Page 7 of Live Love Steal
“Yes. I said that.”
Right, she did. “And a plate?”
“Yes, but?—”
“Sweetheart, the best you can hope for is a reduction of fines. You should have just paid it.”
“I wasn’t there.”
“So? Did your boyfriend have your car?”
Her eyes widened. I don’t know what flashed through them, but it wasn’t completely directed at me. Finally, she admitted, “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Girlfriend?” I asked.
“No.”
“A relative?”
“Yes, in fact, I was helping my sister move the last of her things out of her asshole boyfriend’s house. With my car, which was nowhere near that intersection the entire day.”
Huh. That was… a twist. “You got proof?”
“I have receipts from the gas station near her house, across town from the violation, that are time-stamped fifteen minutes before the photo time stamp. Online maps estimate the travel time between the two points at 20 minutes for that time of day. I have another receipt for coffee, five minutes from the offense time, near her boyfriend’s house, still at least fifteen minutes from the site. So, yes. Proof.”
A slither of doubt shivered up my spine. “Have you checked your rear license plate lately?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Or your front one.” Why in the hell was I asking her this? It was practically a confession. Even though my car boosting days were at least eight years in the past, I still knew all the tricks. Not only that, but the statute of limitations hadn’t quite expired from my last offense.
She was thinking too hard. “Are you asking if my plates might be stolen?”
“Not exactly.” I needed to shut this conversation down—fast. “When I’m feeling stressed, I listen to music. Do you?”
“I do. What kind of music?”
I rattled off at least five bands I was currently stuck on or were staples in my collection. It happened that way for me. I’d hear something, then I’d have to listen to the entire discography for a few days to get it out of my system. If I wasn’t turned completely sour on them by that point, they went into my collection.
“We overlap. I like at least three of those bands. But you changed the subject, why?”
The car’s motor whirred, and we were moving again. “We’re saved.”
“You owe me an answer.”
“How about over lunch?” Hot damn, that was smooth. Usually, I wasn’t as quick to offer. Shit. If I had to be honest, I hadn’t offered to take a woman out in at least four years. Not since the fucking divorce started. My ex changed me, and not in a good way. But maybe it was time to start trying again. Isobel was pretty, straightforward, had similar tastes, and didn’t seem like a total flake. She knew things like how to handle stress. And considering her morning, that had to be tough. I liked her. And most of all, she’d done something a woman hadn’t done for a while. Intrigued me.
Attraction and sex were one thing. They faded out almost before the fucking ended. Sometimes during. But intrigue? Hell, that could keep me going for months.
Not that I was seeking long-term. I only wanted my son back. That would be hard enough. Starting a new relationship was stupid right now. Getting custody of Noah was the most important thing.
“I’ll think about it.” She fired at me over her shoulder as soon as the doors opened.
Her ass was just the right combination of curves to draw the eye.
Fuck. The last thing I needed right now was to lose focus. But Isobel was one hell of a distraction.
My lawyer stood in the hallway waiting for me. I greeted her.
