He carried on, “You, however, seem naturally inclined toward violence.”
“I am not!”
“So much wrath in such a petite package.”
“You just met me. You don’t know anything about me.”
“I’m a good judge of character. Reading people is kind of my whole job.” His lips twitched as he suppressed a smile. “Detective, remember?”
I blew out a breath. “For your information, I am not full of violence or wrath. I’m just…annoyed. Okay?”
“At your shitbox car? Or at me?”
“Must I choose?”
“Are you always this belligerent toward people who are trying to help you?”
“I’m not being belligerent!” I insisted. (Belligerently.) “I’m just… I’m having a bad night, as I’ve already informed you.” I paused. “I’m having a bad week, actually. A bad month. A bad year.”
“If you’re about to break into the theme song from F.R.I.E.N.D.S. I’m going to have to arrest you.”
“Arrest me?For what?”
“Noise violation, disrupting the peace, take your pick. I’m a pretty understanding guy, but I draw the line at sitcoms with laugh tracks.”
He was teasing me.
Again!
“Stop joking around. You’re a cop. You’re meant to be taciturn and stern.” My gaze dropped to his stomach which, beneath the fitted button down, appeared to be washboard-flat. “You’re also supposed to have a beer gut.”
“Yeah... Turns out, chasing the bad guys is a lot harder with a gut.”
“Do you do a lot of bad-guy-chasing?” I couldn’t help myself from asking. “In this little town?”
“You might be surprised.”
I glanced around. “Seems like any other quiet corner of suburbia to me.”
“Looks can be deceiving.” He paused and crossed both his arms — which, by the way, were so ridiculously muscular they tested the structural integrity of his shirt sleeves — over his chest to mirror my pose. “You never answered my question.”
“Which one?”
“Where is it you’re coming from?”
Once again, I fought the urge to squirm. “Oh, here and there. You know.”
“I don’t know, actually. That’s why I asked.”
“Are you asking in the official capacity of the law or out of personal curiosity?”
“Must I choose?” he echoed my earlier taunt, mimicking my voice.
“Look, Highballer?—”
“Hightower. Though, you might as well call me Caden. Or Cade, if you like.”
I blinked at him. “What? Why?”