“A tiara I stole,” I said with a giggle. “The first casino I went to—the guy at the door wouldn’t let me inside. Apparently I looked too Ivy League. It was the best disguise I could get in a pinch.”
“Pretty damn smart,” he said under his breath. “Most people would take the loss. You’re quick on your feet.”
“I got lucky.”
He smoothed his thumb over my temple. “Nah. That’s not luck. It’s not IQ either. That’s being clever. Can’t teach that.”
“It got me in the door.”
“You’re a good storyteller.”
I hummed under my breath. “Maybe I’ll quit teaching and join the mob.”
“Pays better,” he joked.
The fact that it had only been four days since we arrived at the safe house stayed on my mind as Jude played with my hair. For the last eleven days, I had been living a cathemeral life with little to no sleep. Between the trips from New Haven to Atlantic City, playing blackjack for hours on end, and trying to wrap upmy end-of-semester responsibilities, it had all melted together into one singular moment in time, regardless of sunrises and sunsets.
It’s only been four days?
It felt more like it had been four years.
And Jude? It felt like I had known him for a lifetime.
I would have chalked it up to Stockholm syndrome, but my attraction and emotional curiosity where Jude Greear was concerned had started long before he hadproactively relocatedme.
Ten days . . .It hadn’t even been a full two weeks. It was ridiculous to think that whatever we felt for each other went beyond exactly what he had said to me before we had sex: it was a coping mechanism. Stress relief. Something to take the edge off.
But was that so wrong?
I had never been one to trauma bond with others. After my parents died, I went to support group after support group. I had cried with strangers. I still considered some of them friends. We had a common ground that I wouldn’t wish on anyone. But I hadn’t felt this intrinsic pull with them. Not the way I did with Jude—in spite of everything.
I liked the way his mind worked. The way he could be so calm on the surface but was a strategist behind his cool façade. I liked his sense of humor. I liked the way he was a little bristly on the outside but had the most tender heart.
“Tell me something about you,” I said.
Jude’s hair fell in a curtain on either side of his face, shadowing his expression as he looked down at me. “You know everything you need to know about me.”
I shook my head. “I want to know more.”
Jude faked a laugh. “I’m not that interesting.”
“Liar. Tell me something. Or I’ll go back to imagining someone else as the incredibly hot bouncer in my summer fantasy.”
His fingers stilled in my hair. “I like poetry.”
I pursed my lips. “I wouldn’t have expected that.”
Jude cocked his head. “Go ahead. Laugh.”
I couldn’t help but snicker. “I’m not laughing at you.”
“Just in my general direction.”
Our eyes met, and I noticed the way his crinkled around the corners. “I just didn’t expect that from you. Also, gross. I hated studying poetry. I will never understand why people like that shit.”
“It’s intentional.” Jude pulled his gaze away from me and studied the river. “Every word has to be carefully chosen. Every syllable. Every line. Nothing is haphazard about it.”
“Do you write poetry?” I asked.
