much more, such as pointing out that Todd’s football scholarship hadn’t gotten him far in life. The NFL hadn’t formed a line outside his door to draft him like he’d expected, and according to the latest gossip, Todd had recently separated from wife number four. Felix could’ve remarked on those things, but he wanted to believe he was a better person. At least on most days.
Todd looked down at his shirt and seemed to deflate a little before Felix’s eyes.
“I’ve decided which vehicle I want you to deliver to my house tomorrow morning.” Felix pointed to the showroom. “The dark burgundy SUV caught my eye, and I’ll look fabulous driving it.”
The badass vehicle would take the sting out of being made to feel like invisible bacteria on someone’s hands. Cameron Spencer wouldn’t get rid of him so easily. He’d temporarily been distracted by the man’s willingness to make things right, but Felix would not be distracted or deterred by a fake, over-bright smile and a flashy new SUV.
“But that Lincoln costs eighty thousand dollars.”
“Mr. Spencer said any vehicle, and that’s the one I want. Do I need to go back to his office and speak to him again?”
“No,” Todd bit out angrily.
Felix crossed his arms and quirked a brow. “No, what?”
“No, sir,” Todd groused.
That’s more like it.
Felix had stopped letting people make him feel dirty a long time ago, or so he’d thought. The inferiority complex he’d battled his entire life had him by the balls and wouldn’t let go. He couldn’t forget the memory of Spencer needing hand sanitizer after shaking his hand, or the sneer on Todd’s face when he witnessed it. Felix had gained the upper hand in the end, but it was a hollow victory.
Hollow. Empty. That’s precisely how Felix felt when he stopped at the grocery store to pick up snacks for the podcast production meeting he was hosting at his house.
This is the worst birthday in the history of birthdays. Even worse than the time he dug out stale cupcakes from the dumpster behind the grocery store.
Felix was more disgusted by his internal pity party than he was with the actual circumstances that spawned it. He wasn’t a whiner; he was a doer. His ability to objectively analyze the situation and turn it to his advantage appeared to be broken. Not broken. More like it had a low battery. What Felix needed was a night with friends to eat junk food, chat about righting injustice, and recharge.
“Felix.”
He froze in the act of reaching for a bag of tortilla chips.
You’ve got to be kidding me. This guy again?
Felix lowered his arm, then turned and met Jude’s sapphire blue eyes. He raked his gaze over Jude’s body. He’d changed into casual clothes. Jude looked more delicious in a navy blue Atlanta Braves T-shirt and faded denim jeans than any man had a right to. The fit of the shirt was perfect. It clung to his broad shoulders and impressive pecs without looking tacky or showy. Jude’s jeans were the kind of faded effect you get from many years of washing and wearing instead of the distressed look designers charge an arm and a leg for.
Damn, he looked good. Felix could separate the man who’d become a stranger from the boy he’d known when Jude wore suits. But in casual clothes… Felix’s brain got snagged on memories of falling in love for the first time, followed by the most painful betrayal he’d ever known. Felix grabbed on to the last thought and held on for dear life so he wouldn’t do something stupid.
“Are you following me, Straight Shooter?”
Jude cringed. Why? Was it the use of his ridiculous moniker, or was it Felix’s accusation? “Don’t call me that, please. Not you.”
“Because I know it’s bullshit?”
Jude pressed his lips together in a firm line. “It’s too impersonal for the history we share.”
Felix opened his mouth to respond that their reasons were one and the same. Because of their shared history, Felix knew Jude’s nickname was a lie. It wasn’t what came out though. “You didn’t answer my question. Are you following me?”
“No.” Jude lifted a red basket filled to the top with various grocery items. Then he nodded his head to Felix’s basket, which so far only held a jar of salsa. “Looks like I was here first. Are you following me?”
Felix snorted. “You wish.”
“Actually, I do,” Jude said. “I guess by now you’ve had a conversation with your editor about Crime Prevention Month.”
“I have.”
“I’d like to clear the