Loving her in whatever way she’d allow.
Smirking, I asked, “Are you drunk?”
“You’re always so serious.” She booped me on the nose with her finger, then dissolved into giggles.
“Youralmost-maybe boyfriend is so serious. Does he ever smile?” the lamp-wielding woman asked, examining me like a statue in a museum.
Almost-maybe boyfriend.The hell did that mean?
“Almost-maybe?” I raised an eyebrow at Faith.
She bit her lip, suddenly looking less confident. “I might have … mentioned you.”
“Mentioned me as your almost-maybe boyfriend?”
“Harper needed context,” Faith protested, swaying slightly.
“Jesus, Faith.” I covered her hands with mine, trying to focus, despite the warmth of her touch searing through my shirt. “I love seeing you happy, but now’s not the time to get plastered with some strange woman.”
“She’s not a strange woman. She’s Harper. She just moved in next door.” Faith gestured grandly. “Harper, meet Ryker. Ryker, Harper.”
Harper appraised me up and down, finally setting down the lamp. “She said you probably do push-ups while reviewing case files.”
“I was right about that, wasn’t I?” Faith turned to me, poking my chest. “You totally do push-ups while thinking about legal stuff.”
I absolutely did, but I wasn’t about to admit it.
Harper squinted at me. “You’re much taller than she made you sound. And angrier-looking. And more lamp-resistant.”
“I’m not angry. I’m concerned,” I said, though even I could hear how that sounded.
“That’s what angry people say,” Harper stage-whispered to Faith.
Faith snorted. “He does have an angry face.”
“I don’t have an angry face.”
“You’re making it right now,” Faith said, pressing her finger between my eyebrows, where I was apparently scowling. “Right there. Your grumpy wrinkle.”
“I don’t have a grumpy wrinkle.” I caught herhand, fighting the urge to smile. “You can’t just trust some random woman, Faith. She could be a reporter.”
“She has a black eye, Ryker,” Faith said, her voice dropping.
“Faith!” Harper protested, her face flushing.
I turned to examine the woman more carefully. Sure enough, beneath carefully applied makeup, dark purple bruising encircled her eye. My stomach dropped.
Some ex-husband or boyfriend. Had to be. The kind who didn’t let go easily. The kind who showed up at new addresses. The lamp attacks suddenly made more sense. She was ready to defend herself. Good for her.
This poor woman doesn’t need me thinking about everything through the lens of Faith’s safety. But if some violent ex tracks her down next door …
“Someone hit you,” I said, keeping my voice gentle.
Harper’s expression hardened. “How do you know I didn’t run into a doorknob?”
“In the history of black eyes, only one in a million actually come from a doorknob,” I said.
“You’re so sexy when you talk stats.” Faith hiccuped. “Harper, isn’t he sexy when he’s all statistical and factual?”
