"I do what I am here to do. Nothing more, nothing less."
Which no doubt was a direct result of what I'd said. Or rather, what I hadn't said—that I wanted him. Though why he wanted it voiced when our chi connection gave him all manner of insight into my thoughts and emotions, I had no idea. But I could hardly complain about his retreat when it was a result of my own. "Then I'll see you at Chrome."
"You won't see me," he countered. "But I will be there."
And with that he disappeared again. I grimaced and grabbed my purse, slinging it over my shoulder as I headed down to the lobby to catch a cab.
I arrived at Chrome a couple of minutes past seven. The place was packed even though it was Wednesday, the music pumping and the air rich with the warm scent of alcohol and humanity. I squeezed my way toward the long chrome bar that ran the length of the rough brick wall to the left of the door and found Jak perched on one of the red-cushioned stools down the far end.
He turned as I approached, but his quick smile of greeting faded abruptly. "You look like shit," he said, catching my hand to steady me as I perched on the stool next to him. "Are you okay?"
"It's nothing a gallon of beer won't fix." I ignored the reminiscent side of me that wanted to enjoy his touch and gently pulled my fingers from his.
"Already done," he said, sliding a tankard my way. "What happened?"
"Fell off my bike." I shrugged and took a drink.
He watched me, eyes slightly narrowed, obviously suspecting there was more to the story than what I was saying. "And the Ducati?"
"Alive but dented. What did you want to see me about?"
His wry smile made my insides twist. God, how I just wished that part of me would get over it. But that, it seemed, was not to be.
"Straight down to business, huh?"
"It's the only reason I'm here, Jak."
He snorted softly. "Well, I'm afraid there's more bad news than good."