Page 16 of Floored (Frenched 3)
“Yeah? And where was He before?”
I grinned ruefully, bringing my heels to my chair and resting my chin on my knees. “Not sure. She goes on all these religious pilgrimages hoping to—I don’t know, find herself. She’s on one right now in Spain called The Footsteps of St. Teresa. But it’s nice for her, really. My dad was never into traveling and she was.”
“Do you like traveling?”
“Yes, but not on those pilgrimage things. Thank God she hooked up with a ladies group at her church. Before that she wanted me to take all the crazy religious trips with her.”
“What, don’t you want to find God?” he teased.
“If I find him by accident, fine. I just don’t want to spend my vacations looking for him. Last year I spent my spring break with my mother on a faith journey in Ireland called Slow Down and Smell the Heather.”
He grinned. “Oh yeah? How was that?”
“Put it this way: I asked the bus driver many times if we could please Slow Down and Smell the Whiskey. Ireland was beautiful and all, but…” I shook my head.
“You’d prefer more Jameson, less Jesus?”
I pointed at him. “Exactly.”
“I like Irish whiskey too.” He set his empty cup down, but didn’t look as if he wanted to leave yet. “Always been a dance teacher?”
“No. I actually went to school for elementary education and taught fourth grade for a few years. But I really missed dance, and owning my own studio was always a dream of mine as a kid. When the opportunity came up, I decided to quit teaching and go for the dream.”
“And?”
“And…” I tilted my head this way and that. “I have good days and bad. Today was a good day. Yesterday, not so much. Hey, any luck with the gas station camera?”
Charlie grimaced. “Not really. Blurry footage of a short, slim white male wearing a black hoodie. He bought gas with your card and paid for a Red Bull and Cheetos with change he probably pilfered from someone’s unlocked car.”
“Red Bull and Cheetos?” I wrinkled my nose. “Gross.”
“Don’t even tell me you don’t like Cheetos.”
“I don’t like Cheetos. That shade of orange scares me.” Picking up my coffee, which was finally cooling off, I took a long sip.
Charlie’s brow furrowed. “Isn’t that coffee cold by now?”
“Not at all.” I slurped noisily. “It’s lukewarm, the perfect temperature.”
“What? Lukewarm is not the perfect temperature for coffee. Not that what you’re drinking is coffee. It has frosting on it, for fuck’s sake. Coffee is hot and black.”
“Whatever.” I slurped again, even louder this time. “So no leads on my burglar?”
“We have a few houses we’re watching. Places where we think they take the stolen stuff. Your cell phone pinged near one of them last night.”
“Really?” My voice rose an octave. “Can you go in and get it back?” I had a brief fantasy of Charlie riding up to the house on a white horse, charging inside with pistol drawn.
Stop it. No thinking about his pistol.
“Not at this point. Walker’s waiting on a warrant.”
“God, it seems like you shouldn’t need one for that, if you know stolen stuff is moving in and out of there.”
Mmm. Moving in and out.
“Yeah. It’s a little more complicated than that. Anyway, we’re getting closer.”
“OK.” Yes, get closer. But first get naked. As if God heard my prurient thoughts and wanted to cool me down, a few raindrops splattered from the clouds above onto our table. “Uh oh. Are you ready? Maybe we should go.” I sniffed. “Smells like a storm, doesn’t it?”
