Walker’s attention drifts past me, past the rowdy tables, suddenly laser-focused on a back booth. Where Quinn sits with a man I don’t recognize.
I can’t imagine how she feels after her involvement in last year’s chaos. I’m surprised she’s out on a date. That takes guts.
The man lays his hand over Quinn’s on the table, closing the distance between them and whispering in her ear.
Walker’s eyes narrow, and he straightens in his chair, hand settling on the butt of his sidearm. I’d be extremely worried if I were Quinn’s date right now.
“On your break, huh?”
He snaps his head back at me and scratches his jaw. “How wasyourdate?”
My look of utter confusion pulls his mouth into a really smug smile.
“I’d avoid the Italian place if you plan to stick around. Don’t think Jackie wants to be associated with the mob.”
“Jackie?” It comes out louder than intended, the sound edged with a poorly disguised rush of jealousy at how quickly he got on a first-name basis with her.
“Settle your britches,” he drawls, relaxing back with a smirk. “I’ve got them under surveillance. Check out the French place downtown next time. It’s better for a romantic dinner.”
“We’re not—” I stop, and he looks at me sideways. “We’re friends. I think.”
Walker barks out a gruff laugh. “Maybe think harder.”
“Why is that place open anyway?” I scramble for a change of subject. “If you know it’s the mob?”
“They have their uses,” he says cryptically, and it makes me even more curious.
I rest my elbows on the bar, chest expanding with a deep sigh. “My hometown was never this exciting.”
“As far as you knew.” He studies me. “Bet you didn’t run with the wrong crowd.”
“I don’t know. The HOSA kids got pretty rowdy when the anatomy models came out,” I drawl.
Walker barks out a laugh, loud enough that Quinn glances over, brows knitting before she quickly leans back from her date.
“Something wrong with your drink?” He nudges my glass with a knuckle.
The ice is almost gone, the whiskey pale and thin. Blurring my problems with hard liquor is not a solution. I need a clear head. Maybe it will stop me from doing something else stupid.
The way I lost all control in the boathouse showed me once again how far gone I am for this woman.
“Wrong order,” I say, sliding the glass farther away. “I don’t need it.”
Walker nods, like I’ve passed a test, and lifts two fingers. “Coffee for him. Burger for me.”
The bartender places the cup in front of me. It’s bad, the kind that tastes like it was filtered through a used hockey sock, but I wrap my hands around the warmth anyway.
I love her. She’s always tucked away somewhere in my heart, a bright ember that burns my chest, but now that I know what made her flee to London, I can’t see a way back.
Jackie was right. I also tell myself it was a mistake. That I won’t touch her again.
My body doesn’t believe a word of it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
JACKIE
“Are you sure I’m not bothering you?” Michelle’s voice dips as she whispers something to somebody in the room with her.
