“Is Delgado Mexican?” I pressed.
“Puerto Rican,” he answered, again without hesitation.
“You’re Puerto Rican?”
“Look at me, babe, not full-blooded Scandinavian.”
Nope, he was definitely not that.
“Were you born in Puerto Rico?”
“Nope. Denver.”
A rare Denver native. Surprising.
I, on the other hand, was not a native. Dad had moved Meredith, Ginger and me to Denver from South Dakota when I was ten but I didn’t share this piece of information because Hawk probably already knew that.
“So your parents are Puerto Rican.”
“Dad is. Ma’s half Italian, half Cuban.”
No wonder. Puerto Rican, Italian and Cuban – the perfect ingredients for a hot, bossy, badass cocktail.
His brows went up. “Is this focus?”
Guess someone was done sharing.
I turned back to the computer, fished in my soup with my chopsticks, secured a big prawn, pulled it out and ate it.
Fresh, spicy, brilliant.
I washed the prawn down with another sip of soup. Then I tried to focus on work with Cabe “Hawk” Delgado stretched out on my couch. Unsurprisingly, I was completely unable to do this but hopefully I was successful at pretending I could.
I’d finished my soup, leaving the mysterious bits uneaten in the bottom (I loved that soup but those mysterious bits freaked me out and I never ate them), taken a sip of my grape in preparation for the next culinary delight and opened my noodles when Hawk approached my desk, bending as he moved to snatch up the discarded bag.
He shoved his container in the bag while I pretended to ignore him and he was reaching for my soup container when I heard, “Hawk.”
I twisted to see who I suspected was Hawk’s Numero Dos, the slim but cut man that Hawk was talking to outside earlier. He looked to be the same ethnic cocktail as Hawk and, even shorter and slighter, since he’d shared his name was “Smoke” and he had a scar that went from his temple into his dark hair, I figured he was probably not someone you messed with.
“Company,” he said to Hawk, his eyes not coming to me even for an instant then, like his name, poof! he vanished.
Hawk moved, dumping my soup container into the bag and the bag into my garbage bin as he went. I moved too. Putting my noodles on my desk, I followed him.
When I hit the hall, Hawk stopped suddenly and turned so I ran into his front.
I took a step back, looked up at him and before I could say anything, he asked, “Any chance I tell you to stay up here you won’t give me lip?”
“No chance at all,” I answered.
He stared at me a second then shook his head like I was intruding on his greeting company at his house rather than me walking down the stairs in my own damned house to greet my company. Then he turned and proceeded walking to the stairs.
I followed and heard him before I saw him.
Then I remembered it was Wednesday and Wednesday afternoons were Troy Days. We had a standing Wednesday afternoon appointment for coffee or beer or whatever since he had Wednesday afternoons off because he worked Saturday mornings.
Shit.
“Who are you guys?” Troy asked as I walked down the stairs. “And where’s Gwen?”