“Saw your ‘big story’ tonight,” I say once we’re alone again. “Fowler was a real dick to you.”
Emi’s lips flatten. “He’s the worst kind of asshole. Thinks he can buy his way into—or out of—any situation. He’ll get his soon enough. When my series is done, he’ll be lucky if he’s not in jail for a very long time.”
“You’re goin’ after him again tomorrow?” Worry crawls up my spine. “Emi, I think you should?—”
She leans forward, something akin to desperation in her brown eyes. “Can we talk about something that’s not my job? I’ve been living and breathing this story for almost a month.”
Well, shit. I should tell her about my phone call with Elmore, but I can’t ignore her plea. Or the emotion in her voice. “We can talk about anything you want. But remember those rusty conversation skills I mentioned?” The bar erupts into cheers, and I glance up at one of the TVs in the corner of the room. The Ropers just scored a touchdown. Sports. Sports is a safe topic. “You follow football?”
Her laugh lights up her entire face. “Only enough to joke around with the camera crew in the studio. I’m more of a baseball fan. You want to know the box scores from the last run the Austin Stars made for the World Series, I’m your girl.”
“I can do baseball. Spent most of the summer at the ballpark.” I rub my hand across the back of my neck. I’d been nursing a headache all day, but after ten minutes with Emi, it’s almost gone. “Too bad they finished in last place.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t bail after the All Star break.” She settles back in the booth and takes a long pull on the straw in her club soda.
Damn. I never thought something so simple could be so sexy.
“Bein’ outside in the sun was worth the heartache. It was either that or never leave my apartment.” The admission is easy—too easy. And too much.
Emi’s brows curve up. “You’re not…uh…working?” At my flinch, her cheeks flush crimson. “Oh, God. That was incredibly rude. Ignore me, Jasper. I don’t have much of a filter after a big story.”
“Ain’t no never mind. And it’s a fair question. I couldn’t go back to the Rangers after…what happened. Bum leg, traumatic brain injury, and my shoulder’s permanently fucked.” The headache’s back now, ten times worse than when I walked in here. The pity in Emi’s eyes doesn’t help. “I got lucky, though. The owner of my apartment building comps most of my rent in exchange for me handlin’ a lot of the day-to-day maintenance issues. Between that and disability, I do okay. Just don’t get out much. By choice.”
“I don’t either,” she admits with a small smile. “Unless it’s for work.”
“That’s hard to believe. Someone who looks as good as you did in that dress should be paintin’ the town every weekend.”
Another laugh—almost a snort a little too close to a sip of club soda—and Emi dabs at her bare lips with a napkin. “That sounds like the worst kind of torture. I’m an ‘in bed by ten’ sort of gal. Saturday night wrecked me for a full twenty-four hours. I spent all day Sunday in my pajamas working from my couch.”
The server drops off our food, and I wonder just what kind of pajamas Ms. Emmylou Marsh favors. And if I’ll ever get to see them.
The game is almost over by the time I convince Emi to let me pick up the check. She argued with me for a full twenty minutes before I told her my mama would never forgive me if she found out I let a woman pay for dinner when I’d invited her to sit down.
“Can I walk you to your car?” Offering her my elbow, I fully expect her to refuse. While we’ve been flirtin’ on and off all night, I still don’t know much about her. But she wraps her fingers around my bicep with a smile.
“You’re one of those honest-to-God good guys, aren’t you?” she asks once we’re outside. “Kind to strangers, kids, and the elderly. You rescue kittens and puppies in your spare time. Or return all the loose shopping carts to the grocery store.”
“Shopping carts are a fucking menace to society,” I mutter. “Don’t matter how new they are, one wheel is always broken. Never thought much about getting a cat or dog while I was working, though I’ve got the time, now.”
We reach her car—a pretty powder blue Mustang convertible—and Emi digs her keys out of her bag. “Tonight was fun, Jasper. I don’t think I realized how much I needed…fun.” She levers up on her toes and presses a quick kiss to my cheek. Jasmine and vanilla swirl around me, a heady, sweet scent I’ll never forget. Never want to.
I hold open her door, then lean down so I can meet her gaze. “I’d like to see you again. Would you consider giving me your phone number? Or I could give you mine.”
Emi pulls a small notebook and pen from her center console. “Write it down, Blade. When I’m done with this story, I’ll give you a call.”
I can’t get the digits on paper fast enough. Our fingers brush when I hand the pen and paper over. Hers are soft and warm against my calluses. I’ve got it bad, and we’ve only spent a couple of hours together. “Get home safe, Emi. And…thanks.”
“For what?” she asks as the engine purrs to life and she fastens her seat belt.
“You weren’t the only one who needed…fun.” I tip my hat and back away before I can tell her tonight was about more than “fun.” Spending time with Emmylou Marsh reminded me that I might be damaged goods, but I’m still very much alive. And I need to start acting like it.
Chapter Six
Emi
Scrolling through the replies on Channel 5’s social media accounts isn’t for the faint of heart. Not after my interview with Eugene Fowler went viral.
Most of the comments are encouraging.
