Page 37 of Ugly Beautiful Scars

"You're doing that thing with your jaw," Mike comments.

"What thing?"

"Clenching it. Makes you look like you're about to bite through steel."

I consciously relax my face. "Just focusing."

"On the job? Or on our client's dress?"

"The job," I snap, though the fire in my voice gives me away. Once again, I try to ignore his persistent reminders. "So far, nothing seems unusual. Just typical Upper Manhattan. Everyone's looking at everyone else."

Mike lets out a quiet 'hmm.'

Up ahead, Londyn pauses at an intersection to wait for the stoplight to change. The setting sun catches in her hair, turning the dark waves into a halo of warm light. She's so damn distracting I almost miss the guy who lingers too long next to her.

Almost.

My steps quicken. The man is middle-aged, average build, with the haggard look of someone who's spent years grinding away at a desk job. There's something in the way he's looking at Londyn—not admiring, but calculating—that makes me worry he could be a walking red flag. He says something to her that I can't hear.

My pulse kicks up, adrenaline sharp in my veins. Mike senses danger too because he's suddenly alert beside me, his casual demeanor evaporating.

Londyn shakes her head at the man, then steps away to put distance between them. Her body language shifts; her shoulders tighten and she folds in on herself. The stoplight changes, and she crosses quickly to leave the man behind.

He doesn't follow. After a moment, he turns and walks in the opposite direction, phone in hand.

"Just a creep asking for her number," Mike says.

"Yeah." I'm relieved but the tension doesn't leave my body. The casual way he approached her, the entitlement… it sets my teeth on edge. How many times has she dealt with that kind of intrusion? How many men have forced their attention on her when she clearly didn't want it?

And why does all this make me want to punch something?

This is going to be a long night.

I shift back to recon mode, scanning for anything suspicious and beyond the obvious fucking distraction that is Londyn in that dress.

Christ, this isn't like me. When we talked earlier about her date, I sounded like some territorial caveman. Not my usual style atall. I've always been laid-back with women. If they're interested, great. If not, I move on. No drama, no possessiveness, definitely no jealousy.

Londyn has me off-balance. There's a heaviness in my chest I can't explain away as simple attraction.

And why the hell did I feel relieved when she said it was just a first date?

Not my business. Not my concern. Not my place.

Focus on the job.

"Split up here?" Mike asks as we reach the intersection before the restaurant.

"Yeah. You take Broadway, I'll continue on one-hundred-fifty-first. Keep your earpiece on."

Mike taps his ear where the small communication device sits. "Roger that." He peels off down Broadway. His voice comes through clear in my ear a moment later. "So what do you do for fun these days?"

I scoff. "What kind of weird question is that?" I adjust my path to follow Londyn without being obvious.

"Well, haven't talked to you in a few years. You call me up out of nowhere with a job. Just trying to see what's new in life."

"I read books."

"That's not new."

---