where his phone rests in one pocket, and in the other… another bulge that I can’t discern. And then there’s the bulge, which is annoyingly attention-seeking, seeing as I know exactly what’s behind that zipper.
Luke wears shiny dress shoes, and on his chin, a neat, trimmed stubble that feels like heaven on my thighs. Blasphemy, I’m certain, but it is what it is.
No hat tonight, which seems out of place, since he wears one almost all of the time, except while we sleep. Which then brings my thoughts circling back to bed, the stubble, the bulge, and instinctively, my thighs tingle and my stomach dips.
“I can see your shadow, Ally.” Smiling, Luke knocks again, but this time, harder, more insistent. “Let me in, Red, or I’ll blow your house down.”
Rolling my eyes, I swing the door open and meet his playful gaze. “You’re mixing up your fairytales.”
“Nuh uh.” His eyes scour me from head to toe, only to falter on my legs and take an extra slow study. “My fairytale is standing right in front of me.” He brings a hand up and presses it to his chest. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”