Left for Wild - Harloe Rae Page 0,6
lack of enthusiasm takes the fun out of this.”
Letting this topic taper off seems like the way to go. Maybe I should be concerned that we haven’t switched to something more exhilarating, like the latest episode of The Bachelor. I avert my gaze, finding a spot in the ceiling beams to focus on. “Sorry to be a downer, but not really. I’d rather find out straight from the source.”
“Oh, that’s a great plan. What’s his name?” Grace winks at me in a very suggestive fashion.
Another wave of heat blasts my face. “Halder.”
Casey whistles. “Unique. I like it. How well do you know him?”
“Not at all. I’ve just seen him in passing. We haven’t talked or anything.”
“So, he isn’t your client?”
Not yet. But I keep that to myself. “Nope.”
Grace snaps her fingers. “That’s lame. Could he be?”
It takes great effort to force my expression to remain neutral. Leaking the truth is somewhat of a talent, willing or not. A soft hike of one shoulder is all they get from me. “There’s always a chance.”
“You should offer up your services. Inmates could always use a social worker to care about them, right?” Casey wags her brows.
I let my jaw drop a few inches. “Are you actually encouraging this?”
She swirls the remaining contents in her glass, ice cubes rattling with each impatient lap. “What’s the harm? You can write each other letters. How sweet would that be?”
“More like unprofessional.” I rub at the pressure building in my temples.
Casey slouches against the wall at her side. “You’re being difficult.”
“No, it’s really not possible. He was released.”
Grace holds up a hand. “Pump the brakes for a hot second. He’s no longer in prison?”
“He just got out this week.”
Casey smacks the table again. “Talk about a game changer. You should totally hook up with him.”
It seems as though this conversation is going in circles. Either that or I’m getting desperate for an exit route. My legs are beginning to twitch just sitting still. “Why are we wasting so much energy discussing a very fictitious situation? Nothing is going to happen between us.”
“How can you say that for sure? Aren’t you willing to try?”
Their level of enthusiasm is reaching record breaking limits. “The last thing he needs is a relationship and the last thing I need is a felon for a boyfriend.”
Grace snorts. “Who said anything about getting serious? That guy needs to bang. Do him a solid favor by volunteering. You’ll be paying it forward or whatever.”
A laugh bubbles out of me at her spin on that concept. “Pretty sure sex is not included in those random acts of kindness. I’m not interested in treating him like a charity case, either. There will be plenty of willing women lining up, I’m sure.”
“Why can’t you be leading the harem?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Do you even know me? And besides, all of this is a bunch of hot air. I refuse to get romantically involved with anyone I work with.”
Casey’s eyes double in size. “But you said he wasn’t your client.”
“Well, he isn’t. Yet. They contacted me this morning to be part of his rehabilitation team. It takes a massive amount of support for convicted felons to successfully rejoin society. I’ll be responsible for helping him get his life on track.” Are there notes of pride in my voice? Quite possibly. The role of a competent and skilled social worker can make all the difference in these situations.
A giggle lifts the apples of Grace’s cheeks. “I can offer a few suggestions for you.”
“For real? I can’t even handle you two tonight.” Not sure why I entertained this conversation for so long to begin with.
They exchange a high-five. “We’re mostly messing around, Blake. What else are three single ladies expected to gossip about?”
I huff and send them a stare that’s meant to appear bored. “Men who are actually available to date?”
Casey chokes on a cough. “Snooze alert.”
“Pass,” Grace adds on.
“Whatever.” I drain the rest of my margarita and begin searching for the server. Another round is mandatory based on the first hour we’ve been together.
Grace reaches for my hand. “Tell me one thing before we drop the Halder subject.”
“Okay, fine.”
“Is he good looking?”
“Unbelievably so.” I blame the liquor for loosening my tongue.
My friends wear a matching pair of blinding smiles. “You’re totally going to bang him.”
Survival tip #4: The concept of safety cannot be defined by the masses.
I stride across the living room, a loose floorboard squeaking beneath my bare feet. These sounds have become somewhat of a soothing