Page 141 of Tell Me Something True

Lincoln, for his part, didn’t seem offended, intimidated, or provoked. He just raised his eyebrows slowly then, even slower, removed his hand from her arm. “Jennings.”“Black.”

And Miles went back to focusing on Tabitha, as if now that the other man wasn’t touching her, he no longer existed in his world.

“Was there something you wanted?” she asked him when he stayed silent.

“You.”

It was another growled, one-word answer. One that had her entire body going still. Alert.

On edge.

“I hadn’t realized you and the assistant chief of police knew each other,” Lincoln said.

“Miles and I—”

“We were together,” Miles interrupted, not taking his eyes off her, as if while filling Lincoln in on that little tidbit, he was also reminding her of something that was already embedded quite deeply in her memory, thank you very much. “For almost a year.”

She narrowed her yes to slits. Now he wanted to share their history with people after keeping it hidden for all these years? When she was trying so desperately to move past it?

“Were together,” Lincoln said mildly, “isn’t the same as are together. No matter how long it lasted.” He paused, eyebrows raised in a silent question as he looked at Tabitha. “Or how recently it ended.”

“Fucking lawyers,” Miles muttered.

“It wasn’t recent,” Tabitha said. “Our ending. Or was that your small-town way of asking if Miles and I are still sleeping together?”

Lincoln’s mouth twitched. “It’s my way of figuring out if Jennings here is going to try and kick my ass.”

“I’m not,” Miles told him, all mild and low, as if the thought never crossed his mind. But then he smirked and damn it all, it was way sexier than it had any right being. “But if I was, there’d be no trying about it.”

Her eyes went wide. “You did not just say that,” she said to Miles as Lincoln got to his feet.

They were evenly matched, with Lincoln having two inches on Miles, but Miles being broader. Standing toe to toe, they did that silent staring thing men at odds did with each other, matching each other smirk for smirk, as if their favorite Saturday night activity was brawling at The Cockeyed Chameleon.

Men. Even the ones who were supposed to be intelligent, evolved, upstanding, and respectable members of society were reduced to their Neanderthal ways when their fragile egos were threatened.

But she didn’t want anyone fighting over her.

She wanted someone to fight for her.

Until then, she’d just have to fight for herself.

She grabbed her purse, then slid off her stool. “You two are idiots. And seeing as how this pissing contest you have going on has more to do with you, your egos, and your insecurities than me, I’m just going to leave you to it. Try not to drown.”

Her indignation fueled her as she walked away, helping her make her way through the crowd.

Miles had been right the other day. She was getting better at being angry.

She’d just reached the other end of the bar when someone took hold of her upper arm, and she knew, immediately, and without having to so much as glance over her shoulder, who was touching her.

After all these years, Miles’s touch was still somehow ingrained in her skin.

And it still had the power to stop her in her tracks.

“We need to talk,” he grumbled close to her ear, that perfect amount of stubble scraping pleasantly against the sensitive skin just below her hairline.

“No. We don’t.”

She kept her gaze resolutely ahead. It pinched her pride, but she couldn’t look at him. The man had too many weapons at his disposal as it was, that stubble and the sandalwood scent of his cologne and the heat of his body at her back. No way was she going to risk meeting his eyes when he stood this close. When he smelled this good.

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