Page 100 of Major Love

He folds his arms over his broad chest and tells me, “Jason’s not here.”

I think that it’s more of a statement than an offer. Like he thinks that Jason is who I’m looking for, rather than suggesting that we use his absence as an opportunity.

Curiosity flickers in his eyes as he adds, “And, by the way, your man just got in touch. Said that he’s looking for you.”

I can’t help the way that my heart squeezes with relief – relief that Jason has finished his search-and-rescue mission and is clearly okay. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not still angry with him for leaving me without a word of warning about what he was going to do this morning.

Where he was going to be.

The kind of danger that he would obviously be putting himself in.

“He’s not my man,” I say back to him. “So he doesn’t need to be looking for me.”

Although it is a little gratifying to know that Jason’s first port-of-call after his shift was to head back to his place and check in on me.

I can’t help but wonder how he felt when he realised that I’d packed up and gone.

Beckett swipes his tongue over his lower lip, flicking a glance toward the guys in the room before swinging it back to me.

“Look, Nashville,” he rumbles. “I like my balls attached to my body. If you’ve got shit going on with the boss, I’m not the best rebound for getting back at him.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” comes the husky voice of a woman who I hadn’t noticed when I tornadoed in here, making my head whip around, eyes wide as I take her in.

Blonde hair, unbelievable curves, and she flashes me a little wink as she makes her way to the entrance of the bar.

I stare after her with a combination of intrigue and horror before turning my attention back to Beckett.

“Let me guess,” I say, exasperated. “That’s Halle.”

“Halle? No. That’s Denver,” Beckett says casually.

My eyes flash up to his, my cheeks heating with indignation.

“There’smore?” I rasp. “Great. Absolutely great.”

Beckett snickers as he looks me over, shaking his head as he clicks his lighter.

“You don’t need to worry about them,” he drawls, his eyes on a steady ride back up my body. “Trust me.”

“Oh sure, I definitely won’t worry about a five-foot-eleven blonde goddess,” I deadpan, ripping open my jacket because my anger is burning me up from the inside. I wait about half a second, and then snap, “Why don’t I need to worry about them?”

“Ever heard the phrase ‘don’t piss where you eat’?”

I stare up at him blankly, which makes him smirk even harder.

“Your man Jace abides by it,” Beckett says simply. “It means he doesn’t fuck around in the small town that he lives in. You can’t bang a chick on Saturday night without running into her on Sunday morning, so guys around here only hook-up on home turf if they’re planning on being in it for the long-haul.”

I watch Beckett for a couple moments, gauging from his expression to see if he’s actually being serious.

Then I’m breathing out a laugh because I can’t believe that he just said that.

“Wow,” I say wryly. “I’m sure that women everywhere adore that analogy.”

“Nashville, that’s the PG version. I made it family-friendly just for you.”

“If that’s the family-friendly version then I absolutely do not want to know what the other version is,” I tell him.

His smirk widens. “Your loss.”

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