I nodded once, not sure where this conversation was going.
“What you’re doin’ is stupid and unsafe,” he continued.
Now I knew where this conversation was going and I kept quiet.
“You should stop or you’ll get yourself killed,” he advised and his voice was both sharp and concerned. I figured they taught this in cop school.
I didn’t reply.
“Or you’ll get someone else killed,” he finished.
It took a great deal of effort but I stayed silent and didn’t bite my lip like I wanted to.
He watched me, shook his head and then muttered, strangely, under his breath, “These boys need to get their heads examined.”
Then he walked away.
I drove Vance to the hospital in my Camaro.
He was right, it wasn’t that bad. He got cleaned up, stitched up, came out of the treatment room with his jeans on, the thigh cut away and I could see a white bandage there.
We went back to Hazel.
“Where do you live?” I asked when we were standing by Hazel.
Before I knew what he was about, he took the keys from my hand.
“Spendin’ the night with you,” he replied.
“What are you doing? Give me my keys,” I made a grab for them but he yanked them out of reach.
“Get in the car,” he ordered.
“No one drives Hazel but me,” I told him.
“Hazel?” he asked.
“My Camaro,” I replied.
He stared at me for a beat then grinned and shook his head as if I was downright adorable. This caused me to feel that sweet warmth again but I shook it off and focused on our current verbal tussle.
“Crowe,” I said warningly.
The grin faded. “Please don’t argue, Jules. Just get in the car.” This he said in a weary voice.
I sucked in my lips, his weary voice getting to me. I walked to the passenger side and Vance took me home.
Upon entry he locked the door behind us and turned to arm my alarm and I went directly to my dressers, rooting through them to find my least sexy night apparel (I had none). I settled on a baby blue silk nightgown that looked like an old fashioned slip. It was tight against the midriff, had an a-lined skirt that skimmed my knees and a thick rim of ecru lace along the top and bottom edges. I stalked to the bathroom, leaving Vance to do whatever he wanted to do (which was what he’d do anyway).
Now, I didn’t know what to do. The heat of the moment was over and my emotional Rottweiler had woken up and was on the alert.
I put my hair in a sloppy bun at the back of my head with a ponytail holder, stared at my face in the mirror, took a deep breath, squared my shoulders and left the bathroom.
Better to get it over with, whatever “it” might be.
The house was dark when I got out of the bathroom except a dim light came from the bed platform. I went to the steps, climbed up one and saw Vance under the covers, comforter up to his waist, a bunch of my pillows behind his back so he was sitting up.
His chest was bare. Boo was lying smack in the middle of it, his tail sweeping in a wide arc along Vance’s abs and waist. Vance was stroking him and I could hear Boo purring from where I was standing.