Page 7 of Skeletons in the Closet

“No. You’re drunk.”

“I’m lightly buzzed.”

“Your boyfriend is—”

“He’ll be fine without me for one night.” I’d be damned if I was about to correct the misunderstanding. The kiss had been intentional. I’d wanted to draw a line in the sand. Memphis and I hadn’t been intimate since our first year of college. We’d decided long ago we would make better friends.

But Diem didn’t need to know that.

“Give me a second to say goodbye and warm up the Jeep, Guns. I’m freezing.”

3

Diem

Icranked the heat and angled the vents so they blew on the passenger side of the vehicle while I waited for Tallus to say goodbye to his date. Whatever had compelled me to return to the club that evening—it had something to do with the jagged stone in my gut—I was thankful.

Misinterpreting Tallus’s intent to drive drunk had worked out for the best. I’d nearly blown a fuse when he’d pulled out his car keys. The pair could barely cross the parking lot in a straight line. Discovering the truth, I’d felt like an idiot, and every sensible sentence I’d been formulating over the past three days vanished into the mist.

Tallus spoke with his date, and I witnessed them kiss again. It fizzled my blood in a way that didn’t feel good, and I had to look away.

If I could convince Tallus to help me without scaring him off, that would be great. It was the end goal. Who he chose to pick up at a bar and take to his bed was not my concern. And if theman in the car was Tallus’s type, I had no idea why he’d taken a second glance at the likes of me in the first place.

The Uber drove off, and Tallus returned to the Jeep. Once he was situated in the passenger seat, hands extended and absorbing the heat pumping from the vents, I took off. Traffic was lighter at close to two in the morning, so I made good time, weaving down a few side streets to avoid the construction barricades on the main roads where lanes had been reduced.

I should say something. Apologize for assuming he was going to drink and drive. Explain my purpose. Ask how he was doing since it had been six months since we’d talked. But my tongue felt three times too big for my mouth, so I remained silent.

So did he.

It grew uncomfortable in the tight confines of the Jeep.

And hot.

“Warmer?” I rasped when Tallus lowered his hands to his lap.

“Yes. Thank you.”

I turned the fan setting to low.

Tallus shifted, angling his body in my direction. “Were you stalking me?”

I ground my teeth, contemplated the answer as I flicked the turn signal, and mumbled, “Yes.”

“You’re kind of a freak.”

I grunted with acknowledgment.

“Did you lose my phone number?”

“No.” I’d stared at it many times over the past week.

“Why didn’t you use it?”

I shrugged, unwilling to admit I wanted to see him face-to-face.

Tallus huffed. “Why me, Guns? What is this about?”

If I answered, he would have more questions. More questions meant more explaining. Explaining meant talking. It would be easier if I started at the beginning, and to do that, I wantedTallus to review the recording I’d made of my client’s story when she’d brought me the case.

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