No Perfect Hero(35)

I shrug. “I want to see how damn stupid that gallery owner had to be.”

Haley smiles wanly. “They’re not that great.”

“Beauty, eye of the beholder, you know the saying.”

“Do I?”

She sets her beer down on the edge of the jacuzzi and folds her arms in tight, and in that moment, she’s so small and vulnerable I have to remind myself I’m naked to keep from going to her, taking her in my arms, comforting her.

It’s like those paintings cut her deeper than even her ex, and I don’t think she realizes it – and I won’t be stupid enough to point it out – but she’s probably got a hell of a lot more heart for her passion than she ever did for a man who was clearly all wrong for her every which way.

With a shaky breath, she says, “I’ll think about it. What are the stakes if I won’t?”

“None,” I answer. “It’s just a game, Hay. We’re just relaxing over a couple beers.”

“Maybe...yeah. Yeah, okay.” She forces a smile, then snatches up her beer and downs the entire thing in a few gulps, her throat working roughly before she slams it down on the edge with a deep breath. “Okay!”

I arch a brow. “Okay? Are you?”

“No, silly, okayyy. Now I get to ask you.” She reaches toward the bucket with grabby hands, flexing her fingers playfully even though it’s out of her range. “Truth or dare?”

I roll my eyes. I get the hint and fish out another beer, pop the cap, and pass it to her.

She grasps it in both hands, nursing it like a little chipmunk, bright-eyed and too cheerful. I watch her with a sigh, wondering at this fond feeling of warmth in my chest, then shake my head.

“Truth. I still don’t trust you with a dare.”

“Relax. It’s not like I’m going to ask you to streak through town.”

If only she knew.

Hay takes another sip, musing, then asks, “What do you do? You’re so weird. All cloak and dagger, and I know you’re ex-Army, but I don’t think deployment sent you on a mission back to your spooky little hometown to uncover all its dirty secrets in the name of some special government operation.” She wiggles her fingers with a little ooo-OOO-ooo sound, then smirks. “So spill it. What is it you do that's got you acting like Agent Mulder?”

I don’t even know what that means, but I also know I can’t even fucking answer her question.

It’s not even that she’ll figure out I’m here after a mark. Or worse, figure out I’m not here after a mark, that this thing with Bress is entirely personal.

It’s that I know she’ll wonder things about me.

Wonder what I’ve done.

Who I’ve hurt.

Who I’ve killed.

And it bothers me to have her think worse of me than she already does.

“Can’t tell you that,” I say, and smile. It feels like too much, heavy and sad, a smile I’m not used to. “Top secret. Guess it’ll have to be dare.”

“Aw, fine,” she retorts. “I dare you to tell me what you do.”

“Then I guess I’m gonna have to lose the game.” I lean over and clink the neck of my bottle to hers with a faint smile. “Since we didn’t ante up any stakes...let’s go another round.”

For a few seconds her eyes meet mine, mischief gleaming.

I wonder if she understands what I’m offering her. A distraction, mostly.

For both of us.

One sweet moment to forget who we are, our worries, and why we’re here. That she ran out here after a man hurt her in a way she never should’ve been hurt and cut her off at the knees after life had already kicked her down, while I’m here chasing down the demon who took what I loved.

Haley tips her head, a faint, wistful smile crossing her lips.

Yeah.

She knows.

She knows, and with a tired little shrug and a hell-with-it smile, clinks her bottle right back. “Hit me, then. Truth.”

This time, I play it safe with my questions.

Less because I’m worried about her prying out my secrets, and more because I’m worried about hurting her with hers.

So it’s the little things, this time.

Most embarrassing high school memory. Favorite color. Dare you to beat me in a foot fight.

I find out that she once stood on the roof of her high school in a prom dress, declaring her love for the high school football team’s star quarterback. All because he’d said he’d date her if she did.

Turns out, it was just a cruel fucking prank to see if she’d really go that far.

Hay tells me her colors like an artist.

How she loves the slate-blue color of a Seattle horizon in the morning, when the sun’s up but the city doesn’t seem to have figured it out yet.

Then this chick shows me she knows how to win a foot fight.

Before I know it, we’re kicking and splashing at each other, and she gets me right on the sole of my foot and tickles me with her toes till I damn near surrender, laughing and sweeping a wave of water at her to make her stop.

She’s also a real lightweight.

After her fourth beer, when I ask her what she dreamed about being as a little girl...

“Happy,” is the one word she whispers, right before her face caves in, and she bursts into tears.