“This is not funny. It’s the last goddamned thing I need right now.”
Even knowing he’s right, I can’t stop laughing. Could this day be any more ridiculous? It takes me five full minutes to catch my breath, and by then Jason is truly pissed with me for laughing.
“It’s a good thing they took our phones, or I might be tempted to get your Instagram account up and running with a photo from jail.”
That draws a small smile from him, as if he can’t help it, even if he finds nothing about this funny.
“Can’t you use your connections to get us sprung?”
“I tried that. The patrolman said he was in high school when my husband was killed, can’t just take my word for it and needs to confirm the info I told him. But he did say he was sorry for my loss. So here we are.”
“Jesus.”
I wince at the cavalier way he utters the Lord’s name.
“What?”
“My grandmothers would cut out your tongue for saying that.”
“Sorry. Fuck. Is that better?”
“Much.”
He laughs, and the sound rolls through me like a hot bath, soothing and calming. I like making him laugh, especially since he’s had nothing much to laugh about in the last few weeks.
An older officer comes to the door of the cell. “You’re Tony D’Alessandro’s wife?”
“Yes, I was.”
“Come with me.”
“May I bring my friend?”
“Yeah, sure.”
We follow him through a series of corridors into a nondescript room with a table and chairs and not much else.
“You can wait here.”
“The car is mine,” Jason says. “It was impounded earlier after a misunderstanding, and the impound lot didn’t return the registration. I didn’t realize it until we got stopped.”
“We’re looking into it. As soon as we confirm what you’ve told us, you’ll be free to go.” The officer looks to me. “You’re free to go now. I can have someone drive you home if you don’t want to wait.”
“That’s fine. I’ll wait for my friend.”
“You want some coffee?”
“No, thanks. We’re good.”
“I’ll do what I can to get this figured out for you.”
“Thanks.”
He leaves the room, closing the door behind him. I don’t think it’s locked, but I’d rather not know if it is, so I don’t check.
Jason takes a seat at the table. “You should go.”
“It’s fine. I’ll stay.”
“You have to work in the morning.”
“I know.”
“It’s getting late.”
“I said I’d stay, and I will.”
“Are you afraid to leave me to my own devices?”
“Terrified. I’ve got enough of a mess to clean up without you making it worse.”
He’s startled until he figures out that I’m kidding, and then he begins to laugh. He laughs as hard as I did earlier. Like my laughter, his has an edge of hysteria to it that I can certainly understand. Rule-following overachievers like us don’t end up in jail, let alone twice in one day for me.
“You’re a regular jailbird today,” he says when he finally quits laughing.
“Only because of you! I was minding my own business when you and your Porsche showed up to cause trouble for me.”
“Admit it. This is the most fun you’ve had in a long time.”
I cross my arms defiantly. “I’ll admit to no such thing.”
The smile he directs my way sets off that flurry of reaction inside me that’s been happening all day. I’ve never had an opinion on instant attraction, because it hasn’t happened to me before. Tony and I were friends for two years before we started officially dating when we were juniors in high school. I’ve seen my friends and cousins come home dazzled by a man they just met, but most of the time the dazzle doesn’t last.
“What’re you thinking?”
His question startles me. “Huh?”
“You just got all serious, and your brows were furrowed.” He does an impression of the face I was making.
“Oh, um, I wasn’t thinking about anything in particular.” I can’t very well admit to the object of my instant attraction that I was pondering the phenomenon of instant attraction.
“Liar.” He tips the chair back, balancing precariously. “Tell me what made you frown and furrow.”
Is it hot in here, or is it me? “I was just wondering what’s taking them so long to confirm the car is yours.”
“They probably had to track down the impound guy.”
“Are you going to have to pay again to get it out of there?”
“Probably.”
And my debt to him just doubled since I’m the one who got the car impounded in the first place.
I flop into a chair across the table from him. “I’m really sorry about all of this. When Mr. Augustino told me to babysit you, I don’t think he meant for me to do it in jail.”
“He used the word babysit?”
I squirm under the heat of his glare. “Maybe?”
“That’s just great. Glad I’ve spent my whole life in school so I could be babysat at my new job.”
“Don’t shoot the messenger.”
“It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I let myself get sucked in by a woman—literally—for the first time in my life, and I’ll be paying for that mistake forever.”
“Not necessarily.” The visual of him being literally “sucked in by a woman” has me breaking into a sweat. I feel betrayed by myself. Why do I have to be attracted to him, the subject of my first assignment at the job I busted my ass for years to get?
The irony isn’t lost on me. I’ve been moving through life in a grief-fueled fog for five years, and the first time I feel something for another man, it has to be this man. My friends and family have been trying for a while now to find me someone new. Only a few of the many first dates they’ve arranged for me have led to a second, which has frustrated matchmakers determined to see me happy again.
They’d be thrilled to know that Dr. Jason Northrup makes my scalp, and other more important parts, tingle with awareness. But with my new boss determined to keep Jason and his scandal far from the hospital where I now work, he’s the last man in the world my nipples should be interested in.
Try telling them that.
I cross my arms, hoping he won’t see what’s going on under my clothes. That’s not something he needs to know. Besides, I’m sure it’s just a fluke. He’s a handsome, charismatic brain surgeon, for crying out loud. Any heterosexual woman with a pulse would react to him.
I’d like to think I’m not “typical,” in the sense that I don’t freak out about stuff that sends my friends and cousins into a tizzy. For instance, Justin Bieber once came into the restaurant with an entourage, and everyone else went dumb in the head while I waited on them.
Biebs puts his pants on one leg at a time, just like everyone else. I had absolutely no reaction whatsoever to a man whom other women throw panties at when he’s onstage. Was it fun to meet him? Sure. Not to mention he left a massive tip that came in handy when it was time to put down the damage deposit on my new apartment.