“You know what they say about Texas weather, George.”
I snapped off the radio. “Hopefully, by tomorrow morning, we’ll be able to get you in touch with the Rangers.” I sent him a shit-eating grin. “In the meantime, I don’t mind having a little fun with you. Provided you stop trying to stab me.”
“I make no promises,” he said, delicately wiping the smirk on his lips. “Though I might need some Advil or something before we go after it again.”
He curled forward and arched back, grimacing with the stretch.
“Shit, you should’ve said something sooner.” I leaned in, cupping his face. “I think I have some eight-hundred-milligram ibuprofen from the time I strained my back. Gimme a sec.”
His chest rose quickly at my touch, which should’ve been a warning. Another one of those fiery flags I was determined to ignore.
I got up and went to the bathroom, returning seconds later with the pill and a glass of water.
“Sorry I didn’t offer this to you last night,” I said, handing them to him.
“Ugh. Worst host ever,” he cracked, then swallowed the pill with some water. “That’s okay. We were occupied.”
“No apologies for that.”
Tapping the table, he asked, “Is there anything else to do here?”
I grimaced. “I’d planned on drinking, but I don’t think my system can handle any more vodka.”
He laughed as I considered what there was to do—aside from the obvious. A few moments later, I smiled, remembering a happy childhood memory.
“How does a round of Rummikub sound?”
Should I be playing board games with the state’s star witness?
Probably not, but then again, I shouldn’t know what his cum tastes like, so…
Besides, it was Christmas.
His brows met in the middle. “I don’t know what that is.”
I leaned forward, popping my brows. “Then you’re in for a treat.”
10
JESSE
Rafferty was laughingwhen he said I was in for a treat, so I wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth or not. He pulled the game box—frayed at the corners and held together by yellowing Scotch tape—from an upper cabinet and displayed it to me like a slightly deranged game show host. As he set out the trays and numbered tiles, he explained that he’d spent many summer afternoons divided between swimming in the lake and playing Rummikub with his grandparents.
The game itself was simple to learn and surprisingly addictive. It also made us chatty. Rafferty told me his mom had him young and he’d been raised by his grandparents. Even though they’d been much older than your average parents, they’d always been active in his life, supporting him in everything from his sexuality to his career. Both had hated his husband, which made me laugh.
They would’ve liked me.
I wondered if he’d regret telling me so much about his personal life, but he seemed at peace with what he was saying. I was surprised to hear that since his grandparents died, he’d been wondering if he was truly happy with the direction of his life and didn’t like the answers he was getting. That was why he’d intended to spend the holiday drunk. He wanted to figure things out.
I knew that feeling intimately. Having been a criminal for as long as I could remember, I had no idea what to do with the new life I’d been given.
Rafferty even spoke about the way he and his ex-husband were so hot in the beginning, but they were better off as an idea than as an actual couple. Given that Rafferty was straight-up disrespectful in bed, I could see how a fancy lawyer could forget about the reality of his life.
Hell, I wished I could spend a little more time with him.
Thankfully, I was under no delusions as to what this little bubble of time meant. As soon as the snow melted, the bubble would pop, and we’d be right back in our old roles of cop and convict.
In a way, though, I was glad I’d gotten to know the man. The hatred I’d carried for him this past year had been heavy and impossible to maintain from the second I was in his care. And it made me feel a little less fucked in the head for all the jacking off.
