Page 17 of Counting Quarters

Chapter Eight

Blaire

“YourealizeI'mthe sheriff, right?” His cool eyes rapidly moved between me and the joint in my hand.

I decided after Grammy sent me home from the hotel when I showed up for my regular shift that I needed a release. I could have bought a fifth of vodka and drowned in my sorrows, but that only ever left me with a bad headache the next day. I figured I hadn't smoked weed since high school, and I was feeling reckless. Now was as good a time as any to try it again, so I sent a quick text to Chet Hayes, a seedy guy who lived in the trailer park on the edge of town that I knew could help me. He met me within the hour.

It all happened so easily, I figured it must have been meant to be.

My head tilted, and I lifted the side of my mouth into what I imagined was a sexy smirk. My high had injected me with enough confidence to ask, “Are you going to arrest me, officer?”

I dropped my gaze to the handcuffs looped around his belt, raising a sly brow.

The old Blaire wouldn't have had the guts to be so brazen. He could technically arrest me, and while I'd heard stories about women flirting their way out of tickets before, I was positive that sober Blaire would be mortified at the feeble attempt to seduce a man nearly twice her age.

Or any man at all, really, because Blaire Granger flirting with anyone was cringeworthy.

But honestly, who cared anymore?

A shadowy darkness flashed across his features while he considered me for a moment. He didn't try to stop it or hide it, either. We sat there for a space of time, unapologetically staring each other down. It was exhilarating and uncomfortable and exactly the type of thing that I would do to earn an eye roll or some chastising comment. Instead, Officer Abbot welcomed the discomfort. He took it all in stride and threw it right back.

He blinked, and then held his hand out for the joint, shaking his fingers impatiently when I hesitated. Once I passed it over, he tugged his gun out of its holster and unloaded the magazine, then gently rested it on its side on the table beside me.

I watched in shock as he put the blunt up to his lips and took a long, deep pull from it. He inhaled, held his breath, and then smooth, gray smoke billowed out around plump, red lips.

“Don't tell anyone about this,” he warned, yanking me from my trance with heavy, hooded eyes.

Okay, I guess I’m getting high with my sheriff landlord.

He didn't pass the roach back to me, and when I balked at him ripping it open and emptying the rest into the ashtray, he mumbled something about me having had enough and him needing to destroy the evidence. Once he was satisfied with his work, he leaned back into the cheap canvas chair and turned his attention toward me.

“So, why is Blaire Granger getting high all alone on a Saturday night?”

I'd been in his loft for two weeks now. Long enough to grow comfortable sitting outside when he arrived home, but not enough to admit openly that the day of the week had no meaning to my social life. I was alone for all of them.

“What is Sheriff Abbot doing getting high on a Saturday night?” I retorted.

His chest rumbled with a deep laugh, one I'd never heard before. “Touché.”

After a few moments where time seemed to be a lost concept, he added, “But don't call me that when I'm home. Here, I'm just Kyle.”

“Okay, Just Kyle,” I bit back sarcastically. “Don't call me by my full name, then. Here, I'm not a Granger. I'm just Blaire.”

I didn't want the heavy burden of being a Granger infiltrating my safe space. Sheriff Abbot—I mean, Kyle—had already done enough of that.

“Deal.”

My brain was finally fuzzy enough to turn down the loud buzzing thoughts that weren't mine and block Hailey from popping up anytime soon. Even if she did, I'd be of no help. I obviously didn't smoke very often—or ever—so I was hoping to be in a near-vegetative state until I passed out. It was the only way I could think of to find peace.

“Why did you stay here?”

Kyle pinched his brows together. I could tell that I had pulled him from a deep thought, and I fought the desire to know what it could have been.

I had no business inside his head. I could barely stand it inside of my own.

When I could tell that he was confused by the question, I elaborated.

“Why didn't you leave Beacon Grove with Storie's aunt? You were with her, weren't you?”

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