Page 36 of Color of Love

“I know but I want to.” Blake felt sick as he contemplated how much to share, should he even share anything? He wanted to get to know these guys and needed to develop relationships, like Justine had said. “I’ve been going through some PTSD issues, which I’m working through with a psychologist,” he added hastily. “But that’s why, you know, sometimes I go into old memories and lose where I am. I did that night and I’m sorry about that.”

“I appreciate it, man, but you don’t need to explain. I think it’s amazing that you’re coping so well,” Beau said, and Dean nodded in agreement.

“It must be really hard to face some of these things, but it just shows how strong you are,” Dean said, and Blake could feel the support coming off them both in waves and damn if that didn’t give him a lump in his throat. They all sat in silence for a moment, just letting the sun beat down on them, then Beau cleared his throat.

“To be honest, I thought you attacked me to warn me off Justine,” he joked, and Dean snorted next to him. Blake punched his arm.

“Is she the psychologist you’re seeing?” Dean asked.

Blake nodded, and he noticed them share a look.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just a shame. You would make a great couple,” Dean said.

“I guess she can’t really jump into bed with you, probably a violation of rights or some shit right there isn’t it?” Beau asked.

Blake just nodded, his mind lost in his thoughts. She probably didn’t want to feel like she was taking advantage of him if she slept with him and then treated him. But what if it was more of an arrangement where they both did something for each other? His mind started whirring at the possibilities and he felt himself smiling, suddenly excited about the stakeout they had tomorrow night.

*

Justine was dreading the stakeout, feeling sick at the thought of being stuck in a car with Blake, in the dark for at least an hour. She didn’t want to see him, because every time she pictured him, she thought of their kiss. That amazing, soul-searing kiss. She shivered now just thinking about it.

This was why she needed to keep things professional, because how was she going to sit across from him in their next session and delve into his mind when all she could think was, why didn’t he palm her breast? Why didn’t he storm in the bathroom after her and demand to take her to bed? And why did she want him to? Did he regret it? Did he enjoy it? Argh!

She was fighting a war with herself, her head against her heart, and she didn’t know which would win, but either way, being with him tonight would ensure that one of them lost. She saw him pull up outside her house, right on time. With a deep sigh she grabbed her purse and feeling like she was heading to her doom, left the house.

“Good evening, Justine,” he said when she got into his car, his cheerful voice instantly alerting her. She watched him, something was…different. He looked the same, still brooding, his mouth still flat and unsmiling, but now she knew that it wasn’t hard, it was soft, pliant, and delicious. Shut up brain!

“Good evening, Blake, how are you?” she returned, buckling herself in.

“I’m just fine, thank you,” he purred, his eyes sliding over her, taking in her messy bun, no make-up, hoodie, and denim shorts. The way he ran his eyes over her had her nipples tightening. She gripped her thighs to keep from reaching for him.

“Not exactly dressed for sleuth activity, are you?” he sighed. She looked down at her outfit again.

“I didn’t think we’d be doing anything except sitting in the car?” she asked.

“Was there something else you wanted to be doing?” he asked, his voice deepening, and she had to fight a moan at the suggestive tone he used. You’re a professional, you’re a professional, you’re a goddamn professional!

“Did Janet tell you where we should start?” she asked brightly, changing the subject. She thought she saw him smile but it must have been a trick of the light.

“She’s given me the street name, so we’ll just head straight there,” he said and then pulled the car away from the curb. The radio was playing softly in the background, a song she recognized. She looked to the console and saw the local eighties radio station tuned in. Her eyes shot to him.

“Eighties music?” she asked tentatively, her heart in her throat. Could they have more in common that she’d thought?

“Guilty pleasure,” he shrugged, tension filling the car.

“There’s nothing guilty about these solid gold tracks,” she replied, and she thought she saw his mouth quirk up. The tension in the car increased and neither of them spoke again. She studied him, reveling in watching him do mundane activities, observing the muscles in his firm forearms flex whenever he turned the wheel. She liked that he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the song playing, that was something she did too.

She began humming along to the song on the radio, thinking about booking another gig with Taylor, she hadn’t sung for a couple of weeks now and she needed an outlet for all the emotions she was feeling at the moment.

She felt him staring at her. “What?” she asked, meeting his eyes before he turned his attention back to the road.

“Nothing,” he muttered. A short while later, he parked the car on the side of a quiet suburban road with houses lining both sides of the street. “This is where it was reported last week.”

“Ooh, the scene of the crime. They must be concerned if they sent the deputy here,” she said sarcastically and she saw him roll his eyes.

“You know, you could take this a little more seriously,” he murmured, and she watched as he scanned the street. His eyes narrowing every now and then. She would bet he’d memorized every blade of grass swaying in the breeze and infiltrated every shadow that lurked nearby.

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