“Not unless it’s the GM donating his suspension salary somewhere. The optics will put the team in a good light, not Beckett.”
I rack my brain. “Want me to set up a bar fight with him and Bugrov?”
“That’s not the worst idea.”
“I was joking.” I fish my keys out of the bowl and straighten a stack of mail.
“We need something low-key, low-stakes, but…”
“Gossip-worthy.”
“Exactly.” I can hear the excitement in her tone.
“Well, that’s your job, isn’t it? Come up with something, and I’ll work on getting Beckett to agree.” I end the call and pull on my coat.
I take a minute to run my fingers through my hair, checking it in the mirror by the door. A flash of silver catches my eye. I’m blaming every goddamn gray hair on Pierce. I flip my keys, savoring the heavy thunk of the fob against my palm. I set the alarm and flip off the lights before pulling open the door and almost colliding with Ash.
She’s caught in a sunbeam with her foot on the first step. Her face cycles through startled, alarmed, then lands on neutral. The black coat she’s wearing is a size too big, zipped all the way up. She almost looks like a kid wearing a hand-me-down from an older sibling. Something about that sticks with me, like a post-it note on everything I know about Ash.
“Sorry, I was just…” she starts, taking a step back onto the walkway.
“Hey, Ash,” I say, struggling to be casual. Shit, what now? Beckett mentioned something about a date yesterday, but I sent him off to the doctor with Pierce.
Ash glances over her shoulder at the rideshare car that’s already pulling away.
I don’t love the idea of her being alone in the house. There’s something off about this girl, something I can’t place. But I’m not going to be rude about it.
“I was just about to run to the supermarket. Beckett had a doctor’s appointment. He’ll be back in an hour maybe,” I say.
She looks back over her shoulder again, like she can call the car back.
“You could stay and wait for him, or come with me?” I hear my own voice go up at the end, selling it with a smile I’ve practiced for years. “I just have to pick up a few things for dinner.”
She hesitates, then nods. “Okay.” She steps down from the porch, keeping a careful distance.
“Great,” I say, already regretting it. Do I want to be alone with her? My heart thuds against my ribs. I close the door behind us and walk around her, leading the way to my car.
The Charger chirps as I hit the unlock button on my fob. I pull open the passenger side for her.
“This is yours?” she asks, running a hand along the roof.
“Yeah,” I say, feeling a stupid pride. “Kind of my baby. Always wanted a big muscle car as a kid.”
She swallows, nods, and slides in. I close her door and hurry to the driver’s side. The car’s engine purrs, like an extremely loud, satisfied cat. I buckle up, and as I reach across my chest, her scent hits me. Summer peaches, sun-warmed, sweet and fresh. Not pie. Or candy. I wipe my wrist across my forehead. Am I sweating?
I put the car in gear, but hesitate before letting off the brake. “You, uh…” My voice cracks. Christ. “You want to put your seatbelt on?”
“Oh. Right.” She laughs, soft and embarrassed, and clicks it into place. “Nice car,” she says, and this time her tone is heavier. It doesn’t seem like she’s impressed with the luxury of it like a gold digger should be.
I watch her for a second. She touches the dash like the car is important to her too. There’s more to her than she’s letting on, and I’ll be damned if I can’t figure out what.
The market is only a five-minute drive. And that’s five minutes too long to be in a car with an omega. With this omega. I unbutton my coat. My dash tells me it’s forty-nine degrees out. At the light, I steal a second to look her up and down.
“It’s cold out.” I kick the heat on and crank it all the way up, angling the vents towards her. “Are you warm enough?”
“I thought Nashville was in the South.” She giggles. “I didn’t know it would be cold like this.”
“Not from Nashville?”
