Page 36 of Bullet

“My god. Those things can be dangerous.”

“It’s like getting wasabi stuck between your lip and gums.”

He chuckles, pointing a finger at me. “Now that, I can sympathize with.”

I laugh again too, savoring the feeling as it rolls through me. Small talk to me is the equivalent of sticking a fork in my own eye, but is that what we’re doing here? I’m surprised how easy it feels now that we’ve started. “You said you like to read. What books do you enjoy?”

“Not law books.”

“Does anyone really enjoy those?”

His eyes narrow, pegging me with a stern look. “You can’t bullshit a bullshitter.”

“What are you bullshitting about?”

“Nothing. That just sounds good, doesn’t it?”

More like, he knows about every single assumption I’ve never made about him. My face heats in shame, so I duck over my mug, inhaling the rich aroma.

“I didn’t like reading the really dry ones, but some of them weren’t so bad. They were interesting. If you’re passionate about something, you can get into them.”

He groans, swiping a hand over his face and down his long beard. I refuse to get another mental image of me in some contorted position, using that beard as a handhold the way some men wrap a woman’s hair around their fist.

“My favorite is probably anything and everything about Ancient Rome, but my other guilty pleasure has to be Shakespeare.”

“That’s…wow. You make me feel distinctly uncultured. The only stuff I’ve ever read of the bard was what we had to read in high school.Romeo and Juliet, andHamlet.”

“As with most things, I find the popular plays to be the least rewarding, but they’re fun to see live. You really get a feel for it when you see it acted out.”

I’ve never thought of that.

The guilt comes again, swamping me. I never wanted to be that person. I hated people who judged my mother, not knowing her story. How have I stepped across to the other side and become someone I don’t even recognize? Why did I think beingcold was a good form or protection against life and all the goodness it could offer?

I swallow my shame down a burning throat. I’m not ready for this conversation to be over. “What else do you like?”

“True crime, thrillers, mystery, westerns, biographies, non-fiction, and I’ve read a few romcoms in my time. I assume you were asking about books.”

Thank god I wasn’t drinking this tea yet, or it would have exploded all over the table. I snap my head up, but he’s either got the world’s best poker face or he’s not yanking my crank.

“Romcoms?”

“Sure, if they’re well written.”

“I haven’t read a single romcom ever.”

“You’re missing out.”

“I’m pretty much missing out on everything. I haven’t had time for reading the fun stuff in years.”

Bullet sips his tea, the mug ridiculous in his bear paw of a hand. He grins, the creases around his eyes crinkling deeply with it. I think he’s learned that he likes Earl Grey.

And I’ve learned that I like this.

Talking. Camaraderie. Being close to someone, even if it’s just talking books.

“I guess that’s the silver lining. Harold is a dangerous asshole who hasn’t yet been apprehended or stopped, and your association with me got you fired, rattled, and relocated, but atleast you have a small amount of time for books now. And you can choose which cases you want to take on. You can make yourself a partner, and all the money you make, you get to keep, slash overhead costs and taxes.”

“I could get a cat if I could set my own hours.”

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