Page 70 of Dead Pretty

“What can I get you both to drink?” asks the waiter.

Jack and I both order beers, and the waiter leaves to get our drinks.

I stare out the window, needing to collect my thoughts for a minute. Wanting to gain at least a smidgen of composure back. I’ve never felt so unbalanced yet more like my old self than I do around Jack.

It’s started snowing again. I watch the flakes drift lazily to the ground.

“Will your bike be okay?” I gesture to the weather.

“The bike will be fine. You and I will most likely have damp asses from the ride back home though.”

I’m already damp, just from looking at you, so no worries there.

I chuckle. More at my own dirty thought than what Jack said.

“I should get a car really,” he says. “Having the bike in this climate isn’t exactly ideal.”

I can’t imagine Jack driving anything other than his motorbike. Although a car would be nice to ride in on the way home. A wet ass is not high on my list of things to have.

“Have you always ridden motorbikes?” I ask him.

“Pretty much. Although I didn’t get to ride so much when I was in the military.”

“Too busy driving tanks?” I smile, resting my chin in my hand.

“Something like that.”

“Maybe you don’t have to get rid of the bike. You could keep it to use in the summer and just have a car for winter.”

“Does this place even have a summer?” he asks, leaning back in his chair.

“So I’ve been told.” I shrug. “I have yet to see it.”

“How long have you lived here?”

I feel my spine stiffen at the question.

Relax, Audrey. It’s a perfectly normal question.

“Six months,” I tell him. Even I can hear the caution in my voice though. So, I try to cover it up with my own question. “What made a motorbiking guy like you move to snowy Jackson?”

“Research.”

“For your book?”

“Mmhmm.”

“You write fictional crime books, right? So, what are you working on right now?”

If he has switched to nonfiction and is writing a real-life crime book, I’m out of here.

“You looked me up?” He grins.

“Your books. Not you. Don’t get a big head. I work in a library. It would be weird if I didn’t look your books up.”

He’s still smirking, and I feel like I’m digging myself into a hole.

“And?”