Page 23 of Homebody
“Uh, hi,” she said, a bit too loudly.
She received another censure-filled glare from the woman who still hadn’t picked out a book from the stacks yet.
Dean followed her gaze toward the elderly lady. “I’m so sorry. We’re disturbing you. We’ll be quiet,” he said with complete sincerity in a lowered hush before pressing his forefinger to his lips.
Damned if the old lady didn’t blush, the color rising to her paler than pale skin that matched the white of her hair. And while Tessa watched, fascinated, the woman giggled like a schoolgirl and waved away his concern with one hand. “Oh, don’t you worry. You can have your conversation. And thank you for your service.”
Tessa lifted a brow. So that’s how it was. Dean could charm even cranky senior citizens with just a smile and the flex of a pec. But she couldn’t even breathe too loudly or get glared at. All righty. Good to know.
At least the conversation had drawn his attention away from the incongruous situation in which he’d found her… for a moment. But now his attention was back on her, taking in all the stuff she’d brought with her. She’d contained it all into a single tote bag for the walk over, but now it splayed across the large table like the debris field that remained after a plane crash.
He smiled. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
She couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped her. “Ditto.”
He took in the chaotic mess in front of her. “So, what is all this?”
How in the world was she supposed to explain it?
What reason would a bad girl who played pool nights at the local dive bar have to be in the library doing neuroscience research at ten in the morning?
Crap. Susan had hired her to be a bad girl not a nerdy one.
It’s part of the terms of my probation,might be a good excuse. Didn’t some criminals get law degrees while serving prison sentences? But that wasn’t court ordered…
Ugh! She wasn’t prepared for any of this. She didn’t even know enough about being a bad girl to lie properly.
Bye-bye, money. Susan was going to be so mad. She’d already screwed up and it hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since Dean had rolled into town.
He moved closer and read the title of one of the articles she’d printed out and marked up with a highlighter.
“Neuroplasticity and TBI-related depression.” His dark brows rose high as he looked at her, questioning. “That’s some heavy stuff you’re reading.”
She felt the blood drain from her face even as her heart thundered.
Then it hit her. The perfect lie.
She didn’t know how she thought of it, the lie that would serve perfectly for this situation while maintaining her cover. But she did and she was going to deliver it, with a smile.
“You caught me. I take on odd jobs. Through the internet. To make some extra cash. You know. Drink money.”
“And your odd job consists of researching neuroplasticity and traumatic brain injury?”
She nodded. “Mm-hm. Some college kid is paying me to write his paper. You’re not going to turn me in, are you?”
He laughed, looking equally amused and surprised.
Still smiling, he said, “No. I’m not going to turn you in. And I have to admit, I wish you’d been around to write some of my papers back when I was in school.”
She returned his smile. “Well, if you need anything written for you now, come see me. I’ll give you a good deal.”
Look at her! Flirting. Lying. Making jokes. Not embarrassing herself. It was like she was becoming the bad girl she was hired to be. Maybe she could do this after all.
The buzz of a phone had her stiffening. Was it herscary godmothersagain checking on her progress with getting gussied up?
When she glanced down and saw the screen of her cell remained dark and then Dean reached into his pocket to pull out his own cell, she realized for once the text wasn’t for her.
That was a relief… for her at least. But Dean’s expression changed as he stared at his own device. A small crease formed between his dark brows. He compressed his lips tight before he shoved the phone back into his pocket.
