Page 6 of Fast Currents
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “A gummy and two hours in front of the TV.”
“How about dinner and a beer at the brewery instead? They’re still open.”
“Deal.”
Lucy waved me down from a table as I entered the brewery. The chaos was at a minimum on a Wednesday night.
“I was hungry, so I ordered for you,” she said.
“Thanks. What am I having?” I half-expected her to say crow.
I should have stayed for her classes. Hiding in my office wasn’t part of our deal. But I needed time to adjust to the realization that she’d given me an unhealthy penchant for electric fences. Gaining her trust without taking a few thousand volts would be a challenge.
She rolled her eyes. “A burger, medium well, hold the onions, with ranch for your fries.”
A flicker of hope licked through me. I clutched a hand over my chest, giving her my most charming grin. “Awww, you’ve been paying attention. Thank you.”
“Don’t get too excited, Robertson. It’s easy when you order the same thing every time. Don’t you ever get tired of burgers?”
“Nope.” I leaned closer, enjoying the way her dark eyes widened slightly as I entered her space. “I’m competent enough in the kitchen, but every time I make burgers, my patties shrink.”
The corner of her mouth twisted, amusement lighting her up. “It’s not every man who’ll admit his meat shrinks.”
“What can I say? Meat doesn’t make the meal. My other dishes are mouthwatering.”
“Yeah? What are you known for?” The dare in her eyes made me grin. Did she realize she was flirting with me? She held up a hand. “And if you say spotted dick, I’m cancelling your order.” She pointed toward the counter. “And banishing you to the bar.”
Chuckling, I relaxed against the back of my chair. Twiddling a coaster between my fingers gave me time to think. “Well, I make a pretty mean Better than Sex cake.”
“I’ve always felt conflicted about those recipes. On one hand, I love cake. But on the other, if it’s better than sex, are you doing it right?”
“Okay, maybe not my best example. I also do a really great dirty rice recipe.”
“Ooh.Nowyou have my attention.”
Distracted by the way her pink lips parted on the ooh, it took me a moment to respond. “Mission accomplished.Dear Diary: today Lucifer said something nice to me.”
She snorted, shaking her head. “Knock it off, Robertson. You do not keep a diary.”
“I most certainly do.”
“Why? And if you say it’s all about me, you’re getting a face full of beer.”
Telling her the truth might jeopardize our playful partnership. Talking about death was a real buzzkill. But she needed to know I wasn’t always joking.
“My therapist recommended it.”
She blinked. “You’re talking to a therapist because I tease you?”
I chuckled. “Relax, Lucifer. You’re notthatbad. I’ve been seeing a therapist and journaling since long before I met you.”
“Well, shit. I can’t mock you if it’s therapy. I’m a bitch, not a total jackass.”
“You’re neither.”
“Right. I bet if your journal ever became state’s evidence, it would prove you’re a liar.”
“Ouch, Lucifer. You think I don’t tell you the truth?”
