Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (Road to Redemption #1)(60)

“Nope, it’s right…” I lean forward and clean the smudge off her face. We both kinda freeze when I do it. Not helping with the whole, not gonna go there thing.

“There.” Being this close, this late, or early, whichever, not a good scenario. If you know what I mean. So as Green finishes wiping the sauce from her mouth, I back away, down onto my ass, again.

This is what it’s come to with her.

Wiping f*cking sauce from her lips and getting an erection like Beyoncé just gave me a lap dance.

What the f*ck?

Shake it off, dumbass.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you as a neat and tidy kind of guy.” She shoots back with a full mouth. Which I’m getting a f*cking kick out of, by the way. Give me a woman who’s lacking in table etiquette but has a good head on her shoulders over a proper lady with no f*cking common sense any day.

There it is, my friends. The admission of the evening. Green’s got a good head on her shoulders. So why in the hell has she been writing shitty articles with half-truths for two years?

“Tidy life, focused mind, Green.” I tap the side of my temple. “Need a drink?”

I push up off the floor and go to grab a beer.

“Sounds perfect.”

On the way back into the living room, I scratch Frodo on the head as I pass by him. He sits, perched on the back of the chair, waiting for Green or me to drop something tasty.

He’s a patient motherf*cker.

I pick up the remote and turn on the TV, then look for my recording of the eleven o’clock news.

Green laughs. “It’s so bizarre that you have a cat.”

“You don’t like cats?”

“I prefer dogs.”

“Why’s that?” The batteries on the remote are dying again, so I bang the shit out of it against the arm of the couch.

“Better sense of security, I guess.”

Interesting.

“One might think that’s what the boy-toy would be for.”

Not that Connor the accountant looks like he could defend Green’s honor in the event of an emergency, then again, maybe this goes back to the bad experiences that led her to get a gun in the first place.

She shrugs, non-committal-like. “What are you, a news junkie?” She’s either avoiding the conversation or genuinely intrigued by the fact that I’ve recorded the news as opposed to what, Pretty Little Liars?

“It’s the only way to stay ahead of the game, Green.”

“I thought you didn’t trust reporters.” She sounds like she’s doubting every word I’ve said up to this point, so I correct her observations.

“I said I didn’t trust you.” Not necessarily true anymore. “I do, however, know a few that have proven themselves trustworthy over the years.”

Marty Sweetwater’s face appears on the screen, and Green rolls her eyes. “Oh brother.”

“What?”

“She’s so overrated, Stiles. I mean seriously.” Green tears apart one of the spring rolls she ordered and dribbles duck sauce all over it. “You’d think she’d at least stop dying her hair by now.”

I find her observations highly f*cking amusing.

“Jealous much?”

“Ha!” She nearly chokes on her food. “The only thing of hers I have to be jealous of is the ridiculous amount of money she makes per television spot.”

“I’ve seen where you live, Green. I think it’s safe to say you don’t have much to worry about along the lines of bank rolls.”

“That’s not─”

“Your place. I know.”

“And you are such a hypocrite, by the way.”

“Um, what the f*ck?” Seriously?

“You give me so much shit about Connor but you don’t think I know something’s going on with you and Miss bleach-blonde bimbo of the year over there?”

She’s about to say something else when I hold a hand up to her.

Marty just said something interesting.

“In the wake of previous street gang member Donnie Leary’s death comes to another shooting several months ago. That person is now identified as Robert Decker.”

I crank up the volume as the police cart away some random perp with a hoodie over his face from years ago.

“A large amount of marijuana was found in Decker’s possession. When asked about the connection between Decker and Leary, one spokesman was quoted as stating the war on drugs in Redemption is coming to a head.”

My laptop sits, not too far away, in my bedroom. I go in and grab it before hopping onto the bed. I open up a browser window and Google that case I remembered earlier today.

“What are you looking for?” Green calls out from the other room, but I can tell she’s headed this way.

Warning, warning, warning. Woman approaching the bedroom. And it’s not for sex.

“Information.” I clear my throat and type in some key words. Like gang member, death, and the year two-thousand-fourteen.

“About what?” She’s at the door. I keep my eyes on the screen.

“Just a hunch I have.”

A few results pop up. I skip the ones having to do with rape and initiation.

“You seem to work off of hunches a lot.” She takes a few steps closer. I stretch my neck out. It’s f*cking stiff as shit.