Page 50 of The Best Shot

That was when I realized Annie had not come here for Hale. Hale was a bonus objective. Annie had come for the movie.

“He just leaned over and said something to her,” Tabby murmured.

“Mm,” I said.

“She laughed.”

“Okay.”

“Not a huge laugh. More of a⁠—”

“Tabby,” Annie said, without turning her head. Her voice was pleasant but very firm. “There’s a movie happening.”

On screen, two people were in a shed. It looked important. I couldn’t tell you what they were saying because apparently not looking at Hale required my full concentration.

Tabby waited. The scene ended. She resumed.

“Okay, so she just touched his arm.”

“Great,” I said.

“Casual. But intentional. You know the difference.”

I did know the difference.

I said nothing.

“Her body language is very⁠—”

“Tabby,” Annie said again.

Tabby subsided. Took a sip of her drink. Likely waiting for her next opening.

I stared at the screen and caught maybe forty-five seconds of what was probably a decent movie, judging by Annie’s rapt attention alone.

And then, because I was apparently committed to making things harder for myself, I finally looked.

Hale was watching the movie.

That was it. That was all he was doing, sitting two rows ahead in the low flicker of the screen with his hands loose on the armrests, face giving nothing away. The same thing everyone else in that building was doing.

The thing I couldn’t seem to do.

Then his date shifted and leaned in a little closer.

I turned back to the screen.

It wasn’t my business.

We’d hooked up. Twice. We had not discussed it, defined it, or turned it into anything with a label. I had no right to sit there counting the inches between him and a woman he had actually brought on a date.

I picked up my drink and drank too fast.

On screen, something happened that made Annie suck in a sharp breath.

Tabby stayed quiet for once.

That was worse.