Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
“I am, and you love it.”
“I do, and you’ll get all of that, but I was thinking of ice cream right now.”
“That works too.”
He tossed the napkin and some bills on the table in a rush, held out his hand, and eagerly walked with me to the nearest ice cream stand.
Holding hands the entire way. Squeezing my fingers. Running the pad of his thumb absently over the top of my hand.
Kissing was good, and sex was fantastic. But holding hands?
That was magical. And it brought a return of those damn butterflies and all the future possibilities.
They were dangerous things, those butterflies. Scarier than jewel thieves.
42
THE ART OF MISDIRECTION
Jake
The mint chip was delicious. The company was even better. The taste of mint and sweetness on her lips as I kissed her while we walked along the street, music playing from bars, the island breeze floating by, was the best.
Spotting the sign for The Pink Pelican flickering neon in the night, I nodded to the bar where we’d met. “Quick game of darts before we call it a night?”
“You’re a glutton for punishment,” she said, then fixed on her best game face. “Get ready to be destroyed, Hawkins.”
“You’re on.”
Maris worked the bar, just like she had the night we met, but we didn’t interrupt her as she scurried from one end to the other, tending to customers. Ruby and I held our rematch, but this time I won.
I raised my arms in victory while Ruby exaggerated a frown. “No fair. Another round?”
“Not until you admit I beat the dart shark fair and square,” I said.
She scowled. “Never. I will never admit defeat.”
I grabbed her waist and slammed her close. Her breath caught. I nipped her earlobe. “Admit it,” I growled. “Admit I am masterful at darts. Then, and only then, will I accept your rematch offer.”
She shook her head and made a move toward the dart in my hand like she was trying to subtly snatch it away. I clamped it tight in my fingers and raised an eyebrow. “You trying to pickpocket me?”
“If pickpocketing from your hand counts, then yes. I was.”
“If that’s the case, you need a lesson in technique, woman. You’re too obvious.”
“Oh, of course, you would know how to pick pockets too?” She narrowed her eyes skeptically as she grabbed her iced tea from the nearby counter and took a drink.
I laughed and admitted, “I do. I don’t do it often, but it’s a useful skill.”
She put down the glass, resettled her purse on her shoulder, and demanded, “Teach me.”
“Can’t really teach you everything in one night, but it’s all about the art of misdirection.” I led her back to the dartboard, and grabbing a dart from the green felt, I raised it and took aim at the bull’s-eye. Her gaze followed the dart. “The trick is to get the person to look at one thing while you’re busy with another.”
“Got it,” she said. She stared at the dartboard for one second…two seconds…three…until she realized nothing else was going to happen there. She snapped her focus back to me, and I brandished her wallet.
Laughing, she snatched it back. “Did you have to use my purse as a demo?” she asked, faux outraged.
“I sure did. But that was the point. To show you how it’s done.”
“Okay,” she said with a bring-it-on wiggle of her fingers. “Let me try.”
I taught her a few basic distraction tricks, and she practiced on me, dipping her fingers into my pockets and trying to lift my watch. She was no pro, and I was aware of her moves every time. But her technique improved with the brief lesson.
The repeated gliding of her hand into my pocket, though, pulled my focus away from teaching and on to the next phase of tonight.
“That’s all for today’s lesson,” I said. “Need to get you alone now.”
Her eyes told me she wanted that too.
As we headed for the door, I paused to acknowledge Maris, who’d been busy all evening pulling the tap and pouring drinks. I caught her eye and gave her a farewell tilt of the head, but she beckoned us over.
“Hey, you found your sexy fisherman,” she said to Ruby, flicking her long braid off her shoulder so it hung down her back. She turned to me next. “And you found my favorite mermaid.”
“We did find each other,” Ruby said in a sweet voice that nailed me right in the heart.
We found each other.
Those words pulsed with double meaning.
The way my heart skipped at the sound of them almost distracted me from a nagging realization, poking me with an obvious oversight. It was a cliché, but bartenders noticed things. At least, Maris did, and had shown as much the day I first came into The Pink Pelican. And the bar was only a few shops away from Willow’s gallery.