“Yes, we do.” I take a step closer and place a hand on his shoulder. “We’ve done this before.”
“You mean…” His brows furrow.
“Yep,” I answer definitively.
“But would she…”
“That’s up to her to decide.”
“But she has a…”
“I know. You told me that last night.”
He keeps his forehead scrunched as he thinks it through. “Fuck it. Why not? What’s the worst that could happen?”
I shrug my shoulders. “She could freak the fuck out, quit her job here, and file a harassment report with the police.”
“Your optimism is inspiring.”
Fuck optimism.
Raven is ours.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
RAVEN
That did not happen. Nope. Not at all.
Did I kiss my boss?
Yes.
Did I expect his brother, whom I kissed yesterday on my front porch, to walk in?
Absolutely fucking not.
Do I regret it?
Jury’s still out on that one.
Enjoying my time in Mystic River has not been a priority, and it should stay that way. Distractions are just that. Distracting.
I busy myself, wiping down the counter while I gain my composure. That kiss, if it could even be called that, was something else. I’ve never experienced that kind of raw lust. My panties are uncomfortably wet, and the more I think about what happened in the stockroom, the wetter I’ll get. If I can avoid the discomfort of wet panties for the rest of my shift, that would be great.
Scanning the tables, I check to see if anyone needs help. Everyone seems content for now, and thankfully, Mrs. QueenBee and her posse have vacated the bar and left cash on their table to cover their bill.
Benny is dutifully on his stool, staring at the TV behind me. I look over my shoulder and find the reporter Sherry Jenkins on the screen. Something about her aggravates me, but I can’t tell what it is. She sits poised behind a table in her finely pressed navy-blue suit. Her blonde bob frames her face in a way that’s flattering, but I can’t help but notice how even as she looks at the camera head-on, it’s almost like her nose is turned up at the audience.
I snatch the remote and turn up the volume.
“Another woman was found dead in her apartment this morning in Chelsea. Authorities are unwilling to comment at this time on what has been found on scene…”
Don’t say Dahlia. Don’t say Dahlia.
“But sources say the state in which Lena Hill’s body was found is eerily similar to murders that occurred over a decade ago. John Bartlett, also known as the serial killer John the Baptist, is currently serving life in prison without the possibility of parole.”
Thank God.
