“Find your phone?” the attendant asks.
I open my bag and take it out. “Turns out, it was with me the whole time.”
He laughs. “Well, I guess that’s a good thing. Drive safely.”
I drive away from the club, toward my building, but I don’t pull into the parking lot. I circle the neighborhood, not wanting to get out alone.
On my third pass by my building, I see Jesse’s car. I pull into the lot and watch as he tucks his into a shadowy corner.
I get out and walk inside, heading straight for the service entrance near the dumpsters.
He’s not inside the back door a second before I throw my arms around him.
“What’s this for?” he asks as he wraps his own around me.
“I just realized how much better I feel when you’re around.” I run my hand over his jaw. “I feel safe when you’re with me.”
A small smile tugs at his lips. “Let’s get you upstairs.”
His duffel bag is in one hand with my hand in his other as we ride the freight elevator. In my apartment, he sweeps the rooms, and then we relax.
We’re just standing here, in my living room. Me in my fancy dress and him in his uniform. I smile. By the look in his eyes, I know he’s wondering why I’m smiling.
“We look like we’re going to a funeral.”
He glances down. “Or we’re spies.”
I let out a laugh. “That too.” I motion to his bag. “I guess you’re having a sleepover.”
He tucks a hand in his pocket and looks up through his lashes. “I thought that was implied. I’m not leaving you.”
“I don’t want you to.”
With a puff of air through his lips, he nods and tucks a stray hair behind my ear. “I can sleep on the couch.”
“I don’t want you to do that either.”
He grins, and it’s wicked.
There’s a bottle of bourbon somewhere in my cabinet. It was a birthday gift from a friend. I tucked it in the back and never took it out because I don’t drink whiskey. Tonight seems like the time to try.
Kneeling down by the liquor cabinet, I find the box and have to blow off the dust resting on top. I take the bottle out and hold it up. “Care for a drink?”
He appreciatively eyes the bourbon. “Only one.”
I take out two lowball glasses and pour our drinks, handing him one as he takes a seat on the sofa. Before I sit, I slip my shoes off, so I can curl onto the couch with my legs bent.
I take a sip and cringe at the burn that runs down my throat.
Jesse laughs in that deep baritone that does wonderful things for my soul. “Why are you drinking bourbon when you hate hard liquor?”
“It seemed like the polite thing to do.”
“No. Polite was when you opened the bottle because you knew I’d drink it. Good sleuthing, by the way. You’d make an excellent spy.”
I roll my eyes. “It was literally sitting on your table.”
He sits back into the cushion and rests an arm across the back of the sofa. “What else did you notice?”
“Nothing much. You don’t own anything. A few magazines. You’re very neat, organized. You don’t require a lot. Just a bed, sofa, television. Did they come with the place?”
“I bought everything at an estate sale.”
“That explains the painting.” I try another sip, and it burns.
“My mother painted that.”
I almost spit out my drink. “Really? Wow. Well, it’s beautiful, and it explains why it’s in your bachelor pad. How did you get it here?”
He looks down into his glass, swirling the amber liquid and watching it create a mini tornado. “On my way to New York, I passed through Kentucky. Stopped at my parents’ house when they were at work and”—he pauses with a Cheshire cat smile—“stole it.”
I nearly drop my glass, so I put it down on the coffee table. “She must be freaking out! They probably think they were robbed.”
With a laugh, he nods. “She knows it was me. I left a note. Well, more like a sign. I left a bag of Hershey’s Kisses on the table below where it hung. That’s always been our thing. She’d put one in my lunchbox every day when I was growing up. When I was too old to get a packed lunch, she’d sneak them everywhere—in my backpack, my gym bag, my car. When I was sixteen, I had a dime bag of weed in my sock drawer. I went to get it one day and found it gone. In its place was a handful of kisses. She never screamed at me. She just wanted me to know that she knew what I was up to. It was enough for me to stop.”
“That’s really sweet.”
“It was okay. Not like when she pulled the same move when she found a Playboy magazine under my bed. I nearly died with embarrassment. Couldn’t look her in the eye for a week.”
“You got caught with a magazine under your bed? That’s so old school. Who reads Playboy anyway? Doesn’t everyone go to Pornhub?”
His eyes flare with intensity. “Not when you’re fourteen and your parents have every internet restriction on your devices. But please, tell me more about your internet habits.”
I lift my glass and shake my head. “Change of subject.”
That booming laugh of his echoes in my apartment. It sounds extra good, echoing off my walls. “Fine. Tell me what you were like in high school.”
“Easy. Math nerd. Total Goody Two-shoes. Went to school and got a job as soon as I had working papers. I was more into science than parties.”
“Nerds are sexy.”
I lift my chin, happily accepting the compliment. “Thank you. Although boys didn’t think so. Didn’t really date until college. No one intrigued me.”
“Until Anthony,” he says with a point.
“Until Anthony…” I sigh. “Part of me wondered how I’d react when I finally saw him after our breakup. There was a portion of my heart that thought it missed him. I’m
