“You, uh, planning on calling Mom back sometime, Jackie?” Nick tries, in his own sarcastic way, to be covert about his line of questioning. He fails, though, and the boys all snicker to themselves like we’re on the playground and I just got called out by the teacher. Which, basically, I did, but that’s beside the point.
The crowd of Redemption officers spreads out to give us some space. Or maybe to avoid more conversations of the incriminating kind. Who knows. Meanwhile, I swallow down the urge to tell Nick what a prick he is for fucking up what was most likely one of my best performances to date when it comes to questioning jack asses.
“What?” He must have telepathically gotten the message. Or maybe it’s the death stare I’m giving him.
I shake my head and push him aside. I’m outta here. It’s not that big a deal, anyway. “Stop calling me Jackie.” He knows I hate that shit.
“Well?” He follows me as I head back to the car.
“I’ll call her.” Damn, what is this? Haggle Jackson Day?
“When?”
“What are you, Nick? Her intermediary?”
“Don’t you mean, intermediary?”
I stop. I think. I turn around and face my brother.
“It’s the same fucking thing.”
He gives me that look. The one where he’s about to question me about something I’m not all that keen on talking about. Not now and not with him.
“I’ll call her.” I make a promise I’m gonna have to keep now to distract him. He takes the bait. Kinda.
“Go ahead.” He crosses his arms. What, does he think I’m gonna do it right here?
Look, it’s not that I don’t want to call my mother. It’s that I know, once I call her, I’m gonna hear a whole lotta crap about how I haven’t called her back. Then she’s gonna tell me about dinner again. That’ll be followed up by, oh, and Nickie’s going. And he and Mia can give you a ride, Jackson. It won’t be that bad, Jackson. All of that will lead into, Oh, Jackson, dear, when are you going to settle down and find someone to bring to dinner? Frankly, I don’t have time for it.
Dinner or dating.
“I will.”
“What are you waiting for?” my brother challenges me. Something I don’t typically pass up on.
“I—”
“Me.” The slightly agitating, mildly sultry voice of Emma Green is heard like an echo meant to kill brain cells. I almost think I’m imagining my way out of this conversation but there she is, not too far away, practically skipping toward us. My brother and I stop short with whatever we were about to get into, captivated by her friendly smile.
Too friendly, if you ask me.
“Green, what are you—”
“Sorry I’m late.” The flirtatious wink she flashes me is damn near welcoming. The knowing smile she gives my brother, even more so.
Is she high?
Doubtful. That’s not her M.O.
I should say something.
Mind your own damn business, comes to mind. That’s always a party favorite. Or, just a simple fuck off would do nicely. As it is, I can’t form a single word for her. I’m too busy getting over the shock and awe of how pleasant she sounds. The black skirt and jacket she’s wearing hug her in all the right places. Her long legs. Wrap those fuckers around me any day, woman. And the heels? Don’t even get me started on the heels.
Damn.
What is wrong with me?
“And you are?” Nick questions her with authority and curiosity. Mostly curiosity. I can tell he recognizes her; he just doesn’t know from where.
“Emma.” She extends a hand, and he takes it, gently.
“Nice to meet you, Emma.”
“Same, same,” she says. What’s up with the blushing? He’s not that charming. And he’s married.
“I’m afraid I have to steal Jackson from you…”
“Nick,” he offers. “Nick Stiles. I’m Jackie’s brother.”
“Oh.” Green looks surprised and intrigued all at the same time. Her eyebrows furrow, and I can almost see the inner workings of her brain starting to kick into gear. This would make a great story. Dirty cop helps cheapskate P.I. brother gain new business.
Only, she’d be wrong on both counts. As per usual.
“Something going on here I should know about, Jackie?” he asks me, in that teeth grinding way that only a brother, whose second favorite hobby is to get under your skin, can accomplish.
“Would you please—” I stop myself from jumping down his throat about the nickname. I don’t need Green learning anything about me to use as ammunition going forward.
Screw that.
“Nothing’s going on, Nick. We just—”
“Have a date.” The tabloid journalist in her makes stories up for a living so often she apparently doesn’t know when to stop.
“Ha!” I don’t mean to let the laughter slip but that was a good one. I can appreciate humor when I hear it. Even the lame type of humor coming from Emma Green.
Nick thinks I’m crazy, which is nothing new. “At one o’clock in the afternoon?” he challenges back to Green.
“It’s an early dinner.” She clears her throat. “Fourish, actually.”
Nick’s brow pulls together. So does mine.
Me too, bro. Me too.
“We still have to shop for something to wear,” she explains further.
Annnnnd… foul ball!
Nick’s hand parks itself against my torso.