Wyatt Cocker (Cocker Brothers Book 23), стр. 37
“Because I grew up in them, I always notice how a restaurant is run. In my DNA.” I take a swig and ask our approaching bartender, “Excuse me, can we get some fries?”
She looks from me to Diana like she wishes they could switch places. This stuff isn’t lost on me. I’m a cop. We watch people. Things don’t slide by.
Like how Diana is biting her lip again, staring at the blended drink with something on her mind. I’m not missing that. It’s been happening all night. One minute we’re having fun and the next, she’s in her own world worrying about something. Enough is enough.
After a beat, I smirk, “Okay, out with it.”
She glances up, unaware she’d drifted away from me. “What?”
“You keep doing that. I’ve been waiting for you to come clean about what’s bugging you, but since you won’t, I’m going to make you.” Leaning in, I kiss her. She’s hesitant, then yields to me. I bite her tongue and give it a lick before murmuring against breathless lips, “What’s on your mind, Victim?”
She laughs and pushes me away. “Please don’t make that my nickname.”
“Alright, Beautiful, what’s got you distracted?”
“That’s better,” she smiles, but her eyes darken a second later before she drops the bomb, “Wyatt, I have to tell you something.”
I lean back on my barstool, wood pressing against the middle of my spine. Taking a swig to prepare myself, I nod and say, “Don’t like the sound of this, but okay, go.”
“I work at Silver Linings…” She trails off, searching my face to know if I understand what that means.
It takes me a second, because the name of my great-grandmother’s Senior Living Facility is the last thing I expected her to say. “Wait…you know Grams?”
“Is that what you all call her?” Diana frowns, worried about what I’m thinking. “I just know her as May. She won’t let me call her Mrs. Cocker anymore even though sometimes I still do.”
“She wouldn’t. Grams isn’t formal when she likes somebody.” Dropping my gaze to the nearly empty bottle in my right hand, I tip it back and down the last, taking my moment to analyze her news. “I still can’t find the big deal in this,” I shrug, setting the bottle mid-counter for retrieval. Balling up a napkin, damp with condensation, I hold it in my hand and squeeze. “Yeah, still don’t know why I should care about that.”
Diana smiles, “I should’ve told you.”
“We just met. I’m learning things about you. Bit by bit.”
“Yes, but when I was riding in the patrol car, I knew who you were because of the fan group…and knew that May was your great…” She pauses and corrects herself, “That she was your Grams.”
The recollection hits me. “Oh! That’s the look you gave me. I saw that recognition when we first met. Anyway, who cares?” She sips from her drink, unconvinced it’s not a big deal. “Jeezus, for a second there I thought you and Eddie were getting back together.”
She bursts out laughing, and starts to cough because the margarita went up her nose. I reach over for a fresh cocktail napkin, and pass it to her waving hand as she covers her face with the other. She blows, turning so I can’t watch, but I’m watching anyway.
Frankly, that she got this worked up over such a small thing indicates she won’t stomach big ones. This much guilt is a sign that it’s not her normal operating tactic. An anomaly.
“You all clean? No more booze boogers?”
Rolling her eyes, she balls up the napkin. Now we both have one. “I am not getting back with Eddie. Ever.”
“Good.”
Our bartender pauses to ask, “Need another Sweetwater?”
“Yeah, thanks. Diana, you have enough margarita or did you snort it all?” I grin as she busts up. “Just the beer.”
“Fries are coming up.”
“Great.” Now that we’re alone again — crowded and loud bar notwithstanding — I focus on my unusual date. “How’s Grams? I need to visit her.”
The guilt vanishes, replaced by a severe, “I can’t believe you never have.”
“Not true.”
“Not while I was there!”
“True.” I lean to give her a kiss. “But that doesn’t mean I haven’t been there.”
We’re an inch away, and Diana’s eyelids are growing heavier. I feel the chemistry, too. Been feeling it ever since she climbed in our back seat, soaked to the bone and lifting ducklings onto her lap while she gave my partner a hard time.
It’s like there’s nobody else here, loud conversations don’t matter. I know it’s the same for her. That’s why I was surprised she might confess something about her ex.
You hear the we-have-to-talk or I-have-to-tell-something announcement and it’s always about someone else. I’m pleasantly surprised it was just this.
“I was there just under, oh, hmm, two months ago, Diana.” Kissing her, I add, “Should go more often, sure, but I was there.”
“I don’t believe you,” she teases, giving my tongue a little lick, our mouths molding each other for a hot second before she demands with a smile in her pretty eyes, “Give me a day and time.”
“Must have been a Thursday.”
She laughs, kissing me gently. Just a soft peck. I stare at her, put my forehead to hers. Sensual fingers slide up the back of my neck, caressing my skin and slipping into my hair. Goosebumps fly up and I close my eyes, enjoying it.
Until a thump marks the arrival of French Fries, food runner hurrying off to handle the crowd’s demands.
Diana smiles, “I think he did that to separate us.”
“The loud thwack? Ya think?” I reach for a fry and feed it to her.
She frowns, “Not enough salt.”
“Picky picky.”
“I have high standards.”
Chuckling at her bringing that back up, I lock eyes with our bartender and mime what we need. She nods and reaches under the bar to a shelf we can’t see, then grabs my fresh bottle, uncapping and walking it over to us with two silver shakers, and more than enough shake to her walk.
Diana quietly notes, “She likes you.”
“I know.” We