And the thought of Luc’s hands on another woman…that didn’t appeal either. In fact, Ava was feeling downright stabby just thinking about it.
She slammed the fridge door with more force than necessary. What was going on here?
“Sims, how much pad Thai do you want?” he asked, oblivious to her unfamiliar feelings of possessiveness.
“Surprise me,” she said, pasting a smile on her face and returning to the table.
He gave her a look. “Are you still sulking because I wouldn’t let you order sushi again?”
She plucked a peanut from the top of the pad Thai container. “Considering the fact that you’ve been occasionally throwing Spicy Tuna at me as a nickname, I decided it was time to branch out.”
“Well, as someone that grew up on steadily Italian fare, I’m not one to talk about variety, but I’ve seen you every night this week, and we’ve had sushi for four of them. Is that even healthy?”
“Probably not,” she said as he placed a plate in front of her. “But these spring rolls aren’t exactly a salad with dressing on the side now either, are they?”
In response, he picked up one of the deep-fried rolls, bit it neatly in half, and then turned it to show her the exposed filling. “You seeing what I’m seeing, Sims?”
“Steam?”
“Carrot,” he said before popping the second half in his mouth.
“Three whole tiny shreds of a carrot? Pump the brakes on the health kick there, Moretti. Who says police officers have bad diets?”
Luc paused in his chewing. “Yeah, who does say that?”
She shrugged. “What can I say, the doughnut thing is pervasive.”
“You’re not putting any doughnut references in your story, are you?” he asked skeptically.
Ava fiddled with her fork. Talking with Luc about the news special was unavoidable. It was the entire reason they were even together.
But lately, she tensed whenever it came up “after hours.”
She was too afraid that he’d ask the wrong question—or the right question, depending how you looked at it—and she’d be forced to
(a) lie to him
(b) tell him about her suspicions of a two-year-old cover-up
Either option would mean losing him. Hell, her current path of lying by omission would mean losing him.
She just wanted to put it off for as long as she could.
“Of course I’m mentioning doughnuts,” she said, reaching over to pat his cheek. “It’s part of my intro.”
He wiped his mouth with his napkin and studied her. “You know, despite the fact that I’m the star of this thing, how is it that I don’t even have the faintest inkling of what the final product will look like?”
Her eyes dropped to her plate. There he went with the questions again. There was nothing suspicious in his tone, but he was right…she’d been very deliberate about not bringing him into the production of the series.
She still dropped by the precinct from time to time, still followed him and Sawyer around once or twice a week in hopes that they’d get some sort of thrilling footage…
But for the most part she tried to separate Officer Moretti, America’s Hero from Luc.
Her Luc.
Ava caught movement out of the corner of her eye and leaned down to see her cat accepting a piece of chicken from Luc’s fingers.
Her mouth dropped open and she used her fork to point at the cat. “What is happening there?”
Luc gave her a guilty expression. “Is he not allowed table scraps?”
“No, that’s not a big deal, but what is he doing out from under the couch?”
Luc reached down to scratch the cat under the chin. “What do you mean? We’re buds.”
“No,” she said shaking her head. “Honky Tonky doesn’t have buds. He doesn’t like people.”
The fat cat leaped into Luc’s lap, making a liar out of her. Traitor she mouthed.
The cat yawned.
“Your kitty likes men in uniform too.” He set the cat back on the floor so he could continue eating, and the cat mewled in protest.