She snorts immediately. “Like you handled it a few nights ago?”
My eyes narrow.
She sees it and lifts both hands in surrender. “Sorry,” she says quickly. “Sorry. I’m feeling a little spicy right now.”
“That much is obvious.”
She crosses her arms again, the anger still rolling off her in waves.
“Someone wrecked the bar,” she says. “Forgive me if I’m not in a calm, rational mood about it.”
I drag a hand over the back of my neck and look down the hallway for a second, giving myself a moment before I answer. Then I look back at her. “This is what I do, Rae,” I say quietly. “Problems like this? I’m the one who makes them go away.”
Her eyes search my face like she’s trying to decide if I’m serious.
“I won’t let Voss get to you,” I add. “I promise you that.”
She studies me for another second before shifting her weight. “That’s very heroic,” she says. “But you should probably know something.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m not very good at sitting quietly while someone else handles my problems.”
A breath leaves me before I can stop it. “Yeah,” I say. “I’m starting to figure that out.”
She shifts her weight, still watching me like she’s deciding whether to argue more or not. For a second neither of us says anything.
The hallway is quiet compared to the front of the bar. I can hear the guys talking in low voices, Wayne moving things around behind the counter.
Rae finally breaks the silence. “So,” she says, tilting her head slightly, “are you done lecturing me now or was there a second part to that speech?”
I shake my head once. “Yeah,” I say. “There is.”
Her eyebrow lifts. “What?”
“I need your number.”
That catches her off guard. “…My number.”
“So I can reach you,” I say. “If something comes up. If we learn something about Voss. Or if you decide to go chasing trouble and I have to track you down before you do something stupid.”
Her mouth curves slowly. “Wow,” she says. “You really know how to charm a girl.”
“That wasn’t charm.”
She snorts. “Really? I didn’t notice, big guy.” She leans one shoulder against the wall and pulls her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans.
I hold out my hand for her phone. “Give me the damn phone, Rae.”
“Oh my God,” she says, digging it out of her back pocket. “You’re so grumpy,” she says.
I hand mine over and take hers. We both start typing. She’s fast, thumbs moving across the screen like she’s done this a thousand times. I punch my number into her contacts and add my name. When we finish, we hand the phones back.
“So let me get this straight,” she says, tilting her head as she studies me. “You pull me into a hallway, tell me I’m not allowed to help handle the situation, and then immediately ask for my number.”
I stare at her. “When you say it like that.”
“It sounds like a terrible pickup line,” she finishes.
