Page 15 of Just Friends

“I want you to tell me what happened.” His eyes had darkened. They gave away his concern and fatigue. The five o’clock shadow on his face was maybe from two fives ago. He required sleep. The detective in him would never cease attempting to figure it out, but she’d keep it from him for as long as she could. He’d turn Kyle into a human piñata, and it was not worth the risk to his career.

She rubbed her hands over his, and he stilled. “It’s not important. So, stop wasting your time and go get some sleep.”

Weasel brought his hands out from under hers and encircled them, they were strong and warm, and he stroked a calloused thumb over her knuckles. She gathered her nerve to look into his eyes. If she allowed this moment to continue, he’d kiss her again. “Sleep’s not that important,” he replied, his voice husky.

Trying to lighten the mood, she asked, “Are you kidding? Sleep is the most important thing ever.”

His mouth curved up at the corners. “I don’t know,” he said looking mischievous. “It seems like you might think something else is pretty important too with your new little battery-operated friend.”

The stuff he was willing to say. Rebecca smiled. “Weasel.”

“Yeah,” he responded flashing that bad boy grin that had worked on more than a few women. And if her chest wasn’t on fire, she’d have considered taking him to her bed.

“Get out.”

Smirk still in place, he nodded, then kissed her palm. “Goodnight, Miss Gilbert.” He rose, and she followed him. At the door, he shifted back, reaching for her, running his fingers behind her ear and along her jaw; a zing ran through her body. “You are not a waste of time, and neither is making sure you’re safe.” He planted his lips on the top of her head before he disappeared.

Five

Weasel sat at the counter in the Ellis Diner. He’d come in about a half an hour before closing, and it still bustled with customers finishing their meals. He was able to get his preferred spot on the far end of the counter, facing the door. He saw Dalton enter before he pulled off his sunglasses and spotted Weasel. His brother strolled over and hauled himself into the seat beside Weasel. Dalton Anderson was ten years older, a bit shorter and rounder than him. “So, you’re near the shop and can’t be bothered to check in,” Dalton said.

“Trying to eat before another asshole interrupts my lunch.”

“You could at least answer a text.”

“You don’t text.” His attention shifted to Rebecca pushing into the dining room, carrying a plate toward him. “Here you go,” she announced placing the meal in front of him, noticing Dalton. “You need a menu?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Rebecca returned with a laminated paper. Her eyes darting between them. “You must be Dalton.”

Dalton would have something to say about this.

“I am,” he replied.

“This is Rebecca,” Weasel said.

“Did you order?” Dalton asked gesturing to the plate.

Rebecca answered for him. “He’s in here all the time. I know what he wants.”

“I highly doubt that,” Dalton muttered, studying the menu, but thankfully a waitress arrived whispering something to her. Weasel shot Dalton a warning look.

She turned back to them.

“So, he’s talked about me?” Dalton asked.

Rebecca nodded. “Yeah.”

“Nothing great, I imagine.”

She laughed. “That’s not true.” He set the menu on the counter. “What can I get you?” He ordered, and she disappeared into the kitchen.

“In here all the time, huh,” Dalton said. “I wonder why.”

“Food’s good.” And it was true. The food was excellent, but Dalton wouldn’t buy it. It was a weak argument and blatantly false.

His sibling chuckled. “Yeah, right. And monkeys flew out of my ass this morning. I’d bet money it has more to do with the hot little number in there.”

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