Page 33 of R Is For Revenge: Part One
“Not yet. But I’d like to.”
“You’re my boss.”
I nod. Liking the curve of her lips more than I should. I figure it’s natural though. Me being a man and she being one hell of a looker. Doesn’t mean anything. Not in the long run anyway. I don’t get attached. Ever.
She pops another fry in her mouth, slower this time. Chewing thoughtfully. Then she sighs, fingers brushing the corner of the folder like she might finally open it.
She doesn’t.
And I don’t push.
By the time the second plate of fries is down to the last few, the tension between us has mostly dissolved. At least enough to let conversation stretch between bites.
“Okay,” Jules says, dragging the last fry through a pool of ranch. “I’m gonna take a wild guess and say you’re a sports guy.”
I raise an eyebrow, sit back and put my hands behind my head. “That a problem?”
“No. Just predictable.” She grins. “Football, right? You’ve got ex-linebacker energy.”
“Running back,” I correct, and the surprise flashes in her eyes.
“Really?”
“Played two years in college. Before life took a hard left.”
“Huh.” She leans back in the booth. “Didn’t see that coming.”
“You make a habit of sizing people up?”
“Only the ones who own the building I work in and keep staring at me like they’re trying to figure out how I’m wired.”
I don’t deny it. She’s right.
“You follow football?” I ask, watching her over the rim of my cup.
“My brother used to be obsessed. So by default, I know more than I should. Fantasy leagues. Draft picks. Way too much Tom Brady trivia.”
I snort. “Tom Brady’s a classic.”
“Tom Brady’s a meme,” she shoots back.
That makes me laugh—low, surprised. The sound draws her eyes to mine, and for a moment, the world outside this booth doesn’t exist.
“What about you?” I ask. “You into pop culture? Trash TV? True crime podcasts?”
She shrugs. “I read a lot. Watch old movies when I can. I’m a sucker for anything with good lighting and a tragic ending.”
I tilt my head. “You like books?”
“I majored in art history. It came with the territory.”
“Any favorites?”
She doesn’t answer right away, just gives me a careful once-over. “You’re trying to impress me now.”
“I don’t have to try.”
That earns me another one of those faint smiles. It would be easy to get addicted to them, if she wasn’t a Horner.
