Page 12 of Illicit

My feet drop to the floor to stand. “Who are you calling?”

He doesn’t look away from his phone. “Don’t worry. I’m not calling Tim. At least not until you tell me what’s going on with your buddy, Jules. I’m ordering dinner.”

Even though stuffing my swollen feet back into my shoes is the last thing I want to do—and there’s the fact I’m starving—I can’t stay.

I grab my sandals and hoist my backpack over my shoulder. I never go anywhere without my laptop. I thought at this point I’d be amassing lengthy notes from everything I got Jules Robichaux to tell me about Heath Hayes.

But instead, Rocco scared off the one person who knows where the elderly man really is.

“Take me back to my car. Since I didn’t get the information I needed from Robichaux, I have to regroup.”

Rocco taps his screen a few more times before leveling his moody, whiskey eyes on me. “I’ll give you two choices.”

I shake my head. “Sorry, but no. We need to go back to ignoring each other for the rest of time. I much preferred that to whatever this is.”

Like the invasive jerk he is, he ignores me. “One, I’ll take you back to your car.”

“Great. I pick that one. Let’s go.”

“Then I’ll call your dad and tell him the whole thing. Have fun dealing with the aftermath.”

My expression falls. He knows how not fun that would be.

“Two,” he goes on. “You can stay here tonight, eat the kung pao chicken I just ordered you, and tell me what you’re up to and everything you know about Robichaux.”

I offer him the palm of my hand. “I’m a grown-ass woman. I don’t need your choices or your ultimatums. If I have to call an Uber, I will.”

Rocco says nothing, but he moves to yank my backpack down my arm.

“Hey! What are you doing?” I call, but he doesn’t listen.

He stalks around me and disappears into a short hall behind the kitchen. When I round the corner, Rocco is stuffing my bag on the top shelf of his closet. I’d need a step stool to reach it.

“Give that back,” I demand.

He turns and has the nerve to smile.

It takes my breath away.

It’s been a long time since I’ve seen that expression on his face.

Too long.

I love it. It reminds me of simpler times. When I was young and…

We were friends.

A pang hits my chest, and something inside me dies just a little bit more. But it has nothing to do with alcohol or obsessions.

Twenty-two months, one week, and three days.

I’m so lame, but I miss that smile.

Hell, I just miss him.

“Please don’t do this,” I whisper.

“What? Save you from yourself?” His words are not a whisper. “You can avoid me for the rest of your life and hate me forever, but I’ll never not do that.”

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