Page 97 of Bad Attitude
“Any question?” she asks, interrupting my thoughts.
“Sure.”
She turns to face me, expression serious. “And you’ll answer?”
“Not telling you my bank account password, but… sure.”
Her head tilts, regarding me like she doesn’t believe me. “How long has it been since you had sex… before me?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Anything you want, and you’re starting there?”
“Answer the question.”
“Okay.” I think back, remembering. Sworn off relationships while I’m working—that’s always been my policy—and the irony now lands hard. So it’s been nothing since I started this op, joining Briggs’s gang six months ago. No relationships for the six months prior, the compulsory down-time between ops where I kicked around wasting time, spending most of it riding, in the gym, or on the range. Nothing for a year before then, when I was working in Sacramento, on another op. Which would make it Lauren, that brief fling I had way back when. “Two years, four…” I stop as I realize this is familiar. “Didn’t you ask me this? On the way here?”
“Two years, four months?” she presses.
“Yeah.”
She shakes her head. “Why? I don’t get it.”
“Don’t get what?”
“How a guy like you has a dry spell that laststwo years.”
“Because…”Work.
Shit.
I can’t tell her that.
One simple fucking question, and I’m already compromised. One offer to answer honestly, and she has me on the ropes in the first few seconds.
DeclanHalewouldn’t sit on a two-year dry spell. That’s not his persona. Instead, he’d fuck anything that moves, and fuck anything that doesn’t until it does.
DeclanMaddoxdoesn’t risk it, because to have a relationship on a job could compromise everything.
I can’t keep my own cover, and the truth is, it’s because I’ve fallen for this girl.
“Because?” she prompts.
She’s watching me, suspicion in her eyes. And I’m staring at her, trying to figure out how to answer, when all I can focus on is the revelation that she matters more to me than almost anything.
For my job. As a tool. To get close to Renner.
That’s never sounded less convincing.
Tell the truth.
But that’s not a call for a confession, it’s my training kicking in. Tell the truth, whenever I can, because then I don’t have to remember.
I shove all my doubts down deep and bare my soul. “Because I’m fussy, okay? Because I slept around in my twenties, and now I’m picky about who I spend my time with.” It’s all true, and I keep going. “I had a run in with a couple of girls, one after the other, both who tried to trap me with pregnancies.” I spread my hands with a shrug. “Now I’m careful.”
She watches me for a long moment, expression a mask save for a little furrow in her brow. “Careful, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Like… you suit up before sex?”
