None of the women he’d dated over the past ten seasons had been this immersed in Dark of Night lore. He hadn’t minded, since once he stepped off the set, he had other things to think about. But Tina’s devotion to the show really touched him. Too bad that fascination didn’t seem to extend to Jack Finnegan, the man behind the character.
“Okay…” He dug deep and recalled one of his favorite episodes of the entire series. “How many people did the beauty queen stalk in season four?”
“Trick question. It wasn’t her, it was her husband.”
“Yeah baby.” With one hand on the steering wheel, he held up the other for a high-five. “Nicely done. You just won yourself margarita number two.”
“I usually stop at one.”
He slid her a seductive, teasing glance. “The thing is, Detective Tina Chen, as far as I can tell, there’s nothing usual about you.”
19
Jack Finnegan was flirting with her. She was now one hundred percent sure of it. He was making personal comments that had nothing to do with their investigation. He was giving her those lethal little smiles that made her head go woozy.
Should she tell him that she wasn’t used to flirtation? When she was attracted to a man, she generally came out and told him so. If he felt the same, they’d take things further. Maybe a drink, a meal, then some kissing to see if the attraction extended to sexual chemistry. Bing bang boom. Her approach was efficient and entirely satisfactory to both parties.
This was something completely different, and it felt like quicksand to her. Like she was walking through new terrain where she didn’t understand the rules. Did it have gravity? Did it obey the laws of physics? The only way to find out was to keep exploring. The good thing was that Jack was there too, and he made her feel so…good. Floaty and happy and light.
And that was before the margaritas.
They settled on a little basement tavern that had to be entered via a short flight of stairs. She felt Jack’s hand hovering at the small of her back as they descended. Maybe he was still worried about the lingering effects of the Bloodshot Eyeball shooting.
Maybe she should be worried about that. That would explain everything, wouldn’t it, if this giddy feeling was a result of hitting her head on the café floor?
But no…Tina insisted on being honest with herself, and the truth was that Jack had this effect on her all on his own. Residual effects from a head injury had nothing to do with it.
The tavern felt like a throwback to Olde English times, with its mahogany tabletops and cracked burgundy upholstery. The light came from sconces set in brickwork walls as well as mini oil lanterns set on the tables. They had to fetch their own drinks from the bar; it was too early for waitress service, explained the bartender, who was also the owner. He was a burly man with long sideburns and a mustache that curled up at the ends, as if he too had been transported from another time.
Jack chatted with him for a while as he fetched their margaritas. He had a knack for talking to strangers, which she envied slightly. She talked to strangers all the time, of course, but from behind the shield of her badge. Friendly chitchat was a different story.
“He tried to talk me into a dry sherry,” Jack said as he eased into the booth opposite her with their drinks. “He’s a liquor snob and doesn’t think much of the margarita.”
She touched her tongue to the salt on the rim. “Is that what you were talking to him about?”
“Actually, I got some information from him.” His gray eyes looked silver in the light from the lantern. “He says we should stay at the Spotted Owl, which is about a block away. He even called them up and reserved a room for us.”
“The perks of being a celebrity?” The first sip of tequila shot into her bloodstream.
“Nah, he didn’t recognize me. I can always tell. It’s the perks of being friendly, that’s all, and asking for advice. People love to give advice.”
“I’m not friendly,” she stated. Good lord, already tipsy. Maybe that bonk on her head had affected her tolerance level. “People are always telling me to smile. It’s irritating.”
“You should only smile if you want to.”
“Exactly.” She lifted her glass and clinked it against his. “In my mind, it’s kind of sexist. Do people tell men to smile? Seems to me it’s just women who get that comment. Like we’re always supposed to be happy and smiling, no matter what’s going on. Honestly, that’s one great thing about being a detective. I’m investigating fucking crimes. It would be weird if I was smiling all the time.”
“Damn right. Have you noticed that Denver Black almost never smiles?”
“Of course, but that’s partly because of his scar.”
“It has nothing to do with his scar. He’s just not a smiler.”
“But you are.” He had an incredible smile, one that turned her knees to Jell-O.
“I can be. Not always. It depends on who I’m with.”
And there he went with the flirting again. That smoldering look from those gray eyes, the promise of so much fun, so much pleasure…
