Page 25 of Exposé

"Yeah. I'm good." His hands slid down my arms and fell to his sides. "Are you?"

"I think I'll survive." His lopsided smile grew broader, showcasing a dimple on his left cheek.

My gaze met a dark one, my heart skipping a beat.

The man towered over me, my neck craned back. His gray t-shirt tight against his biceps, but the saying imprinted in bold white letters pulled a grin from my lips.

"I didn't break anything. I swear."

A thick brow lifted as he cocked his head to the side.

My joke swung and missed, causing a crawling sensation up my spine.

"Your shirt." I pointed. "It's funny."

I'm here because you broke something.

He glanced down and nodded. "Ah, that makes more sense." A slight chuckle pulled another dimple from the right cheek.

Oh. My. God.

Heat burned in my cheeks as my eyes trailed down his thick tattooed arms, tapered waist, and thighs snug in a pair of dark blue cargo pants.

"Sorry, you'd think I'd be a people person by now." I lifted my strap onto my shoulder and adjusted my shirt beneath it. "But I'm just as awkward as the day I was born."

Silence fell over us, and my breathing stuttered.

"Well…you've got important places to be, and I'm in your way."

“Not at all.” The dimples fell from his stubbled jawline, the hair dark, matching the shorter strands on his head and longer bits on top. "I was questioning my life's choices, is all."

"What do you know…so am I."

We chuckled and he tucked his hand into his pocket. "It was nice bumping into you. We should do it again sometime."

"Yeah. Okay…"

The man who ignited a flame in my belly for the first time in two years walked around me and the corner out of sight.

My teeth bit down into my lip.

Hot damn.

My hand pulsed in front of me like a fan, casting cool air into my face. Adjusting my shoulder strap, I walked the two blocks towards Skeeter's last known address.

Colonial-style houses lined the street, the trees planted in the berm towered over both homes and sidewalks. Their pristine white picket fences bordered deep green lawns, trimmed to perfection, with flower beds lining the foundations of each home.

Not a neighborhood you'd expect a drug dealer to live in.

I stopped in front of his house number, and a man matching Skeeter's mugshot stood in the driveway next to an old muscle car, filling a five-gallon bucket with a water hose.

"Can I help you?"

"Uh…" I glanced around, detailing my surroundings. "Yeah, are you Carson Givens? Otherwise known as Skeeter?"

The man with graying black hair and scruff to match chuckled. "I already checked in with my parole officer."

"That’s not why… I’m Ava Thatcher…" I dug into my pocket and pulled out my press ID, holding it up so he could see. "I work forThe Riverfield Chronicles." I pocketed the ID.

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