Page 9 of Crash Course
Baby brother had decided to make a long weekend of it with his girlfriend Maddy, who’d be flying down later that afternoon to meet Phin. Something Cruz didn’t mind so much because it gave him time alone with Cilla to talk her into dinner.
He’d tried once already and got shot down. That had been nearly five months ago, but he hadn’t forgotten about her. How any man could forget this woman was a mystery.
Smart, beautiful, and tough, Priscilla Randolph sparked something in him. He’d followed some of her cases, watching videos online and hearing for himself that acerbic tongue of hers.
In his mind, they might be a match made in heaven.
Particularly if her fire extended into the bedroom.
But she’d blown him off. Too busy, she’d said. Fine. He had patience and well, he wasn’t stupid. He knew chemistry when he felt it and they had it in spades.
"I’ll call the airport," Cruz said, "Let them know we’re running a little early. How often doesthathappen?"
Twenty minutes later, Cilla entered a code into her phone and they pulled through the gate of Darren Randolph’s Nashville home. Like the man, the home was full of flash. Lots of stone and floor-to-ceiling glass welcomed them as Cilla unlocked the front door and disabled the alarm. Inside, Cruz found more stone with wide planked wood floors and sharp iron lighting. Modern and plenty expensive. He somehow found the place . . . lacking.
Like no one lived there. Cold. That’s what this place was. In all the meticulous decorating, they’d lost a homey feel.
Cruz had never met Darren Randolph, but this house said a lot about the man.
"It goes in here," Cilla said.
Behind Cruz, Phin carried the box in and set it on the floor in front of an open space on the two-story living room wall. He slid on a fresh pair of the cotton gloves that Maddy insisted they wear when touching art.
Cruz stood beside Cilla while Phin did his thing. "Let me know if you need help."
"I’m good," he said.
Keeping her eye on the placement, Cilla nodded. "Perfect, Phin. Thank you for hanging it. We so appreciate it."
Cruz shrugged. "We can’t leave it sitting on the floor."
"My father won’t be back here until next month. At least it’ll be hung when he arrives. There’s no food in the house, but can I buy you lunch on the way back to the airport? There’s a great place near there. Best ribs in town."
"Not for me," Phin said. "I scheduled a meeting while I’m in town."
Cruz grinned. "I can always eat."
"Good. It’s you and me then. We’ll make it a to-go order and eat at the airport."
And that sounded just fine to Cruz.
A half slabof ribs later and unable to consume a bite of her remaining potato salad, Cilla rose from the picnic bench outside the airport lobby and stretched.
"You weren’t kidding." Cruz tossed the last bone from his full slab onto his plate. "Outstanding ribs."
"They are. It’s a good thing I don’t live here. I’d gain fifty pounds in a month."
Lucky for her, she had a fast metabolism. A few weekly workouts plus the metabolism let her maintain her lean frame. Her mother’s DNA, thankfully, since Dad had been forty pounds overweight for the last fifteen years. The man was a heart attack about to happen, but no amount of prodding from her or his doctors lightened his fast-food intake.
"I love a woman who eats," Cruz said. "My mother says I eat like a dinosaur, as ifthat'sa crime, so it’s good to have a healthy eater around. Takes the pressure off me."
She laughed. "Thank you. I think. You’re funny, Cruz."
He dug into his coleslaw, shoving a forkful into his mouth and savoring it for a few seconds before swallowing. "My God, that’s good."
Better than sex, she’d always said.
Then again, maybe it reflected a subpar sex life. Which brought back thoughts of Cruz.
