Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (Road to Redemption #1)(26)

“Fucking Green.” Story of my life these days.

We meet again. A dark and sinister voice whispers in the back of my mind.

I’m thankful she didn’t hear me and wonder for a second or two where her other half is. When I don’t spot him anywhere around, I take a closer look at her. It looks to me like she passed out while trying out one of those saucer chairs. You know the ones—fuzzy, round, looks like someone visited us from the f*cking sixties and left their shit behind?

Her ear buds are in and her eyes are closed. I relax against the wall of pillows and watch her for a minute or two while she snoozes.

With her arms folded and legs crossed, she damn near looks peaceful. Beautiful almost, leaning back, completely tranquil, with no agenda whatsoever, but to get a few Z's.

Makes her seem… human.

I take careful consideration of her lips. They come to a small pout as she breathes, slow and steady, and I find myself appreciating the fullness of those lips. I then have a hard time coming to grips with the fact that I’d really like to have them against mine sometime.

The f*ck?

I shake that shit off.

That’s crazy talk.

Right?

My eyes glide along her body, from the low cut tee she’s sporting today to the loose fitting jeans, stopping at the ankle holster peeking out from underneath.

Interesting.

Why would she need that?

Protection? Or is she undercover? And if she is, who is she undercover for?

Out of the blue, a loud snort coming from somewhere inside Green wakes her up. I scramble to get the f*ck outta Dodge but can’t decide which way to go.

Her eyes fly open and she sees me standing there. I’m a buffoon, staring at her like some desperate twelve-year-old aching for a boob shot of my neighbor late at night.

Not that it’s ever happened. But if it did, I’d be a f*cking buffoon.

She seems confused for a second, then embarrassed, then confused again when she comes to grips with the fact that there she is, and here I am, and we’re both in a f*cking Target late at night.

What are the chances of that, by the way?

I could make a run for it, sure. Pretend none of this happened and spend the rest of the night trying to get the image of Emma Green’s unguarded eyes out of my head. The truth is, it’s too much fun to give the woman some grief.

“Lose your apartment?”

I smirk. It’s funny.

Green doesn’t think so. A scowl appears across her face as she groggily pushes herself up and out of the saucer.

“Ass.”

“Boyfriend kick you out?”

She flips me the bird, and I stifle another laugh.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” She insists.

“Really? ’Cause ya could have f*cking fooled me.”

She yawns. “And you care because…”

Good question. “I don’t.”

Green gives me a groggy yet triumphant look. “Could’ve f*cking fooled me.”

I don’t have a comeback for that one.

Dammit.

“Why were you standing there watching me like that anyway?” She checks to make sure all her shit is still where she left it. “It’s creepy.”

“It was like a horror film; it was freaking me out but I couldn’t look away. Plus, you know, I didn’t wanna get too close.”

She gives me a look that clearly asks, what in the hell are you talking about? And I point to my still slightly bruised lip from the other day. As a courtesy reminder of her Ninja skills.

Realization hits her. She bows her head and busies herself by rummaging through her purse, but I see the smile she’s trying to hide. It’s friendly.

Weird.

Instead of grilling her more about why she prefers to spend her time snoozing at the back of a Target store, I ask her something else I’m curious about.

“Why are you carrying?”

Her head snaps up and she appears surprised that I noticed. But come on, how could I not notice that shit? She’s lucky it was me that stumbled upon her and not security.

“What?” she huffs out a nervous giggle.

“Right leg.” Right handed. “Black leather holster. Probably nothing more than a handgun. You look like the Ruger type.”

She blinks. Then blinks again. “I… how did you…”

I lean in toward her and tap the side of my temple. “Private eye. I’m extremely observant.” I point at her. “I hope you know how to use that thing.”

“I’ve taken lessons,” she assures me. “And have a permit.” Then she throws her purse strap over her shoulder and starts to leave. To which I follow her with my cart full of teenage items.

She peeks into the cart then back at me.

“New wardrobe?”

I shake my head. “Client.” No idea why I feel the need to explain.

This raises an eyebrow. Literally.

“Anyone I know?”

“Doubt it.”

She takes another look and spots the skinny jeans, then inspects what I’m wearing. “A teenager secured your services?” She thinks it over. “Her parents know about it?”

She’s baiting me. She’s knows this shit is male clothing.

“Low blow, Green.”

She giggles. “Hefty price for investigative services.”