Page 73 of Play Me
“No way. It’s clever.”
“Whatever you say,” Gray says.
He stops the truck in the middle of the road and throws it in reverse. His arm extends along the back of my seat with his large hand gripping my headrest. My heart thunders in my chest as he glances casually over his shoulder and pilots the truck perfectly into the center of a spot.
Damn.
“We’re here,” he says, fishing his wallet and keys out of the console.
I clear my throat and gather my things while shoving away the photographs my brain snapped of Gray only moments ago. The competence. The confidence. His body language screams that he knows what he’s doing, and he’s damn good at it.
I’m really losing my effing mind.
Clutching my purse, I hop out of the truck without breaking my neck. Gray meets me on the sidewalk but avoids eye contact by dipping his head to slide a black hat low on his forehead. “Ready?” he asks.
I pat my purse. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Gray leads me to an oversized window with green-and-gold sign lettering on the glass.Jewell Law. He opens the door and waits for me to enter first.
The room is straight out of another era—green carpet, a standing ashtray, and a giant framed map of Sugar County thatI’m sure was once white and not faded yellow. There’s a desk in the center, but no one’s staffing it.
“Hey, Joe,” Gray calls out.
“Come on back.”
Gray’s hand brushes against the small of my back as he guides me forward, and the contact catches me off guard. The heat of his touch in such a vulnerable, intimate spot has me shivering. My instinct is to pull away and distance myself from him, but I appreciate knowing Gray’s there as I walk into the unknown.I can’t believe I just thought that.
“Betty’s working at the mayor’s office today,” a man I presume is Joe says behind a dark wooden desk as we round the corner. He’s older than I imagined—probably in his late sixties, early seventies—and has shiny black hair that’s slicked back. The mole on his chin somehow softens his otherwise severe persona. He smirks at Gray. “Didn’t know I was gonna get to see your ugly face, too.”
“Consider it a bonus.” Gray laughs. “Joe, this is Astrid Lawsen. Astrid, this is Joe Jewell.” He leans over and whispers loud enough for Joe to hear. “He looks like a dipshit, but he’s a pretty damn good lawyer.”
“Yeah, well, that’s better than being a pretty-boy dipshit,” Joe cracks back, his big belly vibrating with his chuckle. He turns his attention to me. “You’re too pretty for this guy.”
“Oh,” I say, my cheeks flushing. “We’re not together. Not like that.”
Gray shifts at my side.
Joe holds out a hand. “What do you have for me?”
“I brought the letter with me,” I say, digging in my purse and handing it over to the attorney. My palms are damp, and I glance at the envelope, hoping there’s no sweat stains on the paper.
“Hey, Gray,” Joe says, opening the envelope. “My lunch is ready at Piper’s. Will you go get it for me?”
Gray’s gaze drops to mine, and immediately, I sense his concern about leaving me. I fight the urge to reach out and touch his hand … as that would make things awkward for sure.
“I’ll be here when you get back,” I say, nodding.
He nods, steals a look at Joe, then ducks out. When I turn back to Joe, he’s reading through the letter with a sour look on his face.
“What’s this about?” he asks, his voice full of gravel. “Ex-boyfriend, I’m guessing.”
“How’d you know?”
He looks at me over the top of the paper. “This isn’t my first rodeo. Grab a seat.”
I settle into a brown pleather chair that smells faintly of cigar smoke. My jeans squeak against the material like new sneakers down a corridor. I’m not comfortable, but I don’t dare move another inch lest I sound like a child.
“Were you ever on this lease?” Joe asks.
