her is wider and more genuine than I’ve given anyone all week. My girl.
My fingers toy with the stem absently as I stare at my phone, waiting to see if Cady has anything else to say. I don’t know what to tell her. I don’t ignore what happened or the fact that my parents pretend like everything’s fine. I wouldn’t even say that I’ve moved on. I’ve just simply moved forward. The past doesn’t haunt me anymore. She should let it go too.
“White wine?” A deep voice from my left is followed by the sound of wooden legs grinding against the slate floor as he pulls out a stool and takes a seat. Agent Cody Walsh.
I wish I could have contained the jump in my shoulders and the way my heart beats wildly at the sudden sound of him sneaking up on me.
“Shit, sorry,” he says and his tone is light as I laugh, letting my body sway gently as I shake my head, peeking up at him through my thick lashes. I hope my lipstick is still in place. He told me once how the dark red looks good on my light brown skin. I don’t wear it just for him, but I can’t deny that I like it when he sees me in this particular shade. His gaze drifts to my lips then. That’s when the butterflies happen. My thirtieth birthday behind me and I still get butterflies.
Shaking it off is easy for me, but stopping this smile from growing as this handsome man eyes me … well, that’s not so easy. Neither is stopping the heat of a blush from creeping up my cheeks all the way to my temple.
“It’s fine,” I say as I wave him off and seek refuge in my glass of wine. Within seconds I’m in control, relaxed and myself again. I don’t know if he saw the heat I felt or if he thought it was just embarrassment, but Cody is a gentleman, so he doesn’t say either way.
“I just wanted—” he starts, but Sandy interrupts, dropping a double Jack and Coke in front of him. “Thanks, Sandy,” he answers, his tone different. More professional maybe. My stomach doubles over in the best of ways and then that feeling travels lower as I wonder if he talks to me differently than he does to other women.
When I’m consulting with his team, it’s men only. I rarely see him out of the office. Especially since they go out of town so much.
There’s an obvious masculinity to the strong man in front of me. A hard edge that doesn’t seem to matter whenever he flashes me a charming smile. I’ve spent a number of nights with a toy between my legs, thinking about him. Watching him in interrogation rooms, observing the way he works and the manner in which others look up to him, does something to me. He’s only in his late thirties, maybe in his early forties, but the way he does just about everything has an air of authority that’s undeniable. Being a member of the FBI will do that to you I suppose.
It’s sexy as hell. As he reaches for the glass, palming it with his large hand and takes a swig, I glance at the muscles in his forearms, out to play tonight since he’s rolled up his button-down’s sleeves. They sure as hell don’t hurt his sex god image I’ve conjured up in my head.
I’ve been in this town in Pennsylvania since I left New York five years ago. Walsh happened to come here too from Virginia. The same case brought us here and we both stayed. Maybe it’s camaraderie from the now cold case or maybe it’s the mutual misery we’ve endured in this gray town riddled with corruption, but every time I see this man, I want to be under him more and more by the end of the night.
“Just wanted to say,” he starts again, setting down his glass, the swirling amber liquid more Jack than Coke and he keeps his blue eyes focused on it rather than me for the half second. Reaching my gaze, he tells me, “I’m sorry you went through that hell yesterday.”
Confusion hits me first. Then a blip of reality. Right. Of course he’s thinking about business and not fucking me into his mattress.
“It was nothing.”
“It wasn’t nothing. There was no reason for her to bring up that shit.” His tone is deathly low although there’s nothing but compassion there.