Page 26 of My Fallen Saint

“Ouch.”

“Dammit, Lamar.” I hear the exasperation in my voice as I rake my fingers through my hair. “Is that really what you want? To break up Sherlock and Watson? Because you’re one of my best friends, and since I only have two, that’s saying a lot.”

We came close to getting naked one drunken night before I put on the brakes. And while I think he regrets that, I don’t. All I regret is letting it get that far in the first place.

“Ellie—”

“No. I’m not losing you, and if we fuck—even just for fun—that is exactly what would happen.”

He winces, presumably at my harsh tone and blunt vocabulary. Maybe because the other tables can undoubtedly hear us. “It doesn’t have to.”

“It ends, Lamar. I screw a guy, it’s over. Either they leave or I do.” That’s an exaggeration, of course. The only guy who ever left me is Alex. Now I know better. Now I don’t give a guy the chance. I’m the one who walks. Always.

“It doesn’t have to be that way.”

“But it does.” I know myself. More importantly, I know my demons. And if we got involved, I really would screw it up.

I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry.” I’m softer now, my words gentler. “You mean too much to me. And I’m not going to risk losing you.”

For a moment, everything stops. Even the birds go silent. Then he nods. “Yeah, well, I love you, too.”

I melt with relief, then wipe away a tear. “We’re okay?”

His shoulders sag. “Always.” He swallows the rest of his coffee. “Okay. You’re staying at Brandy’s, right?”

“Right.”

“I’ll pick you up at six. We’ll grab a bite, then hit the gala. Okay?”

“Perfect.”

He nods. “Am I your arm candy? Or are we on a covert mission?”

I grin. This is why I love Lamar. “Totally arm candy. But you have your uses, too.”

“Do I?” He adds a leer to his voice, but this time I know he’s joking.

“Down, boy.” I take a sip of coffee, then lean back in my chair. “You’ve been here about as long as Saint has, right? What’s your impression of the guy?”

“I thought reporters were supposed to ask laser-focused questions. Do you want my opinion as a detective? Or just as a guy in the community?”

“Is there a difference?”

“Honestly? Not really. As a detective, Saint’s not on my radar at all. As far as I know, there’ve been no complaints by him or about him.”

“And as a guy in the community, what do you think of him?”

“I don’t, actually. He’s got a bit of celebrity because of his money and the foundation, but he’s not a publicity hound. He keeps to himself, doesn’t seek out opportunities to be photographed and plastered all over social media. He only bumps my radar on days like today.”

“The gala, you mean?”

“Right. Other than that…” He trails off with a shrug. “He seems okay. And genuine. I know that he personally gives to the annual police charity, and the DSF does as well. He’s also funded some things we wanted that were out of our budget. Extra servers, computers, tech for the patrol cars, that kind of thing.”

I nod, taking it all in. “You’re saying he’s active in the community?”

“Yeah. Well, actually no. Not him. But the foundation is. The man himself? He’s as private as all the articles say he is, but I figure he’s paid for the privilege.”

“Is all that stuff about him sleeping around bullshit?” The question is out before I can call it back, but if Lamar thinks it’s weird, he doesn’t comment.