Page 89 of Jessica, Not Her Real Name
The silence stretched. Outside, the storm howled, rattling the walls.
She poured herself a drink, sliding into the chair across from him. “I dreamed about you.”
Inglis stilled, his grip tightening on the glass. “That so?”
She tilted her head, watching him. “You were telling me to pull the trigger.”
His jaw clenched, something flickering behind his eyes. “Did you?”
She took a slow sip of whiskey, letting the burn settle in her chest. “Guess I woke up too soon.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth, just for a second, before he looked away. “Lucky for me.”
Jessica smiled. “Lucky for both of us.”
The air between them felt thick, humming with a tension neither of them acknowledged.
Inglis took another sip of whiskey, then made a face like he wished he hadn’t.
Jessica swiveled the bottle to face her. “Says here it’s Tennessee’s finest.”
Inglis eyed the off-brand logo. Raised an eyebrow.
She poured another glass. “You know what they say about people from Tennessee, right?”
“I’m sure I do,” he drawled.
“They make other Southerners look like they’re in a hurry.”
That half-smile again. “See, now, I heard the exact same thing about people from Arkansas.”
She nodded at the bottles of water lined neatly on the counter, alongside matches, candles and their remaining tins of food. “Why do I get the feeling you were a Boy Scout?”
This time, he actually smiled, if only for a second. Some of the tension unwound from his frame.
Jessica studied him. She still couldn’t get a read on him. Unavailable? Uninterested? Just plain shy? Probably not the first, and not just because he wasn’t wearing a ring. She’d worked in a strip club for years. She could spot the taken ones from ten feet. And she hated them most of all— hated knowing she was scratching some itch for a guy, giving him something he wasn’t getting at home, but which he didn’t have the goddamn balls to do anything about. Except ogle her and drool.
Inglis pulled his hand from his pocket, set his phone on the table.
She glanced at it. “I’m guessing no service, right?”
“Satellite calls only.”
Another violent gust slammed into the house. The roller door groaned under the strain.
A second later, the kitchen lights flickered, plunging them into semi-darkness before surging back to life.
“Whew.” Jessica exhaled. “That was close.” She unscrewed the whiskey bottle and topped off both their glasses. Then she leaned back in her chair, tilting her head at him.
“So, Ryan. What’s your story, then?”
* * *
Ryan had a problem. Well, he had a lot of problems, but the main one facing him right now was, in fact, facing right now.
He shouldn’t be sitting here drinking with her. He wasn’t exactly sure how many ethics codes he was violating, but it had to be a few.
And there were other reasons, too.
