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Her one hand rests on my shoulder, her thumb caressing a sweeping path that I feel through my shirt. The gesture comes off as almost absent-minded, yet it soothes a part of me.
The end of the song transitions with a click before a familiar piano intro sounds. Slight movement in my periphery catches my attention, and I cringe at the sight.
The other couple basically slobbers over each other now, which is a goddamn insult to Journey’s “Faithfully.” It’s a classic in its own right and should be revered as such.
“God, I love this song.” Mac’s husky voice skates over me in a caress that has my cock hardening slightly.
Even worse, I feel like a goddamn creep, because I could easily inhale the scent of whatever shampoo she uses for hours on end. What the hell is my damn problem? I’m suddenly acting like I’ve never been around women before.
I clear my throat, willing my dick to calm the fuck down. “It’s a fuckin’ crime they’re not even listenin’ to it.”
She shifts, glancing over her shoulder at the couple before her amused expression settles on me. Something foreign twists in the center of my chest at the spark of humor in her eyes that’s at odds with her exaggerated frown.
“Oh, Danny.” With a shake of her head, she pats my shoulder. “Who would’ve known you’d be a stickler for the proper Journey listening protocol?”
With a dark scowl, I dip my chin lower, bringing us eye to eye. “Name’s Daniel. Not Danny.” If it were anybody else, they’d be shaking in their boots. But, of course, that doesn’t apply to this woman.
“Ahh. My bad.” A hint of a smirk plays at her lips. Swear to Christ, I can practically see the wheels turning as she thinks of the next opportunity she can to irritate me with that damn nickname.
When her attention drifts to my mouth, her smile dims gradually, as if it’s exhausting all her concentration to study my lips. She might be wondering how I got that scar beneath my bottom lip.
She hurriedly looks away, and it sends off an alarm bell inside me. I’m acting like I’m prepubescent at this rate, and it’s fucking embarrassing. I steel my spine against whatever the hell kind of pull this woman has on me and forge ahead.
“She mentioned your name and this bar for a reason.” Fuck if I can figure out why. This is like a goddamn puzzle I don’t have all the pieces to.
“How did she…” Mac falters before trailing off with a wince.
I force myself to answer while each word acts like a razorblade ruthlessly slicing my throat. “She was murdered.” At her startled, wide eyes, I tack on, “She was beaten and strangled to death.”
Her mouth parts in shocked horror. “Ohmygod. I’m so sorry.”
I clench my jaw against the grief that’s on the brink of flooding me. My sister said to find Mac, and I need to figure out why. “Do you know anybody named Pinney?” I study her features closely for any trace of recognition but find none.
“No.” She shakes her head. “Sorry.”
A part of me wants to lash out, because sorry doesn’t do shit for me. It doesn’t get me any closer to finding the motherfucker who killed my sister. Sorry doesn’t bring her back. But Mac doesn’t deserve my anger.
Why couldn’t you give me more to go on, Emilia? Why, goddammit?
“You said she mentioned me and the Freebird?” A crease forms between her brows. “I just…don’t understand why my name would even come up.”
Mouth downturned, her tone is flippant. “I mean, I’m just a woman who owns a salvage yard.” She lifts a shoulder in a partial shrug. “And, yeah, I know more about cars than most men around here, but still…”
With another little shrug, she averts her gaze, as if embarrassed. “My job is my life. I spend my days disassembling cars and selling off their parts.” A crease forms between her brows. “Which means I don’t really fit in. It’s why I don’t bother putting myself out there to meet new people.”
Indecision flickers across her face while her top teeth sink into her bottom lip. When she absently sweeps her hand over my shoulder as if to smooth out a crease in my shirt, a bulk of the edginess inside me subsides.
Maybe I’m still too fucking raw and even the barest touch would have this effect on me.
The instant that thought strikes, my stomach twists in revolt. It’s like I inherently know this woman just has a way about her. I suppose it makes sense that a person who’s suffered incomprehensible pain would recognize another who’s endured something similar.
Her thumb strokes back and forth, and even though it’s over my shirt, I swear her touch sears my skin through the fabric.
“You never mentioned what kind of job you have.” Her eyes briefly lift to collide with mine before dropping to focus on her thumb’s movement. “I assume it pays pretty well considering how you’re dressed.”
“Mmm, maybe I’m secretly trainin’ to be the next Man in Black.” The teasing remark falls from my mouth before I realize it.
She doesn’t look at me but seems intent on studying my shirt. A smirk toys at her lips. “Try again.”
