Page 93 of The Wrong Side of the Law

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Gabriel

After a shower and a third cup of coffee, I’m almost a new man. I could have done with a bit more sleep, but it would take a bigger idiot than me to complain about that. I have absolutely zero regrets about the way last night worked out.

On a scale of one to ten? I’d call it a solid hundred. At least.

Well, maybe one regret: I’m sorry it’s Friday. If it was Saturday, we could have just stayed home in bed all day.

I’m dressed and ready to leave, but I still have a few minutes before Ihaveto leave, and I wander around the apartment for something to kill time. I make the bed, straightening the pillows and blankets, flattening out the hard-earned wrinkles in the sheets, grinning at the thought of creating entirely an entirely new set of wrinkles again soon.

I wish Emily hadn’t needed to rush off so quickly, but I get it. Karin would certainly notice her showing up at work in the same clothes. She might not get a lot done in terms of work, but she sees everything, and the last thing I need is for the State Attorney to get wind of what Emily and I are up to off the clock.

I spend the last few minutes of my morning out on the balcony. It’s starting to get warm and humid in this part of the world. When was the last time I was just lazy around the house before these past days with Emily? I can’t remember. Two weeks ago, I’d have been at work for a couple hours already by now.

What happened there? I certainly haven’t lost my drive and my focus, but I’ve been spending fewer hours at the office than I used to. Weird thing is, I feel like more work is getting done with those hours than before, and with a lot less stress.

Except for this thing with Frank Wilson. Poor kid, caught up in a game he had no preparation for. He’s playing Go Fish, but he’s in the fifth round of a high-roller poker tournament. Poor me, in a position where I have to prosecute him.

On my way out the door, I put his file in my briefcase, and reflect on the third person in the situation: poor Emily, stuck between the two of us. She loves her brother, and she loves the man who’s charged by the people of the State of Florida with prosecuting him for a crime he didn’t commit.

What a mess for her. For all three of us.

The folder itself is on my mind, too, as I lock the door and take the elevator down to the ground floor. Why the hell didn’t I realize she’d put her purse on top of it? And why the hell did I leave it out in the open in the first place? C’mon, Gabriel, you’re not stupid enough to pull this as some kind of idiotic test. But at the same time, I’m not entirely sure. The subconscious mind does some strange things sometimes.

No. There’s no way. That was not intentional, and you know it.

But if it had been a test, at least she passed. Emily wasn’t lying when she told me she hadn’t looked, once she realized what she was holding. There was no deception in her eyes or voice, and her body language showed nothing but honesty.

It might not have been an intentional test, but in a way I’m glad it happened. I can trust her, and that’s a big load off my mind. It would suck to be in love with someone you couldn’t trust.

Love! A warm glow settles over me as I pull out of the parking lot and onto Beach Avenue wearing a completely stupid grin. What a thing love is.

Memories of last night chase each other through my head while I drive, each sensation and feeling fighting with the others to be the most vivid in the. The nervousness about telling Emily that I loved her for the first time; the hope, then the joy when she said it back. The feel of her lips against mine, her bare body against mine; the smell of her hair, her taste. Perfection.

I’m so wrapped up in reminiscence that I almost miss the stoplight on De Leon Road where I turn left onto Main and have to stomp on the brakes to catch it in time. My car’s not the only thing that screeches to a halt, though.

What if I’m reading too much into things? I have no doubts about my own feelings, but are they clouding my judgment? It’s beyond dispute that sex affects your decision-making process, and I’m a bachelor who’s getting laid on a regular basis for the first time in years.

This morning, with the folder, was I genuinely considering the merits in deciding whether or not I thought she’d read it? Or was I under the influence of those pouty lips, a lava flow of hair over her shoulders, and a tee shirt tight across her breasts and so short that even standing across the room from her I could tell she wasn’t wearing panties.

And she did tell me that her stepmother even tried to push her to seduce me, hoping to influence Frank’s prosecution.

I mull this over until the light changes.

No. Don’t do this to yourself, Gabriel. You’re smarter than this. You can read people better than this. You’ve never been prone to that kind of thing before, and it’s been tried more than once.

On the other hand, there’s a big difference between Emily Wilson and a run-down prostitute trying to avoid the five-year sentence for her third strike. Emily is tough and intelligent, but I don’t think she’s tough—or jaded—enough to sell herself. And she’s too smart for that, too: she knows what the consequences would be. Quit being such a paranoid dumbass.

The warm fuzzies are back in full force by the time I park my car in the garage at work, though, and I stroll through the atrium so wrapped up in new love that nothing else even registers.

“Good morning, Karin,” I say, strolling past her desk on the way to my inner sanctum, barely ten seconds before the work day technically starts. Even thescritch-scritchof that goddamn nail file can’t disturb my good cheer this morning. Not even the way she pointedly ignores me can wreck my day.

There’s no sign of Emily yet. Her desk is undisturbed from the way she left it last night, and I grin to myself. It’s understandable she’d need a long shower this morning: we gotdirtylast night.

God. What a time for love to show up unannounced, uninvited, and unexpected. It’s like getting hit by a freight train when there’s no signs warning you about a railroad crossing, and there’s not even any train tracks so how the hell did it even happen? But what a wonderful freight train it is, too.

So different from Dorothy. We dated while I was in law school and moved in together to save on living expenses at first. Things just coasted until one day the idea of sleeping with her for the rest of my life was less terrifying than the idea of not waking up to see her face every morning. There was never this visceral passion, this gut-wrenching impact, that I feel with Emily.

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