Page 48 of Beautiful Rush
He sighed loudly, letting me know what a pain in the ass I was. “Yeah, yeah.”
“Thanks.”
“What’s the deal with you and Keira?”
“Now you wanna sit around and dish the dirt? Should we plan a slumber party too?”
“Your track record suggests two weeks. A month tops.”
I kept my mouth shut. He read between the lines.
“Holy shit. You’re in love.”
I remained silent, but I didn’t deny it.
“Is that a smart move?”
“Never said I was smart.”
“You don’t usually think with your dick either.” That was true. In the past, I never had. In the past, nobody had ever gotten under my skin the way Keira did either. “Is she involved in this assignment?”
I shook my head. “No. I’d stay away from her if she was.”
Max nodded. He knew I had hard lines and I would never get involved with Keira if she was somehow tied up with this assignment. “She has nothing to do with it. She’s not mixed up in her old man’s business.”
“It’s not easy getting out from under that though.” He sounded skeptical like he didn’t believe that she could get out from under it. I understood what he was saying.
“She doesn’t want anything to do with that life,” I said firmly. However, Max and I both knew that sometimes innocent victims got dragged into shit simply by virtue of being a criminal’s family member. The other shocking truth was that the criminal underground was smaller than you’d think, in the sense that they all moved in the same circles.
“I need to get going.” Off to meet my Russian BFF for a few boxing rounds at the gym. My face was already a disaster. What could a few more punches hurt?
“Thanks for stopping by and interrupting my beauty sleep,” Max said.
“You never sleep past seven, you whiney bitch.”
“Someday it’ll happen. I’ll take a power nap later.” He stretched his arms and cracked his knuckles above his head, his signature move. “Got a hot date tonight.”
“With your right hand?”
“This place is seeing plenty of action.”
“Make sure there are clean sheets on my bed before I get home.” I strode to the door, sparing a look at my comfortable-as-shit sofa and flat-screen TV. My loft was in a former tea factory with exposed brick walls, time-worn hardwood floors and big windows that let the light in. Meanwhile, I was staying in a shitty apartment in Long Island City, furnished with only the bare necessities.
“Hey Ramsey,” he called after me.
I turned to look at him.
“How many close calls have you had?”
“Too many.” Unlike me, Max had never pulled the trigger on his gun, never killed a man in a living room shootout in Greenpoint. I had blood on my hands, but I’d do it all over again, if I had to.
“Don’t try to play hero.”
I grinned, splitting my lip again. Fuck. “I don’t have to try. Just comes naturally.”
“You’re a maverick, boy. I don’t like mavericks,” Max said, mimicking Seamus Vincent, our favorite former police chief. “You know why mavericks are dangerous? They ain’t team players.”
“Hey. You’re a damn good cop,” he said in his normal voice, sensing I needed to hear those words of reassurance. “Everyone who’s ever worked with you knows that you’d have their back.”
