Frisk Me(34)

“Pretty romantic for a guy who spent the better part of yesterday patrolling Times Square,” she said, mimicking his posture at the railing.

He made a disgusted noise. “Times Square isn’t in the same category as the Statue of Liberty. Both are tourist magnets, but one is history. The other is…”

“Hell?” she supplied.

The corner of his mouth lifted upward. “Pretty much.”

“You said every other Sunday,” Ava said, glancing at him. “You don’t do this every week?”

He shook his head. “Nah. Church is every week. Breakfast after church is every week. But Sunday nights are sort of a standing invitation, if it works out sort of thing. My parents are old-fashioned, but they’re just modern enough to respect their adult children’s busy schedules.”

They fell silent for a moment, although not in the awkward way, just the peaceful kind. “Is your brother meeting us here?” she asked finally.

“Not sure. They might have caught the earlier one.”

“They. They’re both coming? Anthony and Vincent?”

“You’ve done your homework.”

She shrugged. “It’s easy when they’re all cops. Public record and all that. The details on who they are to you is a bit fuzzier though.”

He gave her a look that said he knew she was on a fishing expedition, but to her surprise, he humored her.

“Short version? Anthony’s the oldest, and is likely a shoo-in for captain over in the nineteenth precinct. Vincent’s a homicide detective. They’re both cocky, arrogant pains in my ass, but damn good cops.”

“And the third brother?”

“Marco. Marc.” Luc glanced down at his hands. “He’s with the LAPD.”

She caught the change in tone. “You miss him.”

He glanced at her sharply, likely assessing to see whether she was prying as a reporter, or as a woman.

She held up her hands. “Off the record.”

He rolled his shoulders and stood up straighter. “He moved to California a couple years ago because his high school girlfriend got it in her head that she wanted to do the Hollywood thing.”

“Are they still together?”

He grunted.

“I’ll take that as a yes, but I don’t like it?”

Luc turned around so that his back was to the railing, crossing his feet at the ankles. “Marco’s a good guy. We all miss him.”

It wasn’t exactly a spill-your-guts kind of answer, but neither was it a f*ck-off, so she supposed she’d take it as progress.

“You guys are all close?”

His eyes narrowed slightly, and Ava’s patience tweaked. “Look, you can’t invite me over to family dinner under the guise of cooperating with my story and then not expect me to ask questions. I just want to make sure I don’t misrepresent you guys.”

“Uh huh. And if I told you that my parents were *s, my siblings and I fought constantly, and that we only did family dinners out of some sort of warped Italian guilt, you’re telling me you wouldn’t sugarcoat it when it comes down to actually shooting video? You wouldn’t ask us to pretend?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, mimicking his posture. “No. I know all about families that pretend, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

His dark blue eyes found hers. “Tell me.”

Just like that, he’d turned the tables. Giving her a chance to talk about her.

And even more incredibly, she wanted to.

“Well…” she said, taking a long breath. “You’ve already met my sister. I’d like to say you just caught her at an off time, but the truth is, she’s always like that. Miranda’s always been really good at the put others down to prop yourself up thing. The others aren’t much better. My brother’s a condescending ass, and my parents…well, let’s just say there’s no way on God’s green earth that we’d be caught dead having Sunday dinner together.”

He looked away. “Let me ask you something, Sims…”

“Yeah?”

When he turned back, his gaze was fierce. “Given all of that, what would you do, if your boss told you that you had no choice but to let a pushy reporter come inspect every area of your life, all because you were just trying to do your job and got unlucky, hmm? Would you become an open book? Would you become BFFs? Or would you watch your back because your private life is supposed to be private?”

Ava’s stomach twisted with an unfamiliar sensation. Guilt.

Ambition was the name of the game in her career, but never before had she been so conscious that she might be coming very, very close to crossing a line. If the anger on his face was any indication, she may have already crossed it.

But beneath the guilt there was also confusion. She’d thought—hoped—that they’d gotten past this, but sometimes it felt like they’d never gone anywhere at all. That he hadn’t bought her flowers on her birthday.

She searched for words. “I—”

He turned away, swearing. “Sorry.” The apology was gruff. “I shouldn’t throw your family issues in your face like that.”

But he shouldn’t be the one apologizing, and they both knew it. “Luc—”

He turned around quickly, his gaze sharp, and Ava realized he was responding to her use of his first name. She’d used it before. But this time felt different.