Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 47187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
“Well, detective,” I say, a playful glint in my eye, “I may not be Gil Grissom, but I hope I can make real-life company look good too. Really good.”
She laughs, the sound warms something inside me. “You’re doing all right so far, Damien. But don’t let it go to your head.”
I feign innocence. “This head?” I say, pointing at myself.
“Yes.” She giggles. “That head. So, where did you come from? Are you an L.A. native?”
“Sure am. You?”
“Same,” she nods, taking another sip. “My parents died when I was young, too, so it’s just me now. Well, and Jay, who’s practically family.”
I consider telling her about Olivia but decide against it. Not yet. “I’m sorry about your parents. That must have been hard.”
She nods. “Dad was killed trying to take down a criminal organization.” Frankie looks away, telling me her story as though talking to herself. “Mom couldn’t handle the grief. She never got over it.” She finishes her wine. “So…she…uhm…committed suicide.”
“I am so sorry, Francesca,” My grief for Francesca is overshadowed by the fact that she’s giving me parts of herself she keeps hidden. She’s trusting me, which plays into my hands. “Is that why you became a cop? Your father?”
She smiles, holding out her glass for a refill. “No. It was Jay. The way he came in that night like a charging bull was better than anything I’d ever seen. I wanted to feel that strong and powerful.”
Interesting. “And do you?”
She nods. “Most days, sure. The job is tough, and the good guys don’t always win.”
They won’t win in my case either, but that’s an issue for later. “But it feels good when you get the bad guy, right?”
Frankie shrugs. “Good? It feels good to get them off the street, but it feels great telling the victims’ families that the guy who tore their life apart can’t hurt anyone else.” She smiles wide enough to convince me of her sincerity. “That makes me feel as if I’m making an actual difference instead of just taking out the trash.”
She licks her lips, making me long to stick my tongue in her mouth, but I ignore my rising erection. “My father used to say the world needs garbage collectors. They keep everything smelling like roses.” I can’t believe that memory surfaces right at this moment.
“Been a while since you’ve thought about your folks?” she asks nodding, a sympathetic smile on her face.
“Yeah,” I admit, letting out a shaky sigh. “A long while.”
The mood lightens with Frankie’s laughter while I add the half-cooked chicken to the pot. “Now I get why you’re single. We’re terrible at this.”
I turn with a grin. “Terrible at what?”
“Fun and flirty date banter, obviously.” Her amusement is at odds with her words. “Favorite color?”
“Red. You?”
With her finger on her chin, she bats her eyes flirtatiously before saying, “Purple. Favorite food?”
I don’t have a favorite, but that’s not a normal get-to-know-you answer. “Uh…Italian.”
“Favorite band?” She grins, playing along.
“Don’t have one.”
She rolls her eyes with fake exasperation. “Hey, you have to pick at least one.”
“Okay, I’ll bite. Uhm, Queen.”
“Freddie Mercury? Really? Me, too. I loved listening to them when I was a kid.”
That brings back a memory I don’t care to discuss. “When I was a teenager, I was really into rock music and that was the last time I was passionate about music, so Queen it is.”
Her brown eyes widen in surprise and then a shocked laughter burst from her. “You were totally one of those grunge-y rock boys, weren’t you?”
“I plead the fifth.”
Her laughter gets louder at my response and it’s such a welcome sound that I don’t care it’s at my expense. “I’ll bet you were adorable. Was black eyeliner involved?” Her eyes go wider as her excitement grows. “Please tell me black eyeliner was involved!”
This is a stark contrast to the Frankie who’s been tired and moping around her house for the past week. It’s nice to know that she feels my absence as greatly as I feel hers. “There may have been eyeliner involved for a brief period, but that’s all you get.”
“Thanks. I can picture it clearly,” she says, closing her eyes with a sweet smile. “Please tell me that’s done because I can’t take the aroma of that chicken anymore!”
I lift the lid to poke a thigh and declare, “It’s done.” We work together for the next few minutes to get dinner on the table. It feels domestic, as if this isn’t the first time we’ve done this.
She views the romantic setting, and her eyes widen. “Wow, this is impressive, Damien.”
“Right?” I pull her chair out, and her smile grows brighter. “I’m kind of an impressive guy.”
“Modest, too,” she adds with a laugh.
“Modesty is overrated. If I ask you about your detective skills, I’d hope you’d say you’re good, possibly one of the best. Because it’s true.” The smile she gives me is playful, and I know my words are getting me closer to where I need to be with this woman.