“Right, because I figured it really wasn’t any of your business. The corporate stuff I deal with? Not up for discussion. The criminal cases I spend a great deal of my time working on? These typically rely on a professionalnothaving loose lips. But I’ve covered other kinds of cases too.” She juts her powdered nose forward, the proud little feral chihuahua she is. “I recently went to trial and represented a victim of sexual harassment.” She peels her lips back in what is probably supposed to be a smile. Savage and mean. “We won.”
“Jinkies, Velma.” I settle back in my chair and pretend my whole fucking body isn’t on fire. “Message received. However, I’d like to plead my case, if it’s alright with you.”
Her brows furrow heavily over suspicious eyes. “What?”
“Permission to approach the bench?”
“No!”
I choke out a dumb, cathartic laugh. “Guess I’ll stay here, then. However, according to some person I read on the internet one time, harassment is defined as a pattern of unwanted, offensive behavior that demeans, humiliates, or intimidates.” I slide my tongue forward, tapping my lip and grinning as, unable to stop herself, Anna’s eyes follow the movement. “This conversation constitutes onlyoneunwanted conversation, none of whichwas intended to humiliate, intimidate, or demean you. So, Your Honor, I argue we have not yet reached harassment levels.”
“You’ve been placed on notice, Mr. Warner. Further such behavior will not tolerated.”
“Damn, Grinch.” I bound to my feet and tower over the woman who gulps and looks me up and down. I sway a little, because it’s entirely possible I’m suffering a concussion—might even be a brain bleed—but I get my wobbles under control and hit her with a bright, teasing smile.
Snatching up the bag of marshmallows, I hug the packet to my chest and thrill in the way she wants so badly for me to give them back.
“Guess I better make myself scarce. You’re an extremely beautiful woman, after all, and I’m just a mortal man. Our shared traumatic event will certainly lead me to emotional outbursts, especially now I’ve been kidnapped and relegated to your bedroom.” I exhale a noisy, whistling sigh. “Just call me Stockholm, Ms. Maxwell, because I’m kinda turned on by the idea of being your captive. Come hang out with me when you’re done.” I step around the couch and use my foot to slide the box of ornaments across the floor. “I’ll be the guy in your bed, definitely not touching myself, and absolutely not sniffing your nightie.”
EIGHT
ANNA
Iwalk into my kitchen the next morning with bleary, tired eyes and a stomach filled with anxiety. Because instead of facing my demons—and by demons, I mean the infuriatingly flirty houseguest I have no freakin’ clue what to do with—I ignored him all night instead. I made grilled cheese for dinner and poured a glass of wine, and since people suffering blunt force trauma really shouldn’t drink anyway, I took the bottle to bed and spent my evening watching trashy reality television.
Dean, on the other hand, watched ELF in my living room, if two hours of hearing Will Ferrell screech was anything to go by.
Dropping the empty wine bottle into my recycle bin, I snuggle into my oversized hoodie and rub my hands together for warmth. Moving silently, my feet wrapped in fluffy white socks, I make my way to the coffee machine with the taste of caffeine already teasing my tongue, but as I grab a mug and place it under the spout, I blink, blink, blink my fuzzy eyes, thenI peek left and find my dry erase board, about one foot tall, one foot wide, resting by my sink.
I hit the button on my coffee machine and study the crisp white board, the thick red letters taking up most available space, and beside it, a marker I don’t recall owning.
T-minus 6 days till your bestie BFF’s wedding, Counselor. And don’t forget date night tomorrow night. I hope you slept well. At the risk of sounding like a complete fkn creep, you should know you look pretty when you sleep. Don’t have me arrested for saying that. Turn me over.
Stunned by the sharp end to his note, I pick up the board and flip it over, then I tamp down on the anticipation bubbling in my belly, because I discover a whole new surface filled with messily scribbled words.
You don’t actually know me yet. Ya know, since you ran me down with your car and my brain has been a little scrambled ever since. But I’m a decent dude. Not great, but decent. I’m good company, and I’m not a crazy psycho killer or anything, so it’d be cool if you wanted to hang out sometime. But also, since it’s the season for telling the truth, I think you’re beautiful as fuck, and I don’t know hownotto say what’s on my mind, so IF we hang out, that’s something that’ll probably come up. It is what it is. Don’t let that scare you off. Enjoy your coffee. Come find me when you’re ready.
Setting the board back on the counter, my coffee machine gurgling behind me while steam wafts from the top, I press my hands beside the board and just… breathe.
I exist in this world where everything is upside down and my houseguest is charming and a criminal.
Both.
At the same time.
I imagine an evening spent on Detective James’ arm, wearing a pretty dress, while he wears a suit… and Dean makes three.
The guy is injured,andin hiding. Why the hell would hewantto attend a public event overflowing with police?
“God.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and release a long, tired groan. Which is the exact opposite of what I intended for my moment of breathing.
The rich scent of coffee fills the air, while out the window overhanging my sink, early morning sunlight filters through the trees outside.
Frustrated, I push off the counter and head to my fridge, snatching out the creamer and dropping a dollop into my coffee. Putting the carton back and closing the door, I wrap my hands around the blissfully hot mug and make my way through my home, past the couch Dean has already tidied, with pillows stacked on one end, and a blanket folded into a neat square.
He brought nothing with him; no spare clothes, no duffel, not even a spare pair of underwear. Which means besides the blanket and pillow, and if I were to ignore the man’s cologne lingering in the air, I could almost pretend I have no guest.
No thief sleeping on my couch.
