Killian (Hope City #8) - Kris Michaels Page 0,27

jail by noon. Two hours before I was released from the hospital. Second-degree assault, which is a misdemeanor.”

“Thank God you weren’t injured worse.” He’d have to track down Davis if he hadn’t been arrested. The confrontation wouldn’t go well for the bastard.

“Well, I’ve been given ten days off from the station. My boss wants to make sure there are no bruises visible before I cover the Kennel Club’s annual competition.”

Killian sat forward. “Did you hit your head harder than you let on? I thought you said a Kennel Club story.”

She sighed. “Seems I haven’t been keeping up my end of the ‘community’ reporting. I’m going to go bonkers with the downtime. Maybe I’ll track down some leads on the sale of that property while I’m on forced exodus.”

“How are you going to do that?” Killian glanced out the window and saw the delivery car park illegally in the street. He lifted up and used hand signals to keep Duke where he was. Bekki twisted to see what he was doing. “Oh, my wallet is in my purse.”

“Right, let’s call this my treat. You cooked last time.” He pulled his wallet out, dipped in, and snagged a hundred-dollar bill. Killian shook his head when the teenager reached to make change. “Keep it.”

“Thanks, man.” The young kid smiled wide and spun, practically running to the beat-up clunker of a car he was driving.

Duke rolled off the couch in a controlled stretch. Bekki followed and all three of them ended up in the small kitchen. “Crap. I don’t have anything for Duke.” She put her wine on the counter. “Can we give him the leftovers?”

“No, he has special food, otherwise he gets itchy. He’s eaten twice today, but I’ll give him a bit before we turn in for the night.”

“But he looks hungry.”

“Don’t let him fool you. He’s fine. Duke, buddy, out.” The dog turned and walked back into the living room, jumped up on the couch, and dropped down where he was. “Do you want me to tell him to get down?”

Bekki looked into the living room. “Why?”

Because every woman he’d dated had hated the fact that he let Duke on the furniture. “Just wanted to make sure.”

“He’s fine.” Bekki placed silverware and napkins on the table as he unloaded the paper containers.

“Oh, steamed dumplings.” Bekki peeked into another. “Shrimp fried rice, sweet and sour pork, beef and broccoli, egg rolls, sesame chicken, and egg drop soup. This is a feast.”

Killian chuckled as he poured her another glass of wine and retrieved one of the last beers out of her fridge. “I think we can make a sizable dent in it.”

“I think you’re right. Thank you, by the way. I didn’t want the family to hover, but it’s nice having someone here.”

“I probably should have called.”

“Nah, I would have told you not to come over. I mean, look at me.” She waved at her face.

“You’re more than your looks.” Killian stared at her. She sent a quick glance in his direction and shrugged. “You do know that, right?”

“Caitlyn said something at Ryker’s party. She said I use my looks to coerce people into doing things.” Bekki stabbed the dumpling she’d been mutilating. “I hate to admit it, but I do.”

Killian shoved a load of rice into his mouth to stop the condemnation from spilling out. Women like Bekki worked their… charms… and wrapped men around their fingers. Shannon number one—and the 2.0 version—Dimitri’s ex-wife of ten days, and the woman who broke Elias’ heart were all cut from the same mold as Bekki and Caitlyn. High maintenance at the best, gold diggers at the worst.

Bekki carefully ate a couple dumplings before she took a sip of wine. “The girlfriend that didn’t like the glitter, why did you break up with her?”

“She didn’t like my dog, the way I dressed, what I did for a living. She wanted me to be someone I wasn’t.”

“Well, that is really stupid. You can’t change people. Either you click or you don’t. Like us.”

Killian chuckled. “I’m not sure I know whether or not we click. I think I’d say we thud.”

Bekki laughed and then winced, moving her napkin up to her lip. “Stop making me smile.”

Killian pointed his chopsticks at her. “Sorry about your lip, but my statement stands. You are probably the most confusing—and I’m going to be honest—pushy woman I’ve ever met.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot, but let’s call a spade a spade. You’re not easy to get along with either, Mister Yale.”

“What? I’m