Page 35 of Professional Consult
“And what is this dinner with Tiffany business?”
“We’re about the same size, and she’ll be outgrowing some clothes soon. I’d rather pay an expectant mother for her hand-me-downs than shop at Goodwill.”
I hate that I like that line of thinking. It would be so much better if she were the stuck up socialite I’d pegged her to be.
“I need to do some heavy lifting today.”
My eyes scan to her, admiring the shape of her legs in the black leggings. She’s not rail thin, and the thought of those thighs pressed against my ears has been haunting me the last two nights.
I clear my throat and shake the treacherous thought from my head.
“You wanna bulk up? For the role?”
A tittering chuckle escapes her lips. “No, I mean do actual police work. Fire a gun. Chase down a perp.”
“First, finding Old Lady Kline is police work.”
“Her name is Cindy.”
“Second, I can’t even remember the last time I chased down a perp. I’ve chased some chickens. An angry cow. Heck, I’ve even chased a duck that had found its way into the station.”
“Is that why you stay here?” she teases. “It’s safe and easy.”
I frown, tightening my grip on the steering wheel.
God, I wish I’d left all those years ago. When I still had my youth. Plenty of people start over in their mid-thirties. Why shouldn’t I?
“Yep, that’s why I stay in Pond Spring. Because I’m a pussy.”
For a full ten seconds, it’s completely silent in the vehicle.
“Uh, did I just strike a chord?”
“No.”
“Then why did you get all defensive and use the ‘p’ word?”
“Have you ever thought that maybe it’s not me that’s defensive? That you’re just so used to everyone’s bootlicking that you’ve never had a genuine interaction with anyone?”
“Actually, I think about that a lot.”
Color me shocked.
“Almost everyone I’ve ever talked to has known my name, my face, and most of the movies I’ve been in. It doesn’t exactly lend to authentic interactions—not that I’m trying to play some kind of victim card. I know that I’m blessed. That I’ll never go hungry and never be homeless. I’ll always have a safety net. But…the price is sometimes hard. I’ll never have real friends. I’ll never know love.”
Her confession jars me.
“Never know love? Are you insane? Ninety percent of men with a pulse want to bone you three ways from Sunday. I think you’ve been awarded Most Bangable Bachelorette in gossip rags like three times.”
“You mistake bangable for love, but that’s okay. Most men do.”
I quietly reflect on our words, and how surly I’ve been towards her. She has a privileged life and owns it, but that doesn’t mean that she has everything.
“Look at me, prattling on,” she says dryly. “You’re probably rolling your eyes.”
“No, I’m not.” And because my interest is piqued, I ask, “Is that something missing from your life? Friends and love?”
“I’ve, ah, moved around a lot for my job. I’d get a stretch on a show, it’d last two years, then I’d move for the next gig. Relationships are flash in the pan.” Her voice is tense, ripe with emotion. “But, enough about me. What about you? What’s it like being the Most Bangable Bachelor in Pond Spring?”
