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I flicked my eyes toward him. “A heritable trait, then.”
Another shocked moment passed, and he said, “Was that a compliment?”
“It wasn’t an insult. At least, not for a first loser.”
The jest settled over him, and he chuckled—a warm, smoky sound that smeared across my skin like the whisper of silk. “Is irreverence heritable? Or did you come by that on your own?”
“That’s all mine, Shepherd. But I think you knew that.”
His unblinking blue eyes narrowed. “I seem to remember something to that effect. I suppose some things don’t change.”
Locked onto him, my skin turned electric. My heart lodged somewhere at the base of my throat. “Some things do, though.”
He drew a breath. “Honeycutt—”
“You ready?” asked a voice to my left.
Startling, I turned to the newcomer. Xavier stood at my desk, face pinched in confusion as he looked between me and Camden.
“Of course. Yes.” I gathered my things and threw them into my purse.
“Ready for what?” Cam’s voice softened—a deceptive sort of silkiness.
My muscles stiffened at his tone—the one that had always emerged in our tensest moments. “We’re going to the Sugar Lounge. I’d like to see it in action, and he said he’d help with the dynamics of the department.”
Camden moved his silvery gaze to Xavier and raised an eyebrow.
Xavier shrugged. “Doing my best to be neighborly.”
“I see,” Cam said. Clipped. Razor-edged.
Was I missing something?
I stood and chanced a smile at him. He’d gone absolutely inscrutable, unsmiling. Was that a hint of judgment lingering at the edge of his gaze? I shifted on my feet, uncomfortable, shoving down the urge to apologize.
But for what? I’d done nothing wrong.
He pushed off my desk, his hand cupping my elbow briefly. “Have a good evening, Honeycutt.”
As he walked away, Helen sighed, shaking her head while she shut off her computer.
Eight
This early, the Sugar Lounge was dead. Besides Xavier and me, the place served only two other customers—men in flannel at the bar, enjoying an after-work beverage. The lounge was all dark-stained wood, black leather, exposed brick, and rows and rows of Henley spirits. Xavier led me to a booth near a fireplace in the back, where glass doors opened onto a large balcony.
“Neat or rocks?” Xavier asked once I’d settled in the booth.
“Oh. Um. Neat, I suppose.” I hadn’t yet tasted Henley bourbon—an oversight on my part. This would be an excellent opportunity to test the wares.
Xavier flashed two fingers at the bartender, who nodded.
I smiled. “Was that some sort of code?”
His answering laugh had an edge to it. “Yeah, a code.”
Heat rose to my cheeks as I took in the dark, glossy wood of the table between us. After a moment of silence, I bolstered myself, straightened my spine, and set to work. “So I offended Booboo?”
“Yeah,” he said with a touch of superiority, but I forced myself to ignore it. “It isn’t your fault, though. Booboo never admits when he’s wrong.”
