His mouth tipped up.
“Best friend is Rix, John Hendrix. Former firefighter. Used to be on the Hotshot crew. Wind turned, he got caught in a jam, tree fell on him. He lost both his legs from below the knee, but it was a straight-up miracle he even survived. He manages the Prescott store now.”
“Rix? The man…that was…at Duncan’s…?” she asked haltingly.
“Yup.”
“But—”
“He has fancy legs he uses sometimes. His sitch is relatively new. My guess is, he’s getting used to them. Mostly, though, he’s in a wheelchair.”
“Okay,” she murmured.
“That’s number one part two,” he told her.
She laughed low.
He grinned at the road.
Then he got into the tough stuff.
“So skipping to number three. I love my job. Found my calling. Love Prescott. Love the mission and ethics of River Rain. Love the kids. Got great staff and volunteers. What we do is important. There’ll come a time when the program will benefit from new blood and I’ll need to move on, but I thank God that time is not now.”
She said nothing for a spell before she prompted, “Okay.”
He was taking their exit off the highway as he pointed out what she obviously missed, “My job is in Prescott, Chloe.”
“Is that number four?” she asked. “Because that’s one of the few things I know already.”
“What I mean is, that’s been a thing for other women in my life. Ones that have lived in Phoenix.”
“Prescott is not the moon,” was her only response.
Even so.
Message received.
He grinned at the road again.
Then he said, “Number four is, if I have a choice, I will take the road I’ve never traveled.”
“Adventurous,” she said under her breath.
“Yeah. There are things I like to do that I do a lot. But given the chance, I’ll take it to try something new.”
She touched his thigh.
He took her hint and gave her back his hand.
Her fingers curled around tight.
“And the last thing?” she asked.
“I grew up part-time in New York City. My dad operates a hedge fund. He made his first billion when he was in his early forties. It wasn’t his last. His name isn’t that close to Szabo’s on a particular list, but it’s not far away.”
Her hand was now squeezing his tight.
“Your dad is Jameson Oakley?”
Of course she knew who he was.
“Yup.”
“Mais non,” she whispered.
“I think I know what that means, but…yeah.”
“No wonder your coat is fabulous,” she remarked.
He started chuckling. “Yeah, and I’ll be taking that back with me.”
“Of course,” she said in that way women say it and mean, “not gonna happen.”
Before he could ask why she seemed to have stolen his overcoat, she kept talking.
“Do I need to sign an NDA?” she asked, sounding half joking, but with her experience, also probably half serious.
“Dad would say absolutely. I say no. But you and me will have a deal.”
“What deal?”
“You give me what you feel you can give, and along the way, I’ll earn your trust. And vice versa. You are far from normal, and that’s what interests me about you. But in that, what we share, we’ll act like normal people. You get what you earn. Cool?”
“Cool,” she agreed with a squeeze of his hand. “And chéri, it’s best to come at it from the Indian School side.”
That took them out of the deep, and eventually she guided him into underground parking at Fashion Square.
They walked up to the restaurant on the corner, and Judge met Tiffany, a full-figured, six foot two, heavily made-up female who was not biologically female.
She was either in transition, or today she just felt like being a she.
She looked him up and down as they approached, and after the introductions, turned right to Chloe. “Mi told me he was scrumptious.” She turned to Judge. “And that’s Mi’s term, not mine,” then back to Chloe, “but she didn’t tell me he was so tall.”
“Tiff finds it even more difficult than I do to nail down a tall guy,” Chloe explained.
“No pressure,” Tiffany purred.
“There’s plenty of me to go around,” he pointed out. “But just saying, after it goes around, I’m paying.”
Tiffany shifted her attention back to Chloe. “Oo, I like him.”
Chloe’s shades were aimed his way when she replied.
“I do too.”
And there it was.
Morning made.
* * *
Judge came up for air and said the last thing he wanted to say.
“I gotta get on the road, baby.”
She pouted.
She was on her back on her couch.
He was on her.
They’d been making out.
He took some second base liberties, but mostly it was getting-to-know-you groping.
It was phenomenal.
Having her soft body under his was spectacular.
Smelling her, tasting her in his mouth.
Finally getting his fingers in her hair.
His lips on the length of that neck.
But he did have to go.
“I gotta get back to my pup,” he told her. “Rix’s got him, and he likes him, and he might not give him back if I don’t go claim him.”