“We’ve had this conversation before, haven’t we?”
“We have. He is a replica, by the way, but purchased in Germany so he’s an authentic replica.”
Her brain immediately veered off into the land of questions. What part of Germany? How expensive was it? Did they ship?
She reeled her thoughts back in and cocked her head. “That was all it took? A drunk lecture on a suit of armor?”
He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a simple guy.”
She doubted that. This guy was infinitely more complex than his devil-may-care persona suggested.
He stood and pulled a wallet from his back pocket and took out a business card. “Here’s the deal, Abby. I’m giving you my number. I’ll give you the prescribed seventy-two hours to call me. After that, the ball will be back in my court.”
She took the simple business card, and he threw a leg over his bike and started the motor.
He revved the engine once. “Call me.”
She watched him drive out of the staff lot, then looked at the card. “Are you kidding me?”
His last name was literally Knight.
Christian “Tinker” Knight, Security Specialist for the Leonidas Corporation, was coming for her. Was that shiver down her spine worry or excitement?
It's a Date
“You have to call him,” Naomi said.
They were standing in the back of the textile room. It was a sewing room with sixteen sewing machines set up in two rows of eight, but the school administration felt “textile room” was artier and less home ec-y.
“Don’t you have a class to go to?” Abby glared at her friend.
“I’m in it. I’m here to confer on the designs for the spring showcase.”
Abby rolled her eyes. They’d already conferred on the costumes. “You’re here to gossip.”
“I am here to lend emotional support to my very good friend who, although beautiful, witty, and charming, is socially stunted. You only have one more day to call him, and then he’s coming for you.”
Naomi fake shivered. “Ooh, I get all tingly just thinking about it. It sounds so… so…”
“Creepy? Psychotic? Predatory?”
“Sexy,” Naomi finished.
“Jesus. You’re worse than I am.”
“Ms. Abby?” Armando called out, his hand raised. “My needle’s jammed.”
Abby helped him fix his machine and adjust the tension for the fabric he was sewing and spent several minutes looking over a few more students’ work. When she returned to the back of the room, Naomi looked up from her phone with a guilty expression.
No. Not her phone. Abby’s phone.
“What are you doing?” she hissed.
“I’m sorry,” Naomi said. “Actually, I’m not—you were never going to do it. You guys have a date Friday night.”
“What?!”
The noise stopped as all the students turned to look at them.
