With a Twist (Last Call #4)(35)

But Wyatt isn't done talking. "Listen …  we all do things whether in the line of duty or just life in general that we later find to be regretful and the only thing we can do is learn from the mistake and put it behind you. We have got to put this behind us, Andrea, and focus on this operation. Okay?"

For the first time in my existence, I curse the fact I'm a woman. Because the woman in me feels like crying for some ridiculous reason. I think it may be because he used words like "regret" and "mistake," and my silly woman sensibilities may have taken his prior words a little out of context.

He wanted it.

He enjoyed it.

He came harder and faster than ever before.

Well, of course, he was all those things. He's a man, and what man was not going to enjoy that? None of that has a damn thing to do with how he feels about me as a woman. That was all about physical release and nothing more.

So I square my shoulders and lift my chin, because yes, I am a woman, but I am also tough-as-nails Andrea Somerville and I can do exactly as Wyatt has just told me to do. I can put this behind me, learn from my silly mistake-that is, it meant nothing-and move on.

"Okay," I say firmly and with a confident smile. "It's forgotten and you can trust me …  my head is in this operation one-hundred percent. Thank you for clarifying that for me."

Wyatt's eyes narrow at me briefly and his lips flatten …  I guess testing the sincerity in my voice. But it was strong and clear, and he has no reason to doubt me when I say it's behind me.

As of this moment …  it's done …  forgotten.

Well, maybe I'll fantasize about it later after I get home to Pittsburgh, but he's right. In the grand scheme of things, we have more important fish to fry.

"So, what other contingencies do we need to prepare for?" I ask him so we can get the important conversation back on track.

Wyatt blinks …  once, twice …  almost as if he can't believe that I'm moving on so quickly. I engage in a staring war with him, and then he clears his throat. "We need to consider the other parties may be armed."

"Nothing we can do about it but hope we get a good jump on them before they can draw," I point out.

"And hope that the buyer doesn't have anyone stationed on the perimeter we don't know about. Without Mike being able to set up ahead of time, we're going in blind." 

"So this could be the end of us," I say with a grin.

I expect Wyatt to be offended over me joking in the face of potential death, but his lips curve upward. "It might be indeed. But we'll go out in a blaze of glory, right?"

"Damn …  now I have that Bon Jovi song stuck in my head," I quip.

"How in the hell do you even know what that song is? You had to have been a baby when that came out."

"Too true, Mr. Observant," I say as I stand from my kitchen chair and stretch. Walking over to the cupboards, I say, "Bon Jovi was like my parents' favorite band."

Opening a cabinet door, I pull out a bag of barbeque potato chips and return to the table. Sitting down, I open the bag, take a chip, and pop it in my mouth. As I crunch on the salty, tangy goodness, I turn the bag around and Wyatt plunges his hand in to grab a handful.

"What do your parents do?" Wyatt asks, and then tosses a few chips in his mouth.

"They've both passed on," I say with a small smile. I smile because I always remember them with fond memories. "My dad when I was just six months old, and my mom just a few weeks before I graduated high school."

Wyatt swallows the food in his mouth and looks at me with somber eyes. "I'm sorry. That's tough at any age."

Shrugging my shoulders, I pull the potato chips back toward me and take another. "It was …  and while I miss them every day, I'm not sad about it anymore. Time really does heal all wounds to some extent."

"Pericles said 'Time is the wisest counselor of all,'" Wyatt muses as he pulls the potato chip bag back his way.

I blink at him in surprise, because cops just don't normally go around quoting Greek orators. His eyes rise to mine, and his hand stops halfway to his mouth with another potato chip.

"What?" he asks in confusion.

I just stare at him, my mouth slightly open in surprise.

"What?" he asks again with a smirk, but he knows why I'm looking at him this way. "I'm not really a slimy general manager of a strip club, you know that right? It's just an act."

My lips curve upward and I pull the potato chips away from him, shaking my head with a silent laugh. "You definitely have layers."

Reaching into the bag, I pull another one out and then push them away so I don't eat anymore.