Page 58 of Trapped
After last night, I’d expected her to be less angry, but this morning Ashley seemed determined to stay mad, making apologizing a challenge.
“It was easier than making up a different lie.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. Like I said, I was deep undercover and couldn’t tell you the truth.”
Ashley sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. Several emotions—frustration, understanding, sadness—warred for dominance.
Frustration won.
“Then why’d you hook up with me?”
“If I remember correctly, you hit on me.”
My attempt at humor missed the mark. Her expression was definitely anger this time. My instincts screamed at me to retreat.
Before I could apologize, she grumbled, “You didn’t have to flirt back.”
She was right; I didn’t. And I shouldn’t have.
“You’re right, but only an idiot would ignore a gorgeous woman hitting on him.”
“You’re an idiot for making me believe we had something special.”
“I am.” But I couldn’t bring myself to regret it. “We did. Why do you think I asked you out?”
“How should I know? Maybe it was all a game, and you got a thrill standing women up.”
A game? It’d never been a game for me. Even when I picked up random women, I acted with respect.
“Ashley.” I missed the carefree side she’d displayed when she walked up to me, a man lost deep in thought and scowling at his beer, and dropped a cheesy pickup line like she owned the world.
“It wasn’t a game. You have no idea how badly I wanted you.”Still do.“Wanted us.” I’d wanted it since our first kiss, but forced myself to walk away. The second night, my strength failed me.
“You didn’t ask for my number.”
“No, and I couldn’t give you mine.” I admitted, knowing it’d start a new argument.
“Why the hell not? I assume you had two.”
I did, but one was in a locker along with my real ID, credit cards, a stack of cash, and a gun. In case I needed to make a fast getaway. It’d come in handy after I killed the Perpura Brothers.
“Ashley, I understand how difficult this is for you to accept.” I paused as she made a face, giving her time to follow it up with a snarky comment.
She didn’t disappoint. “Don’t patronize me.” She leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. Her body said, I’m pissed. Her eyes said, I’m sad. I addressed the sadness, knowing the windows to her soul displayed the deepest emotion.
“I’m not.” I tried a different tactic. “Are you familiar with Black Op groups?”
“Only what I’ve read in books.”
So, probably nothing real. “What do you know?”
Her stare gave me the impression she wanted to punch me for asking.
“Humor me. Please?”
“They exist in the shadows, sometimes they do bad stuff for the right reasons, and no one is supposed to know about them,” she finally answered.
