Page 27 of Dirty As Puck
“You look terrible,” he says, pushing past me into the apartment.
“Thanks for the information.”
Tommy settles onto my couch and studies my face with the kind of attention that comes from growing up together in foster care. He knows all my tells, all my defense mechanisms, all the ways I try to hide when something’s eating at me.
“When did you last sleep?”
“I sleep fine.”
“That’s not what I asked.” Tommy takes a sip of his coffee and continues his assessment. “You’ve got that look you used to get when we were kids, and you were trying to solve problems you couldn’t control.”
Problems I can’t control. That’s one way to describe Rochelle Winters.
“I don’t have any problems.”
“Right. That explains why when I talked to Jake––”
I’m going to kill Jake. Slowly.
“Jake exaggerates everything.”
“Well, according to him, you’ve been alternating between homicidal rage and distracted brooding for two weeks straight.” Tommy leans forward, expression serious. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
The direct approach catches me off guard. Tommy’s never been subtle, but he usually builds up to the serious conversations instead of jumping straight into intervention mode.
“Nothing’s going on.”
“Is it the reporter?”
How does he know? Fucking Jake.
Tommy sees the answer on my face before I can hide it. “Ah. The beautiful journalist who’s been shadowing the team. Jake mentioned she’s been asking a lot of personal questions.”
“She’s doing her job.”
“And you’re attracted to her.”
It’s not a question, and there’s no point denying what Tommy can already see. “It doesn’t matter.”
“I can’t remember the last time a woman got under your skin.”
Never. No one’s ever gotten under my skin like this.
“She’s here to expose my life for public consumption. End of discussion.”
Tommy studies me for a long moment, then nods like he’s reached some internal conclusion. “You’re scared.”
“I’m not scared of anything.”
“You’re scared of trusting someone who might actually understand you.”
Understanding.The word hits too close to home, because that’s exactly what Rochelle seems to be doing, trying to understand me instead of just judging me.
“She doesn’t understand anything. She’s building a story.”
“Maybe. Or maybe she’s trying to figure out who you really are behind all the walls you’ve built.”
Walls I’ve built for good reasons.
