“So,” he said. She turned her Popsicle upside down and sucked juice from the bottom. “You have somewhere other than Dan’s you can sleep tonight?”
She stiffened. Her eyes jumped to his, then past him to the closed door of the restaurant.
A nicer man wouldn’t find that so entertaining, but he liked keeping her on her toes. She relaxed over whiskey, then flipped out when he asked her to dinner. Started to mellow on the walk, then went all deer-in-the-headlights at the mere mention of where she would sleep.
Probably his fault for making that crack about the cop wanting to get in her pants, but legs like that would get any man’s attention. And while the jersey she wore left everything to the imagination, Ben had a pretty good imagination.
He wasn’t trying to get her into bed, though. That would foul up the whole situation. Turn it into some kind of crass exchange, rather than what it was, which was …
Damn. Which was a completely self-centered experiment in humanitarianism, performed for the purpose of discovering whether he had it in him to be not-a-dickhead for a few consecutive hours.
Crass didn’t begin to describe it.
“I was thinking maybe I could check in to a hotel,” she said.
“With what money?”
“I could get a credit card number from somebody back home.” She sucked the Popsicle into her mouth with a slurping sound that hollowed her cheeks.
Not a visual he needed. He looked away. “You can use my phone.”
“Thanks. The thing is, though, I don’t know anybody’s phone number.”
“Not even family?”
“Sure, I know my mom and dad’s, and my sister’s. Her fiancé Matt’s, too—we’ve been friends a long time. But they’re all up north, or on their way, and there’s no cell service there.”
“You can’t reach them at all?”
“I can leave a message at the general store tomorrow. They’ve got a bulletin board for that. But I told them I was coming up, so I doubt they’ll be looking for messages before the afternoon, because—”
She glanced at his face and faltered.
What was it now?
Ben did a mental check and realized he’d probably been glaring at her. Not on purpose—it was just that he didn’t like the idea of her family leaving her behind with no way of contacting them. Even if that wasn’t quite what had happened.
Get a grip, Hausman.
He rearranged his face along more neutral lines, and May gave him a faint smile.
“There’s probably some way for me to get in touch with them,” she said. “I guess I could send somebody from the store to drive up there. But I’d feel funny doing that. It would put them to an awful lot of trouble.”
“You’ve got to have a friend you can call.” Hell, he was a jerk, and Sandy had taken most of their friends in the divorce—with good reason—but even he had people he could call in a pinch.
“Yeah, only their numbers are all in my phone. I could get them online.”
“My phone doesn’t have Internet, but I can find you a computer.”
“That would be great. If I borrow a credit card number, I can reserve a hotel room online, and I still have some money on my MetroCard to get to the hotel and check in.”
“You’ve got a MetroCard?”
“I had the card and five bucks for train fare on the PATH to New Jersey in my back pocket when the guy took my purse.”
“Well, that’s something.”
She smiled. “It bought me a beer.”
He thought about her afternoon. Walking out on her boyfriend, getting robbed, heading to a bar and spending her last five bucks, then firing up a conversation with him.
Looked like she really didn’t want to go back to Thor’s place.
“You know, hotels aren’t going to let you check in without ID or the actual credit card.”
Her face fell. “Oh. Yeah, I guess not.”
“But they’ll let somebody else pay the bill for you, usually, if you get the person to call them and deal with whatever paperwork is involved.”
“I guess that could work, too. As long as I can get one of my friends on the phone.”
He rubbed his hands together. “Okay, so that’s a start. What about tomorrow, though? You going to be able to get to Wisconsin?”
Her head dipped again, and she took a delicate bite from the bottom of the Popsicle.
“I’m not sure. I have to sort out the whole ID situation. I’m sure there’s an airline website that will tell me what I have to do. Some government office that can issue a temporary ID, or something?”
Ben thought it unlikely over Labor Day weekend, but he didn’t burst her bubble. She could figure it out on the computer.