But I'd been wrong. Once we pulled up to the café, he turned off the engine and faced me. "Whose jacket is that?"
He was just noticing? Some cop.
"It's a friend's."
"What friend? You don't have any friends."
"Well, fuck you very much," I said, turning to leave.
He grabbed my arm for the second time that evening. I did a twisty move and jerked out of his grip. For the second time that evening.
"Look, Ian, this whole friendship thing we have going on isn't really working out for me."
"Really?"
"Really. I would love to be friends with you, but you don't know where to draw the line. I see no other choice but to end our friendship altogether."
The calmness that came over him should have been a sign. An indicator of what he was truly capable of. I felt anger swell hot and fast inside him, but on the outside, he was a picture of amiable reserve, the way a nun might be at a kegger.
"I'm sorry," he said, his tone soft as though he were talking to a child. "Let's just have dinner, okay? Then we can talk about it."
"There's nothing to talk about."
He lowered his head, and I saw the shimmer of wetness gather between his lashes. But nowhere in his emotions did I pick up even a hint of remorse. "I'm so bad at this. I know. And I'm sorry, Janey. I don't want to lose you as a friend."
Praise the Lord. At least we were finally back to being friends and nothing more. That, I could live with. Maybe.
"So, we're friends, right?"
He raised a hopeful expression. "Right."
"Nothing more?"
"Nothing more. I just … Well, you're really special to me, and I just worry about you."
I had to admit, he was a good actor, but a coldness had settled over him. He was resting one hand on the keys still in the ignition as though waiting for my response. I had little choice but to do some character acting myself.
I smiled at him and, taking that extra step that always impresses directors, threw my arms around his neck. His anger dissipated, though not entirely, and he hugged me back.
When I pulled away, I said, "Let's eat, yes?"
For the barest fraction of a microsecond, he narrowed his lids in suspicion.
I didn't give him a chance to dwell on my sudden shift in moods very long. I bounced out of the car with a flirty "I'm starved."
He followed at a slower pace, so I wrapped an arm in his, sending him a thousand different mixed signals. But his peace of mind was hardly my priority. I just wanted to be near people. People who could call the police should the need arise.
I totally needed a phone.
Making sure to sit where I could see the alley, I scooted into a booth. Ian tried to sit next to me. After I shot him a warning glare on the dos and don'ts of friendship, he moved to the other side.
Shayla, a tiny, fairylike creature who defined the phrase cuter than a bug's ear, brought us some menus. "Can't get enough of us?" she asked, teasing.
"It's the excellent service."
She giggled, took our drink orders, and went to wait on another table. I was half hoping Reyes would be in. Maybe we couldn't have a relationship, but I could damned well look upon him when he presented himself to be looked upon. That wasn't so much stalking as appreciating. Like art. And porn.
We'd barely sat down when a truck pulled up behind Mr. V's antiques store. I was hoping to see more of the van Cookie and I had seen that morning behind the dry-cleaning business. It hit me some time later that most supply vans rarely carried boxes out of a business. Wasn't it their jobs to carry boxes of supplies inside? So what would they have been carrying out?
I'd racked my brain trying to remember which supply company the van had been with, but it just wasn't coming to me.
Cleaner Supply Warehouse.
I blinked in surprise. It popped into my head out of nowhere the moment I'd stopped trying to remember it. I saw the green lettering on the white van clear as sunshine, a commodity we'd had far too little of lately.
I jumped up, grabbed a pen off the checkout counter, and wrote the name down. I'd look the company up later. See how legit they were. For now, I focused on the truck, a red four-door Chevy I didn't recognize. Two men got out and put the tailgate down. There was some kind of equipment in the back. I leaned in, but it was just too dark to see. Also, a set of fingers began snapping in my face.
My ire rocketed to an all-time high as I scowled at Ian.
He scowled back, his patience seeming to run thin as well. His audacity was reaching new levels of stupidity by the second. Why did I ever put up with him? Because when I first showed up, I had no one and he was nice.