“Why?” His brow furrowed. “No one wants to spend any more time in that dark, dank place than they have to.”
“They need to work some things out between them. A few moments alone are just the ticket.”
“And what things are those?”
“The way they feel about each other for starters.”
“Sam says she’s like a kid sister.”
Her frown was severe. “I know you’d probably like to believe him because you have designs on her. But surely your own aims haven’t blinded you to the way he looks at her.”
No. He wasn’t blind. In fact, he’d seen the truth of things months ago when he’d come home to hear the tale of how one pipsqueak of a D.O.D hacker had helped Sam and Hunter clear Grace’s name. The way Sam’s eyes had lit up any time he’d mentioned Hannah had told Fisher all he’d needed to know.
“And what if I told ya mydesignson Hannah are just for show?” He crossed his arms and regarded her through narrowed eyes.
She looked taken aback. “Are they?”
“Ya think you’re the only one who sees how much Sam needs a shove to get over himself?”
For a while after that, she was silent. Then she tsked. “Have you ever heard that old saying that whoever is stirring the shit should have to lick the spoon?”
He laughed. “I like to think of it less as stirrin’ the shit and more as givin’ everyone involved a little nudge in the right direction.”
“Well, you sure had me fooled.”
“Only ’cause you’re lookin’ for reasons to think poorly of me.”
She’d been smoothing an invisible wrinkle out of her slacks, but that made her glance up.
“What?” He lifted a curious eyebrow. “Am I wrong?”
Her mouth twisted. “You have to admit, you aren’t exactly doing your damnedest to be named Saint of the Year.”
“Saints are borin’. Not to mention pompous and pious and judgmental. Sinners take ya as ya are and allow ya room to mess up and grow. Give me the sinners any day.”
“Is that what you’re doing when you take home a different woman every night? Growing?”
“First of all, ya give me too much credit. It’s noteverynight. I don’t have it in me to do that much wooin’. Second of all, it’s notmewho limits things to one night. It’sthem.”
When she made a face, he lifted a finger. “And don’t ya go gettin’ it in your head that I don’t know what I’m doin’ so they don’t come back for seconds.” Her smirk told him he’d read her mind. “It’s just that they see me for what I am.”
“And what’s that?”
“Fun for now but not forever,” he said simply.
“And yet, upstairs you claimed you wantmorethan that.”
“Wantin’ it and findin’ someone who’s willin’ to give it to me are too different things.”
Women were smart. Once they heard about his background, they usually ran screaming for the hills.
“Maybe you’re just looking in the wrong places. Ever think of that? Maybe skip the bars and the clubs and Tinder and try…” She shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. The library or something. You like poetry. Hang out in the poetry section. Maybe you’ll find Miss Right.”
He laughed. “Ya missed your callin’, Eliza. You should be writin’ romance novels. It’s only in those books that folks meet like that.”
“Not true.” She shook her head. “I have a date next Saturday with a man I met while on a walk through Lincoln Park. We bumped into each other on the bridge over the duck pond. I spilled my coffee on my coat. He whisked out his pocket square to help me clean up. It was averyHallmark moment.”
He ignored the little stab of jealousy that sliced into him. Or at least hetriedto.
