I hadn’t even heard her slip out of bed and leave, which irrationally irritates me. She’s not a quiet woman, and I’m a cop. I’m lucky she wasn’t on the con and that I woke up with my wallet and car.
Although if she’d robbed me, I’d have an excuse to hunt her down.
So there’s that.
I scrub a hand over my stubbled jaw and try not to think about what it would be like to exhaust myself in her body.
Despite my best intentions, she’d plagued me all day.
I want her again. It was like she possessed all my weaknesses in one heart-stopping, unforgettable package. She’d been defiant, unbelievably beautiful, visceral, and alive. All that cunning sparking in those white-blue eyes of hers. Touching her had been like handling live electrical wire. I could feel all her vibrating energy under my palm. The way I slid?—
“Thinking about last night?” Ryder’s question breaks into my ruminations.
For a moment, I’m disoriented. I haven’t said a word about her.
But then I realize that’s not what he’s talking about.
He’s talking about what led me to be sitting in that bar in the first place.
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“How’d it go?” Ryder asks, his gray eyes curious.
I shrug one shoulder. “About as well as could be expected.”
I’d been in that bar nursing my guilty conscience over ending things with Felicia Hayes, my longtime situationship. Even though I’d been completely honest with the pretty pediatrician that I was not relationship material, she’d gotten ideas anyway. Ideas I’d suspected but had ignored because there’d never seemed to be a good time to deal with the fallout.
But she’d taken the decision out of my hands when, last month on her thirty-fourth birthday, after dinner and a couple bottles of wine, she’d gotten up the courage to confess she’d caught feelings that included a wedding gown and save-the-date cards.
We’d ended the second she’d wanted more, but I couldn’t break up with her on her birthday. I’m not cruel.
Yesterday, I pulled the trigger.
I cringe, downing the rest of my beer.
I’m saved from an answer when Sam wanders over. He’s tall and lanky with guileless blue eyes, shiny golden hair, and a face that makes him look like an angel he definitely isn’t. He plops a fresh bottle in front of me and leans over, placing his hands on the bar. In his slow, lazy drawl that hides all his hidden depths, he asks, “You doing okay?”
Instead of remorse over Felicia, the woman from last night flashes across my mind.
Sam’s gaze narrows.
I tense. I don’t want him using his powers on me. I visualize a wall between him and the thoughts in my head, purposefully relaxing my shoulders to rid myself of her.
Sam doesn’t know anything. He’s asking because of Felicia, that’s all.
I scrub a hand over my jaw that’s moved well past five-o’clock-shadow territory. “Obviously, I felt like an asshole.”
Sam cracks a smile. “Should be used to it by now.”
“Funny.” I drag my fingers through my hair. “Why did she have to confess her love on her birthday? Of all days.”
Sam taps a beat on the worn bar top. “If you’d been paying attention, you’d have seen she’d believed her birthday was her best and only shot.”
“Unfortunately, I only have hindsight, instead of foresight.” I don’t push back on his assessment because he’s right. Sam is always right.
“Point still stands,” he adds helpfully.
I sigh.