Page 40 of Monk
I laugh softly. “Yeah. She was just working some things out.”
“Let me guess, that’s the girl you ghosted? Sheriff Singer’s girl?”
I nod. “One and the same.”
“No wonder she smacked you. Kinda surprised she didn’t add a kick to the nuts on top of it.”
“Glad she didn’t. Probably would’ve deserved it.”
“Boy, I’ll say.”
I’ve told Cosmo the basics of what happened and why I left town all those years ago. Mostly because I never expected to see her again. The memory of her kiss lingers, and I have to bite back the smile that’s creeping across my face. I know it was a one-time thing and it’s never going to happen again. More than likely, I’ll never see her again. But still, running into her like that has brought back a lot of memories.
“Yeah, well, thankfully she’s not gonna get another chance,” I say.
He scoffs. “She just might.”
“Doubt our paths are ever gonna cross again.”
“Oh, they will, kid. Make no mistake, a woman who doesn’t still have feelings for you ain’t gonna smack you like that. If she really felt nothin’ for you, she probably would’ve ignored you altogether.”
I laugh. “Yeah, she cares for me, so she smacks me. That makes sense.”
“It would if you thought about it. Smackin’ somebody like that comes from a place of emotion. Passion.”
“When did you become a poet?”
He shrugs. “Always been one. Ain’t my fault you never noticed.”
We share a laugh as the club van pulls into the campgrounds and parks close to us. Our newest prospect, Max, climbs out from behind the wheel. He’s a tall kid who’s wide through the shoulders and chest. His hair is blacker than pitch and he’s got cornflower blue eyes. His years in the Corps put a solid layer of lean muscle on his body but some definite scars inside as well. He always seems a little unsettled, his eyes in constant motion as he searches for threats. I can relate to him. That’s how I was when I rotated home at first. Especially in large crowds.
He looks on nervously as he approaches us, wringing his hands together, his eyes shifting this way and that. Max runs his hand through his short, neatly trimmed hair. It’s then that I notice for the first time the two small patches of white in his goatee, one just above his chin, and the other just above his upper lip. I don’t know how I didn’t notice them before since they distinctly stand out against his raven black hair. It reminds me of a domino.
“You look ready to jump out of your skin, Prospect,” I say with a laugh.
He shrugs. “It’s my first time on a run.”
His voice is surprisingly deep and smooth. It reminds me of one of those DJs on the jazz station, and I half expect him to start talking about Miles Davis or John Coltraine.
“Relax, Prospect,” Cosmo says. “This is all run-of-the-mill shit. Nothin’ for you to be all jumpy and twitchy about.”
“Seriously, Max. Nothing to worry about. But have your weapon at the ready—just in case it all goes sideways.”
“Seriously?” he asks.
“We’ve dealt with these guys a million times. Always goes smooth,” Cosmo says.
“Until it doesn’t.”
“You tryin’ to give the Prospect a heart attack?” he asks.
I shrug. “Not necessarily.”
Cosmo laughs. “You’re such an asshole.”
“Sometimes.
Cosmo looks at Max directly. “Go dig one of the ARs out of the van. The boys are gonna want to see the goods.”
