I took it without comment, shrugging it on and smoothing a hand down my chest. The fit was a little more snug than I remember it being. “It’s not too tight?”
Tim paused, appearing taken aback at the question. “You’re kidding, right? With your body? There’s no such thing as too tight.”
I rolled my eyes as I rummaged in the next drawer down for a clean pair of jeans. “I’m your boss, Tim.”
“And your point is? I’ve seen you naked.” My eyes went wide as I stopped to look at him. “Almost,” he amended. “I mean, those running shorts you wear? You may as well be.”
I shook my head as I yanked open another drawer in the hunt for clean jeans. He watched me for a moment.
“So you’re sure about tonight then?”
“Yes!” I reiterated, annoyance clear in my tone. Tim was like a dog with a bone.
“It’s just … I know you don’t get by on flirtation alone,” he told me. “But I’ve never known you to play more than one girl at a time. All of a sudden you’re dating Morgan and what, keeping Henry’s sister on the side? It’s obvious you like Grace,” he said loudly when I starting shaking my head. “Well, it is to me anyway. So what I don’t get is, why is Morgan in the picture?”
Finding a pair of jeans, I shook them out, ready to put them on. Lifting my chin at the door pointedly, I said, “You mind?”
“You’re not a player, Casey.”
I shrugged off the disappointment in Tim’s voice and forced a cocky grin. “Don’t hate the player, hate the game,” I told him with a wink.
With a loud huff, he spun on his heel, leaving me to finish getting dressed. After tugging on my jeans, I sank to the edge of the bed. I needed a drink. Something strong.
After, I promised myself. Then you can self-medicate the haemorrhage so it stops hurting for a little while.
As promised, midnight saw me sitting on the couch in the dark. A half-empty bottle of scotch sat next to an empty glass on the coffee table in front of me. It was quiet with Tim and Coby still out at the barbecue. Too quiet. I needed noise. Something to distract my mind from Grace. From the fact that just thinking of her made breathing difficult.
This is how obsession starts, Casey. With alcohol and some girl you see every time you close your eyes.
I poured another glass and stretched out, my head tipping back against the couch as the scotch slid down my throat. The gratifying burn of alcohol drew me a little further from reality as I reflected on my date with Morgan. It had upped the complication factor of my life for the sole reason it meant seeing her again. Sitting in a movie hadn’t been the best place to hold a conversation, so I’d taken her to Kingsley’s on the wharf for a late dinner. I didn’t discuss specific details with her. I kept my questions indirect, knowing her natural detective curiosity would pave the way.
“I have a case I’ve been puzzling out for a long time,” I’d mentioned offhandedly.
Her eyebrows had risen in interest. “Yeah? What case?”
I shrugged, my gaze shifting from her to the outside view when I felt the familiar burn in my eyes. “An old homicide. I was given informal permission to look into the case.”
She nodded thoughtfully, not even questioning my clearance, or lack thereof in this instance. “You want me to run my eye over what you have? Sometimes a fresh eye can help.”
“It’s not fresh eyes I need, but information. I don’t think I have all of it. Actually, I know I don’t have all of it. The files aren’t in the system or in archives.”
I searched her face, trying to read her reaction to my words. The waiter chose that moment to stop by. Morgan held out her glass when he offered a refill. When he disappeared, she smiled slowly as she swirled the wine in her glass.
Her voice turned husky. “Maybe I can help. We can get together on the weekend and go from there?”
My lips curved.
Bingo.
After leaving the restaurant, she grabbed my shirt and pulled me close, plastering her lips on mine. I responded automatically, willing myself to feel something, a twitch of my cock at the least, but I got nothing.
Morgan broke away and licked her lips before smiling suggestively. “Come back to my place?”
I couldn’t believe the timing of her phone ringing before I could reply. She answered it and after a quick conversation, hung up with a grimace. “I have to go,” she said irritably.
I was too busy welcoming the sudden reprieve to question the phone call and subsequent mood change. “Can I drive you home?”
“Actually, I think I’ll just get a cab,” she told me, her expression pained.