Page 38 of Help Me Remember

I wasn’t surprised when it took him a moment to respond with more than just rigid shock at the sudden gesture, but I was relieved when I felt him relax. His hand came up and wrapped around my wrist, giving a squeeze before we slowly separated.

“What was that for?” he asked softly.

“That was me making it up as I went,” I said, smiling when he laughed. It was a shaky laugh, but I could see the tension bleeding out of him.

“Fine,” he said with another chuckle. “But don’t think you’re out of the doghouse just yet.”

I smiled wryly. “Yeah, this is kind of my fault after all. I don’t expect to be out of trouble just yet.”

“Well, that, and,” He slapped my chest, “you threw me, you dick!”

I laughed. “Needed to get you up and over faster.”

He rolled his eyes. “At least give me some warning next time.”

“If I did that every time I was going to do something, I wouldn’t have been able to sneak in that kiss,” I told him with a shrug. Maybe the timing had been a little weird, but I didn’t regret it. There was a warm, liquid feeling in my stomach that wouldn’t be denied after kissing him. And since it clearly wasn’t unwanted on his part, I wasn’t going to regret it.

“Fine, you win this round…for now,” he told me, and I felt my chest tighten at the almost shy glance he gave me. Before he could add anything else, his phone dinged, and he glanced down. “Alright, our ride is just down the street. Let’s go see if the cops are going to be of any use to us.”

“Sure,” I said, not thinking about anything other than that kiss.

It wouldn’t be too long before I regretted not being more wary.

CHAPTER SEVEN

I leaned back in the hard chair and stared up at the ceiling of the police station lobby. Taking in the almost aggressive smell of coffee that hung around the place, I wondered if it had somehow managed to stain the ceiling.

I closed my eyes and let the sounds of the station wash over me. For the most part, it was quiet in the lobby. I could hear several footsteps and the low murmur of conversation. Occasionally someone let out a bark of laughter, or their voices rose above the low hum, but I didn’t mind. I really wouldn’t have thought the ambiance of a police station would be soothing, but there I was, almost ready to doze off in the peace and quiet.

“You are not listening to me,” Eric snarled from the front desk, only a few yards away.

Well, it was almost peaceful anyway.

“Sir,” the officer at the front desk said in a voice that spoke of how often he’d probably been chewed out by people and just how exasperated he was with that reality, “you have to understand, the nature of your complaint is…not making a lot of sense.”

“I don’t know how I can make this any clearer to you,” Eric said, leaning forward to glare even harder at the man. Unsurprisingly, the officer did not look intimidated or worried in the slightest.

If Eric had thought getting to the station in one piece would solve our problems, he had learned over the past twenty minutes that it wasn’t happening. Even I had thought we might be in luck when we showed up, and there was no one else in the lobby. Yet all it had taken was Eric to take over talking and seeing the officer’s expression as he listened for me to realize we weren’t in the clear just yet.

Had it been up to me, I would have left out some details about the past week, including the fact that my memory was shot. Eric, however, decided to include that bit of information early on in our tale, and I noticed the surprise and doubt take root on the officer’s face. At that point, I plopped myself down in a chair and let Eric take the fallout. I had only known him a week, but I knew trying to dissuade him from anything, especially when riled up, was asking for him to turn his temper on me.

So I sat there and let the officer deal with the wildcat with a heart of gold.

A female officer appeared, her thin brow arching in what I took to be confusion and amusement. “Jim, what’s going on up here?”

Eric turned to her in exasperation. “Please tell me you have more functioning brain cells than this future AA member.”

I let out a choking sound and stared at him. “Eric?”

Eric waved at the man behind the desk. “I can smell the whiskey on his breath. All the breath mints in the world can’t cover up cheap Wild Turkey.”

“That’s…specific,” I muttered, wondering if there was a story behind it.

The officer behind the desk, Jim, went from irritated to nervous at the specific name of the alcohol. I wasn’t sure if Eric could actually smell that particular whiskey, but the guess had either been spot-on or too close.

The female officer looked between us, and her complete lack of reaction to Eric meant she didn’t care or already knew about Jim’s on-the-clock drinking habits.

“We’ve got a free moment,” she told Jim, cocking her head.

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