Tipsy(29)

Damn. It was too late to take that thought back. I couldn’t even convince myself of that lie. I wanted Blue; nothing was going to change that. It was very apparent that he was like my own personal brand of drug.

He heaved a great sigh and stepped forward. I stepped back. His hands dropped to his waist. “I told you. I can’t stand the thought of you… hating me.”

Oh, I didn’t hate him. But I wanted to.

“So you thought making out with me and then taking off into the night would make me less mad?”

“This isn’t forever,” he whispered, stepping forward. “Eventually this case will be over.”

“So?”

“So then maybe you and I…”

“Are you asking me to wait for you?”

He was silent a long moment. He sighed heavily. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“So you expect me to sit around here for God knows how long and wonder if you’re making out with some random chick in a seedy bar across town? You expect me to wonder day after day if you’re hurt or if your cover was blown and someone wants to kill you?”

To his credit, he didn’t try to talk his way out of that one. He didn’t try to deny what he did was dangerous and if he had to make out with some girl, he would. If he’d tried to deny it, I would have lost some respect for him because he would have been lying.

“I get it,” he said eventually, not making another move toward me. I ached for him. I ached for that minimal distance between us to be gone. I ached for those moments spent up in my bedroom when I was in his arms. He turned and grabbed the door handle. But he didn’t pull it open.

His voice was quiet, but it carried all the way to my ears.

“I wouldn’t wait for me either. But, I just… I want you to know something.”

“What?” my voice was hoarse.

“This isn’t me choosing my job over you. I don’t have a choice. Not really. I have to do this. I’m already in too deep.”

Silence fell like a thick blanket over the room. Yet neither of us moved.

His words pierced my chest. My heart returned to that slow rhythm of thumping he inspired.

“If I had it to do all over again…” he said, still keeping his back to me. “That night after our first date, I wouldn’t take the assignment. I would have told them no. I would have chosen you.”

All the air in my lungs whooshed out of me.

“Lock this door,” he said, slipping outside into the deep cover of night.

I stared at the spot he just vacated, hearing his words for the second time that night. I would have chosen you. A soft knock on the other side of the door brought me back to reality and I rushed forward and threw the locks.

Only then did I hear his footsteps retreat down the stairs.

I leaned against the door and brought my fingers up to my lips. Telling him I wasn’t going to wait for him had been nothing but my stupid, stubborn pride. What Blue didn’t seem to realize was that I didn’t have a choice, either. Not really. Like him, I was already in too deep.





12




Blue

I pulled up to my new “home” and let out a sigh. The place was a dump. Not that I was expecting anything more, but I had been hoping.

The house was the size of a small shoebox. A brick square with a dilapidated roof. It boasted one door and exactly two small windows at the front. There was no driveway, so I parked at the curb and walked through the definitely not mowed grass. A set of partially crumbling concrete steps led to the faded and chipping black door. I used my key to unlock the joke of a lock and walked inside.

It smelled stale in here, like the air hadn’t moved since nineteen fifty. I felt around for the light on the wall and flicked it when my hand ran over the switch. Dim lighting flooded the room from the single bulb that looked like someone literally just shoved a glass bulb into the ceiling.

There was a saggy, green plaid couch in the center of the room. A brown wooden coffee table, littered with empty beer bottles, and a leather armchair with a hole in the back set off to the side.

The only nice thing in the room was the TV. Druggies loved their technology. And they also loved video games. A fifty-inch flat screen sat on the black entertainment center directly across from the couch, and beside it sat an Xbox.

Maybe the place wouldn’t be so bad after all.

I walked through the door to my right and into a tiny kitchen. The cabinets were pea green, the countertops were laminate made to look like wood, and the fruit-themed wallpaper was peeling off the walls. The fridge was white and appeared to be new. I pulled it open and was hit with the new fridge smell. The inside was clean and cool, with all the appropriate bachelor food: ham, turkey, cheese, mayo, and beer.