Page 42 of A Matter of Time

He didn’t say a word, just stared down at me.

“You don’t hafta take me home.”

“Clearly I do if I want to make sure you get there in one piece.”

“What are you talking about? I didn’t get hurt.”

“But you would have.”

And perhaps I would have, but I would never admit it.

“Come with me.”

I followed him back out into the crowded club, and we found the table where the rest of his friends were. There were three guys, counting him, and five women. I had no idea what the dynamics were, who was with whom, if they had just met, or if the guys had just attached themselves to the women. I didn’t know, but I definitely didn’t want to intrude.

“Sit,” Detective Kage ordered me after he sat down on the long sectional.

I obediently took a seat beside him. He didn’t introduce me—it would have been impossible anyway, as loud as it was—and when drinks were ordered I got a mineral water. He was hilarious.

Sitting there, I got to do more people-watching, which I always enjoyed. Two of the women at the table tried to get Detective Kage to dance, without success. The woman on the other side of him was more subtle than the others; she leaned close to him to talk, slid her hand over the sleeve of his shirt, touching him to emphasize whatever point she was making. But when he moved to make room for the others coming back from the dance floor, he ended up closer to me, plastered to my side from shoulder to knee.

“You cold?”

I shook my head. I had to quit trembling every time he touched me.

“Then what?”

I had to think of something quick. “Nothing. I was just thinking…doesn’t the way we’re sitting remind you of one of those horrible high school dances?”

He shook his head, slouching in the booth.

We were at eye level when I turned to look at him. “Never a wallflower?” I teased, smiling.

“No.”

I nodded. “Big jock, huh?”

“How’d you guess?”

“Football? Lineman maybe?”

“Left tackle.”

“Whatever that is.” I chuckled, crossing my arms. “You were popular, so you didn’t have to work at it like the rest of us.”

“And how long’ve you been out of high school, Jory?”

I squinted at him. “I’m twenty-two. I told you that.”

He grunted.

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-four.”

“You’re young to be a detective, aren’t you?”

“Not really.”