Page 83 of Forced Into Your Arms
Vice leaned back and looked at me for a minute before answering. “I’m saying wanting something and being ready for it ain’t always the same thing.”
That answer stayed with me.
For the first time since Simone walked away, I stopped thinking about how beautiful she was or how comfortable she’d been touching him.
Instead, I wondered what kind of man Vice had been with her. Hell, more than that, I found myself wondering what kind of man he was now.
10
VICE BLACKWELL
By the time I made it back to my office, the restaurant had already started filling up for dinner. I spoke to a couple managers on the way through, handled a problem with one of the deliveries, then shut myself inside before anybody found another reason to stop me.
The day with Milan had gone better than I expected.
I wasn’t sure what I’d expected in the first place. Probably more arguing. She had given me plenty of that, but somewhere between threatening me with a fork and pretending she didn’t care about Simone, I’d gotten a chance to see the woman she was when fear wasn’t controlling every move she made.
She was funny without trying too hard. Stubborn as hell. Easy to talk to when she wasn’t looking for a reason to disagree with me. I’d asked her to eat because I wanted to spend time with her, even if I hadn’t called it a date. The fact that she’d been the first one to bring up the word told me the thought had crossed her mind too.
I sat behind my desk and pulled out my phone, finding the message she’d sent after I dropped her back at her car.
Milan:I signed the lease. Try not to cry now that your apartment inspection career is over.
A grin crossed my face as I typed back.
Me:I’ll find another building to inspect.
Her reply came almost immediately.
Milan:Find a hobby.
Me:You becoming one.
The dots appeared beneath my message, disappeared, then came back. After almost a full minute, her response finally came through.
Milan:That sounded a little stalkerish.
Me:You knew what I meant.
Milan:Unfortunately, I usually don’t.
I laughed before putting my phone down. Whatever smart shit she sent next could wait. If I kept going, I’d spend the rest of the night texting her instead of handling what needed my attention.
Sam’s phone was still locked inside my desk.
I pulled it out and set it in front of me, but before I unlocked the screen, my mind went back to Mace’s reaction earlier.
You got in it?
At the time, I’d let the question slide. Mace knew I’d been trying to access the phone, and he was just as determined as I was to find out who killed Sam, so asking if I’d finally gotten into it should’ve been normal.
It wasn’t the question itself that bothered me. It was everything around it.
The way his response took longer after I asked why he wanted to know. The fact that he’d asked where I got the unknown number before saying he would trace it. The way he’d been acting since the funeral, barely sleeping and watching every move I made whenever Sam’s belongings came up.
Mace was grieving. I knew that much. What I didn’t know was why his grief felt like it came with something he was trying to hide.
I unlocked Sam’s phone and opened the thread from the unknown number again. There were still only two messages.
