I might have improvised that last part.
Instead of giving Nadine the cold dose of reality, I make my way to the bar.
“What’s your poison?” Dixon Abreo flips a coaster in front of me.
“Tequila,” I hold up two fingers. “Make it a double. Neat.”
He raises his eyebrows but says nothing as he pours. Dixon slides the glass across the bar to me, and I toss it back in one go.
“Again.”
He pours me another double. I shoot that down as quickly as the last.
“Again.”
Aaron slides onto the rickety stool next to me. “Maybe you need some food first?”
I shake my head.
Aaron and Dix exchange someman-ESP, and Dix heads off to pour drinks for another patron.
“You’re being a wet blanket right now, Sparky.” I try to reach over the bar and grab the tequila bottle, but Aaron grabs me around the waist and pulls me back.
Shit. His hands are like throwing kerosene on my already hot-and-ready lady flame.
“Camellia,” he growls.
Shit fire and save matches. Lady flames are a-spreading in my downtown area. There’s something about this authoritative attitude that does it for me.
I swivel and give him my best Cranky Aaron impression. “Camellia.”
“That’s it,” Aaron stands.
“Great,” I smile and wave. “See ya later.”
He shakes his head, bends down, then throws me over his shoulder.
“Motherfucker, you better put me down,” I slap his perfectly toned ass and nearly break my hand.
“Nope,” Aaron reaches into his pocket for money that he slaps down on the bar.
Dixon grunts but doesn’t stop theFlamingo Cove Fire Chief of Cocksuckersfrom carrying me out of The Squad Room.
I’m upside down and backward, so I twist to see where the fuck he’s taking me. A blaze-orange truck that is older than I am seems to be his target.
“Holy hellfire, Aaron. You still have that P-O-S?”
He chuckles as he opens the door to his 1972 Chevy Cheyenne pickup truck. I know it has a V-8 engine and 700 something or other. I’m a little fuzzy on the details. I was with him when he bought it for $200 and swore he would turn that hunk of junk into something spectacular. He did indeed do that. The truck was no longer a piece of shit.
“Still got her,” Aaron sets me down but doesn’t let go of me, staring into my eyes. My mouth goes dry.
I place a steadying arm on the truck bed. Four shots of tequila probably wasn’t a great idea right before being carried out to the parking lot. I rub my hand along the paint job. Smooth. A lot different than the rust bucket it was when he got it.
“She’s had some upgrades,” I squint at him.
He smiles. “Do you want to talk about the truck?”
I reach out and grab his arm. Damn. Still solid muscle.
