Page 42 of Paternal Instincts
Dontrel blew out his cheeks and rocked on his heels, wedging his thumbs in his belt loops. “I can’t recall. There’s a lot of people coming and going around here. I don’t keep tabs on them, you know? Got to be a couple hundred people working in this here building. I never forget a name and a face, but I can’t keep track of schedules.”
“I understand.” I offered Dontrel a business card. “If you happen to remember seeing him with anyone, please give me a call.”
“Will do.” I earned another invisible hat tip, and Dontrel wandered off.
Aslan returned with two steaming mugs of brew and a loaded paper bag.
My nose wrinkled before I could stop it. “What’s in there?”
“A couple of chicken salad sandwiches on croissants. It’s noon, hot stuff, and if we’re planning to race around writing up and delivering warrants, you need fuel. Breakfast was hours ago.”
Old Quaid would have quizzed him—on the type of mayo used, the reason he chose fatty croissants over whole grain bread, and if he’d added cheese or lettuce or salt to the sandwiches—but New Quaid, or rather the Quaid who’d spent the past year in therapy, went through mental gymnastics, reminding himself to stop assigning moral value to food. The only bad food was spoiled or rotten, and all food was guilt-free because guilt was not an ingredient. Food was thefuelrequired to make our body and brain function and keep us alive—hence why Aslan leaned heavily on using that particular word every time we ate.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, digging up a smile.
“That’s the fakest smile I’ve ever seen.” He handed me the coffee and pecked a kiss on my mouth. “Meet me at the office?”
“Yeah.”
We drove separately to headquarters and met at my desk in MPU. Midday on a Saturday meant we had the bullpen to ourselves. If other teams were working, they weren’t in the building. We ate while I wrote up the warrant, requesting access to Jude Marigold’s finances and ensuring I made my reasoning sound enough I wouldn’t be denied.
The sandwich was good, despite the niggling devil on my shoulder, giving an exaggerated PowerPoint on its nutritional content. Despite not feeling hungry, I did my best to ignore the pest and finish the meal.
The coffee was glorious and rejuvenating.
Warrant completed, I skeptically eyed my husband.
“What?” he asked with a mouthful of sugary donut. He’d smartly not bought me dessert.
“Any chance you still have ties with Madison?”
Aslan, who had kicked his feet up on Jordyn’s desk while he ate, laughed. “Do you mean do I still flirt and crank up the sexual tension with my judge friend to curry favors? No, hot stuff. My husband would kill me. He’s insanely jealous.”
“Ha ha.” I narrowed my eyes. “Out of curiosity. Did you ever sleep with her?”
The asshole smirked and wiggled his brows. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” He popped the last piece of donut into his mouth and chewed, barely able to contain the amusement on his face.
I glared with a level-ten sneer that did nothing for me. It was for show, and he knew it, but it got me an answer.
Aslan swallowed and licked frosting off his lips, purposefully being seductive. When I didn’t take the bait, he submitted. “No, Quaid. I never slept with her. It was a mutual game between us. It was about the possibility of an incredible night together. It was heavy flirting. Innuendo. Teasing. She was attracted to me at one time. I played the attraction to my advantage. Sleeping with a judge would have been career suicide. I might have been stupid back then, but I was not that stupid.”
“Is shestillattracted to you?”
Hepffed. “Who isn’t?”
I rolled my eyes. “Your ego is disgusting.”
Aslan was nothing but proud. “I have no idea if she still thinks about me with no clothes on. I stopped playing the game when I got hitched.”
“Before that, I hope.”
He chuckled. “Correction. I stopped when we started dating. Happy?”
“Yes and no. I was hoping you could pull strings and get this warrant signed. Otherwise, I risk an eighty-year-old cranky judge who should have retired eons ago and doesn’t want to deal with me on the weekend. I swear they run when they see me coming.”
“It’s your endless charm.”
“No, it’s this face.” I sneered.
