Dylan: So, how was Mr.Wednesday?
Crap. I didn’t want to get into a text conversation like that at the moment. I was supposed to be forgetting about him. It was proving to be harder than I thought. This morning, I woke up with a smile on my face because last night he called me beautiful. It was silly and immature even to think about, but most guys called me hot. Maybe I got aprettyor acutehere and there, but I didn’t remember ever being called beautiful. The word was making me anxious. I didn’t want one word to weaken my resolve, so I tried to think of anything butDylan.
The problem was, I couldn’t stop. I walked him home from the bar last night with him leaning heavily on my shoulder. It felt good having his weight there. So good, I still felt his warmth on my skin, as if he’d tattooed his touch tome.
I needed to stop thisinsanity.
I stared at the text message.How was Mr. Wednesday?How could I possibly answer that without hurting either of us? He was married, he wasn't supposed to care about what I did, and I shouldn’t care about what he dideither.
Callie: Why do you want to knowthat?
Dylan: Because I need toknow.
Callie: Why Dylan? Why do you need to know about my sexlife?
Dylan: I don't know. I know I'm nothing to youbut…
Callie: Dylan we’re friends, me and you, okay? You can count on me for anything. I'll always have your back. Whatever you’re going through with your WIFE, I got yourback.
I needed to mention his wife. I wanted to text it a thousand times. You are married. You are married, and you would do nothing but hurt me when she cameback.
Dylan: Just tell me how Wednesdaywas!
Callie: Fine! Horrible. I'm hoping Thursday night will bebetter.
My phone ranginstantly.
I stopped walking and stared down at it. Dylan's profile picture was of Addison and Ben, and seeing their faces made me laugh outloud.
“What’s up, Dylan?” I said into the phone. I scanned the parking area and found Max, Ryan, and Dean climbing into an unmarked car, waving for me tofollow.
“Don't do that to yourself,” Dylan’s voice rumbled into myear.
“Dowhat?” I asked, feeling that familiar flutter in my chest after I heard hisvoice.
“Think that's all you get,” heanswered.
“But it is, Dylan. It's all I get,” I said impatiently. “It's what I need to do, and more importantly, it’s what Ichoose.”
He huffed loudly into the phone. “Okay, I'll remember that,” he snapped. “But it's hard,though.”
“What's hard?” I said as I climbed into the back seat next toRyan.
“Hard not wanting to be the rest of yourweek.”
“Well,” I said softly, “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to try. I’m a lot of horrible things, but I’ll never knowingly be someone’s infidelity. Now, I’m hanging up this phone because I need to find a guy that killed the three dead bodies we just found.” I ended the call with my teammates staring at me wide-eyed and jawstight.
“Who was that?” Max growled from the front seat. His head turned toward me, his brows knitted together inconfusion.
I shook my head, refusing to tell any of them. “Just drive. I’d rather be dealing with the murder suspect than thisshit.”
Besides, I had a date with Kevin lined up that night to look forward to. Kevin Ramsey who wasn’t even the slightest bit married. And I called him Ram for a damn goodreason.
* * *
We made the evening news.The gunman, a twenty-three-year-old local gang member, barricaded himself in his girlfriend's house and had a two-hour standoff with us. The hostage negotiation team managed to talk him out with the help of the girlfriend. When the news reporters questioned him as to why he shot the three victims, he just shrugged andsmiled.
“Look, there you are.” Kevin pointed to the television with a pair of chopsticks. He was holding a pint of lo mien in his other hand. “You look hot asfuck.”
