OVER THE NEXT two hours, we spend our time kissing and talking. It feels good to do both. Since Willow and I split, I haven’t spent time doing either with any woman, let alone someone as attractive, smart, and enjoyable to be around as Megan Casewick.
We might have grown up just down the street from one another, but now we live in completely different worlds. She’s an academic, spending her days either standing in front of a classroom or with her nose in a book—and not the bestsellers I like to read. She reads smart scholarly books with long sentences, citations, footnotes, and lots of academic vocabulary. As for me, I spend my days visiting crime scenes, collecting evidence, interviewing witnesses, testifying in court, and stopping bad guys. It’s hard to say at this point if our differences would be good for a relationship.
Or a disaster.
For now, though, it feels good just to begin falling for someone.
Part of me feels like we could continue this way until the sun rises—talking, kissing, getting to know each other—but we both agree we need to get some sleep. She’s teaching in the morning, and I’m due at the Pueblo to meet up with Ava Cruz. I’m not going to change Ava’s opinion of the Texas Rangers if I show up bleary-eyed and asleep on my feet.
I walk Megan to the parking lot, where the air has grown cool. That’s one nice thing about being in the dry climate of far western Texas as opposed to the humid central part of the state—the temperature cools considerably when the sun goes down.
Before parting ways, Megan wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me again, long and sensually. I slide my hands to the small of her back and hold her firmly against my body. I love the way she feels in my arms.
“I better go,” she says finally, and climbs into her truck, an old Dodge Dakota. Before driving away, she rolls down the window and throws an elbow out. “Come back tomorrow night,” she says, then checks her watch and adds, “Or tonight, I guess it is.”
“I will if I can.”
“And bring your guitar,” she says with a grin. “You can sit on the stage and play a few cover songs for my customers.”
After she drives off, I climb into my Ford and start the engine. My headlights illuminate the only other car in the parking lot, and I catch a glimpse of movement behind the window. My truck’s elevated position allows me to see inside. The front seat is leaned back all the way, and a human is lying inside.
I step out of my truck and approach the Nissan Sentra.
Megan’s mentor, Neil Stephenson—Dr. Neil Stephenson—is passed out in the driver’s seat.
He had told us he called an Uber, but apparently he decided to sleep off his drunkenness instead. At least he’s not driving, I think. I watch him for a minute to make sure he’s breathing, then I climb back into my truck and drive off, having had only two beers myself, the last of them finished off a good ninety minutes ago.
As I drive away, it occurs to me that Megan’s mentor might have hidden in his car, jealously waiting to see how long Megan and I stayed behind together. When I first noticed him, I thought I saw movement. Maybe he was spying on us as we kissed in the parking lot. Then pretending to sleep.
I tell myself I’m being paranoid, and I let my thoughts drift back to Megan, the feel of her body pressed against mine.
I’m already looking forward to going back tonight so I can kiss her again.