“As long as you’re back for your shift,” Jeff grunts.
“Fuck off, Jeff,” Charlotte snaps.
“Who’s the boss here?” he barks back, stretching his neck to look over his shoulder at us.
“It will be fine,” I assure her again, walking back into the shop.
I’m just about to leave when Clark walks through the front door, heading straight for us.
“Hey.” He smiles, looking between Charlotte and me. Dipping his head to the counter, an enchanting smile kisses his lips. “Polo,” he says, and my knees almost buckle. Clearing my throat, I say, “What did you say?” He taps his finger on the notepad where I’ve scribbled Marco over and over. “Polo.” The words slide over his tongue, slow, deliberate.
Snatching up the pad, Charlotte tears off the paper, scrunches it up, and tosses it in the trash. “Stop ruining the notepads with your scribblings,” she huffs.
“Did you get whatever it was taken care of?” Clark asks, dampening his lips with his tongue. I follow his path, wishing it was my tongue. Catching myself before I begin to drool, I tuck a curtain of hair behind my ear, nodding my head.
“You want in Lizzy’s pants, right?” Charlotte spews out of nowhere, making me die a thousand times over. He raises both eyebrows, his teeth biting down on his bottom lip, staring at me.
“Oh my god, ignore her,” I rush out, going around the counter and attempting to drag him away from her. Heat spreads up my neck and over my chest. I’m never going to recover from that outburst.
“No—wait!” Charlotte chases after us. “I just mean, you care about her, right? She has to go check up on someone. I don’t think she should go alone, so…” Folding her arms, she cocks her hip, her eyes laser focused on him.
Looking between us, he nods his head. “Okay. Sure. I’ll go with her, if she wants me to…” His head tilts down to read my face.
I’m going to kill her. “Thanks, that would be great.” I smile awkwardly.
“Call me as soon as you know anything,” Charlotte tells me, shoving us toward the door.
“She’s intense.” Clark grins down at me, a twitch flickering in his eyelid. It’s obvious he’s not comfortable around her, but is good at faking it. I appreciate his effort.
“There was a murder. That’s why she dragged me away this morning,” I inform him, inclining my head to look up at him.
A shadow passes through his eyes, fleeting, but it was there. “Another one?” Concern draws his brows.
I nod. “Looks like a serial killer.”
He looks away, pushing his hands into his pockets. “Doesn’t a serial killer have to kill more than two people?”
I stop walking, looking up into those eyes of his. “Three or more actually.” Is that common knowledge?
“You want me to drive?” He’s casual, this topic not shocking or surprising to him.
“Are you a cop?” I blurt out.
Large eyes spring wide. His broad chest shakes as he laughs out loud. It’s genuine, deep and rumbling. He places a hand to his stomach. “God, no.” Amusement glimmers in his eyes, making them impossibly bright. Such a beautiful man.
“What does that mean?” I reach out without thinking and pick a piece of lint from his jacket. My hand and body still when he stops walking and places his hand over mine before I can pull it away.
“It means I’d never be a cop. I don’t trust them.” I want his touch to last forever, but I know it’s impossible. Within seconds, he releases me, and the echo of his touch dances over my hands. “Did you want to go back and get my car?”
“No.” I shake my head, gesturing forward. “She lives a couple blocks down.”
“Who is she?” he asks, blowing on his hands to warm them.
“A girl who hasn’t been showing up for her shift. With everything that’s going on, I want to make sure she’s okay.”
He reaches for my arm, halting us from proceeding. “Shouldn’t we call someone else to check on her, like authorities?” he asks, his tone controlled.
“I have to know she’s okay,” I tell him, pulling away and continuing without him. He catches up to me and places his hand on my shoulder. It’s comforting and warm. I want to curl into him and feel protected in his hold. “Thanks for coming with me,” I murmur almost under my breath.
“I’m glad your friend asked,” he tells me.
We walk in silence, heavy anticipation hanging in the air between us. What if she’s not okay and I walk into another crime scene?
“It’s this one.” I nod to her house. It belonged to her grandma who left it to her in her will. It’s large, the grass overgrown, curtains pulled, blocking the view inside.
His hand comes down on mine, pulling it away when I go to open the gate. “Don’t touch anything. Stay here, okay?” he urges, his expression filled with confidence. He’s not scared of what he might find, and it’s oddly comforting.