Actual Stop (Agent O’Connor #1)(34)
“Well, there is that. But we’re a team. I don’t want you to think I’m not doing my share.” Allison’s expression was serious, and she was staring at me with an intensity that made me vaguely nervous.
The idea that she cared what I thought touched me and warmed my soul in places it probably shouldn’t have. That was a surefire clue that I needed to get going. Like now. Because having feelings like these was only heightening my confusion and, by a directly proportional degree, my guilt. So, yeah, the sooner I made my grand escape, the better.
Despite myself and my nearly compulsive desire to run from the room, I softened my smile and couldn’t resist squeezing her forearm. “I promise you I won’t think that.” As she opened her mouth to protest, I went on. “Look, you’re already showered and dressed for bed. It makes no sense for you to go back out now. Not for something this trivial. It’ll take me fifteen minutes, tops.”
Uncertainty flickered behind Allison’s eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” I hastily gathered my belongings and shoved them haphazardly into my bag, grateful for a legitimate excuse to divert my attention. It was a relief to escape her gaze, if only momentarily. I slung my bag over my shoulder and took a deep breath before I looked at her once more.
“What time do you want me to pick you up tomorrow?”
“That depends. Do you want to grab breakfast first?” If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought she was afraid I might decline. But that made no sense.
I pretended to consider her question. “That depends.” My use of the phrase was deliberate. I was teasing her, but her expression made me wonder whether she knew it.
Allison folded her arms across her chest, her countenance cool now. “On?”
“On whether you agree to split an order of chocolate-chip pancakes with me.” I grinned at her and waited to see whether she’d pick up on the reference to one of our old breakfast rituals.
I don’t know what reply she’d been expecting, but the surprise on her face told me it wasn’t that. She threw her head back and laughed. “Only if you promise to actually share them with me and not eat them all before I can grab a bite.”
We meandered to the door still chuckling at the inside joke and said our good-byes, agreeing that I’d pick her up the next day at seven and let her have at least five bites of our pancakes before I even waved a fork in their direction.
It was only after the door was safely shut behind me that I quietly responded to the innuendo I imagined her statement about sharing had held.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Chapter Eleven
Human beings obviously aren’t perfect, and I can easily admit I probably have more flaws than most. I’m stubborn. I can be overly emotional at certain times yet oddly cold and detached at others. I’m a pro at using humor as a tool for avoidance. And I’ll procrastinate with my vacuuming until the end of time. Just to name a few.
At the moment, the fault giving me the most trouble was my ability to obsess over a situation until it was resolved. No matter how much I tried, it was tough for me to push specific things from the forefront of my mind.
My dad always told me never to waste time or energy worrying, especially about things completely out of my control. He’d always said situations had a way of working themselves out and my constant fretting wouldn’t affect the outcome one way or the other. Best to just concentrate on the parts I could influence and deal with the consequences.
I envied him that particular ability and had wished more than once that I could adopt that outlook. Though I’d left the desire unspoken. I’d wanted to avoid being hit with his second favorite piece of advice, which had something to do with wishing in one hand and spitting in the other to see which filled up first. That one had always irritated me a little. It was human nature to wish for things, and I didn’t appreciate being told otherwise. Also, once he trotted out that adage, he soon mentioned if his grandmother had wheels, she’d be a wagon, and I never knew what to say to that one. Best to completely elude that pitfall altogether by just keeping quiet.
Not that I needed him to have a full-blown conversation about worrying or wishing or even wagons, apparently, because I’d heard his voice inside my head doling out all sorts of less-than-helpful advice since I’d left Allison’s hotel room. That I could still hear him was grating, and my sour mood and blatant annoyance with myself certainly weren’t helping matters.
Huffing in frustration, I slapped the newly printed copies of the site diagrams down onto my coffee table and flounced back on the couch. My fingers tapped out a nervous, restless rhythm on the tops of my thighs as my eyes ricocheted around my living room. After a slightly schizophrenic car ride home, I’d forced myself to focus on work just long enough to accomplish the task I’d told Allison I’d perform before my brain rebelled and refused to be coerced any longer.
Now my mind was racing back and forth between Lucia and Allison, past and present, guilt and anger, sadness and pain. My thoughts crashed violently only to bounce off one another and zoom crazily in another direction like pin balls in a pin-ball machine at some sort of f*cked-up carnival. I was about ready to tilt.
I reviewed the situation and ran through my reasoning for what must’ve been the fifteenth time since I’d walked out of The W. While I’d pretty much made up my mind, and it was difficult to dissuade me once I reached a firm decision, I couldn’t shake the doubts that danced inelegantly at the dark edges of my thoughts. I poked at them the way I’d worry a loose tooth with the tip of my tongue, almost perversely enjoying each dull throb of discomfort.