“Not yet.”
“Pretty cocky of you.” I took a bite of the burger to slow down the conversation.
“I can be pretty cocky, if the situation calls for it.”
I chewed slowly. Flirty banter was not what I was aiming for.
He downed another three fries covered in ketchup while I worked on my single bite of burger.
“You know,” I started. “Someone in the office has her eye on you.”
He smiled at me as he devoured another fry. “I see you watching me, but you don’t need to talk about yourself in the third person.”
Danger. Danger.“You’re so funny. I mean Marci.” I kept an eye on his reaction as I picked up my burger for another bite.
He shook his head. Not a good sign. “She’s a nice girl, but not my type.” He picked up his burger and bit into it.
That gave me a few seconds to pivot. “I have a proposition for you.”
“I’m wearing you down, huh?”
“We can have lunches if?—”
His eyes lit up. “I like the idea of multiple.”
I shook my head. “Let me finish. On the condition that you stop asking me about my past.”
His face screwed up in confusion. “I’m worried about you. I can tell you’re in trouble.”
“No questions, and just lunches, nothing else. I’m not dating. I have a no-men rule.”
He put up a finger for me to wait. “I have a condition of my own.”
I sensed I was close to getting his agreement. “What?”
“You answer one question, and I won’t use it against you.” He waited until I nodded. “Are you on the run from the law?”
“No,” I answered emphatically. “Do I look like a criminal to you?”
“You’re not an escaped convict, or have a warrant out for your arrest?”
“You had your one question.”
“Don’t be a smartass. You know what I mean.” He’d completely stopped dealing with his French fries, but he did lift his burger.
“I have never been tried, convicted, or even arrested for a crime, so no, I am noton the run, as you put it, from the law.” Boston PD wanted to talk to me. They thought I could provide help, but that was a different thing, so I could sleep well knowing my answer was truthful.
He nodded. “Okay then, you have a deal.” He put his burger down, wiped his hand off, and offered it to me to shake.
I did, feeling joy that I’d averted a disaster, and I got to stay working at SpaceMasters. “No more poking into my past,” I added.
“I’ll stop,” he agreed. “I already know that Peyton Smith is not your real name, and I look forward to the day you trust me enough to tell me what it is.”
I swallowed hard and deflected by pointing at one of the tattoospeeking out from his sleeve. I knew that arm had writing on it. “What is that about?”
He pulled the sleeve up to show the entire saying.
If Knocked Down,
