He pushes a nervous hand through the sun-bleached lengths. “Yeah.”
My gaze drops to the badge stitched on his chest. “Vice President, huh?” Then the one above it. “Jinx. Is that what they call you now?”
He nods, lips rolling together.
“Take it you’re not the spokesperson for the club.” My joke falls flat, and confusion twists his brow again.
It’s almost cute. As is the slight twitch of his nose.
“You don’t say much,” I explain, swiveling my chair to face him. “Guess some things don’t change.”
“I’m sorry.” He backs up a step, leather creaking with his movement, and looks down at the envelope as he flicks the end open. “It’s just…hell,” he breathes. “You look so different.”
Different? Or like the real me?“Losing the braces and gaining weight will do that to a person,” I jest. My chest pangs with the truth of the matter.Maybe not different, just healthy.
“What brought you back?” He balloons the envelope and reaches inside to slide the contents out.
I shrug as I turn back to the computer. “Guess I’d achieved what I wanted by leaving.” My gaze fights to return to him as he flicks through the papers on the counter, yet I fixate on the empty screen, eyes burning.
“Kyra?”
I glance up and blink away the ache.
“These ain’t mine.” He spins the documents so they sit right-side up for me.
“What?” I jerk out of the chair to reach for the stapled report. “Oh my God.” They aren’t. They so aren’t.
Chest tight, I glance at the ‘Out’ tray and hope to find another envelope. Empty, faded grey plastic stares back at me.
“Shit. I must have mixed them up with Mariana’s.” My stomach sours. I’m going to have to call her. Explain.
She intimidated me badly enough when we were teenagers. The thought of outlining my ineptitude to her now has my palms sweating with trepidation.Some things definitely don’t change.
I swore that my lack of experience wouldn’t be an issue for Janis. I know she only hired me as a favor to my dad. Three dayson the job, and I’ve proved why she would have been better off canceling her long weekend and sticking around to train me a little longer.
Nobody ever comes in, my ass.She swore I’d be okay, and here I am, fucking up the simplest task.
“It’s fine.” Jinx reaches inside his cut and tugs out his phone. “I’ll give her a call. Hopefully she’s not too far away.”
“I’m so sorry. It’s my first week.”
“Relax.” Ironically,hefinally does. His tense shoulders drop as he brings up her number and hits Call. “They’re permits, not somebody’s tax records.”
But they could have been.They could have been any number of personal records. I rub my clammy hands down the legs of my jeans and draw a deep breath. The fucking irony. Put a screen between me and the world, and my confidence knows no bounds. But stick me in a room with a living, breathing person, and all my insecurities line up for a turn at the front line.
“Hey,” Jinx greets as he turns side-on to me. “I need you to come back.” He pauses, and his eyes roll to the ceiling as he listens. “You’ve got my paperwork, and I’ve got yours.” He turns to face me, phone still to his ear, and smiles when he rests his elbows on the counter.
My stomach flutters, and I’m not all that sure it’s just the nerves.
Phone to his chest, he whispers, “She doesn’t believe me, so she’s checking.” A noise comes from the device, and he places it back to his ear.
I’m lost tracing the lines of the man while he argues with Mariana that it’s as much her fault for not checking before she left as it is mine, my gaze running the slope of his shoulders, then the swell of his back as he turns away to mutter something low and terse at her.
I knew his father was part of the club when we were in school. Hell, it was unavoidable to know in my household, what with my father new on the job in the local police force and my retired law enforcement grandfather never hesitant to share his discord with Jinx’s family over the dinner table. History runs deep. The McGuires are the town rabble-rousers, riding around with a middle finger to the world. And my family are the straight-and-narrow rule-followers, self-appointed to pull them into line.
We come from absolute opposite ends of the spectrum, which is why I stayed content with watching him from afar during high school.
A guilty pleasure. A teenage fantasy.
