With a Grain of Salt (Lindell Book 3)

Chapter 17

Walker

”Did you finally get busted giving adolescents alcohol?”

That”s how Barrett Hyde, the local attorney, answers the phone when I call him first thing Sunday morning.

”You finally move out of your grandmother”s house?” I jab back.

He scoffs. ”I own the house. Grandmother lives with me.”

I”ve heard it a million times before. The part he doesn”t explain is that he bought the house after law school when his grandparents about went bankrupt putting him through school. It was a bailout filled with guilt more than anything else.

”Is it hard for you to bring women home?” I continue, knowing almost verbatim his response before he even opens his mouth.

”I”d never disrespect Grandmother that way. I take my ladies to the hotel out on the highway. They have a special on the Jacuzzi tubs the third weekend of the month.”

”If you knew how to please a woman, you wouldn”t need a jetted tub toget the job done.”

”At least I didn”t jizz in my pants in a janitor”s closet,” he snaps.

I huff a laugh. ”I bet you fucking did but the girl who made you do it didn”t go tell a friend who then told the whole school about it.”

We both laugh. High school was so long ago, but for some who never really left town and experienced things outside of the city limits, it seems those stories will never die.

What happened with Sage Douglas was old news to me, but Barrett went to school here. Other than a vacation or so a year he’s never really left town or experienced life outside of Lindell, Texas. It”s why he”s insistent on bringing up those stories. Honestly, the guy needs to get out of his grandma”s basement and see what the real world has to offer, but I guess I can”t really talk. I saw what the real world was, and I couldn”t seem to get back to town quick enough.

I swallow, thinking how I thought Lindell was safe, a community protected somehow from the traumas and pain occurring elsewhere in the world. Pain and tragedy struck our quiet town two years ago, and my world has never been the same.

Jason, my twin brother, was shot and killed in the middle of the town square along with two other people by men who were angry that their illegal sex trafficking ring was dismantled. I was so angry for so long about losing him. There are still days I want to hunt those men and the ones just like them until the world is eradicated of men who think it”s okay to take others” liberties the way they did.

”Is there a reason you”re calling me on a Sunday?” Barrett asks, his tone still light with the laughter we shared, whereas my mood has taken a sharp right turn into misery.

”I want to talk to you about Claire Kennedy,” I begin, my anger shifting away from the terrorist to him when he whistles in a suggestive way that makes me want to jump through the phone and wrap my hands around his neck until he turns purple.

”That is one fine specimen of a woman.”

”She”s the widow of a serviceman,” I correct. ”She didn”t get her SGLI payout. Are you able to look into it and see where it went?”

”Is there a reason you”re calling about this instead of her?”

”Can you look into it or not?”

”For you? No. The government just doesn”t hand out information because someone wants to know something. Hell, it”s a battle to get information when you have a legal right to it. For Claire, however, as his widow, I”m sure I could get some information, but she”ll need to be the one to retain me.”

Retain me... short for give me money, something I know Claire doesn”t have.

”I”ll pay your retainer fee,” I say because the last thing I want is this guy talking her into some form of a percentages of her payout. I”m not saying the guy is a jackass, but he”s also running a business. If she can”t pay his fee upfront, this would be her only other option.

”That still won”t give you rights or access to the information.”

”I don”t need the information. I want her to have the information,” I explain.

”Have her call me,” he says. ”And if you”re paying, I”m going to bill you for this time.”

”Of course, you are,” I say before hanging up.

After speaking to Barrett, I shower, but it does nothing to relieve the itch coating my skin. Distracting myself with tasks around the house doesn”t help, and I know as my day goes on, that there”s nothing that will alleviate the tingle on my skin but her.

It”s a craving, an awakened part of me that I know I”m going to struggle to get back under control.

I fight the urge to drive past her house, considering what happened the last time.

She dressed so quickly last night that even an idiot could see she regretted what we did immediately, and I couldn”t help but internalize her actions. It wasn”t bad sex for her. I know that from the way her body trembled against mine. But even great sex can be regretted because it”s never just about the physical aspect of it.

I don”t know why I”m letting it get me all tangled up. What did I expect her to do? Get comfortable in my cramped office? There was no other recourse than getting dressed and going home, but she didn”t even run her hand down my chest or cling to me for a second.

Maybe most single guys would want a woman to react the way she did, to not have any urgency to talk or cuddle or stay connected in any other way. Maybe they dream of the interactions where the woman they just got intimate with slaps them on the ass, tells them good game, and asks them to grab her shoes from across the room.

However, I”m not like other men. I”m the type that would cuddle willingly if they asked. Hell, last night, I would”ve asked for it myself if she hadn”t come in one breath and gotten dressed and darted from the room in the next.

I run my hand over the top of my head. Going and confronting her would only make things worse. The woman isn”t affected by me. She had a need last night and she had to have known I was an easy target.

I shake my head, tossing that thought out immediately. It makes me sound like some sort of victim, and that”s not me. We both made a choice last night, and I don”t get to be upset with the after. Had I known that she was going to act the way she did, I still would”ve gone through with it.

As hard as I”ve fought against getting anything started with Claire Kennedy, I knew I was doing it. Once she got me under her spell, I knew I was a lost cause.

For what seems like the millionth time today, I pull open the fridge, scrunching my nose at the same sight I”ve seen every other time today. I really need to go grocery shopping, but if I get dressed for outside of the house rather than hanging out in my sweats and t-shirt, I know where my truck will aim.

I close the fridge and pull open the cabinet where I keep the dry goods. The fit man who hits the local fitness center four to five times a day, I shop when I leave the gym. The purpose of that is it”s the only time I”ll buy healthy stuff. I know myself well enough to know that I”m never the same man once I get home. It”s the only thing that keeps me from getting soggy around the middle.

But it”s times like now that I want a snack and it sure isn”t air-fried chickpeas or no-sugar-added beef jerky.

I want a damned Rice Krispie treat so badly, I could probably close my eyes and taste the sweetness on my tongue. But sweetness on my tongue makes me think of every kiss Claire and I shared last night, and that is not where my head needs to be.

”Fuck,” Igrumble, my head taking me back to my office whether Iwant it to or not.

I bet she has great snacks at her house. What”s the joke about dating a single mom and leaving their house with a handful of treats and a smile?

I shake that idea from my head because it won”t take much to convince me to head over there and ask to look in her fridge and cabinets.

The knock on the door startles me, but my walk there makes my blood pump because my first thought is that it”s Claire coming back for more.

The stiffness threatening in my sweats dissipates immediately when I open my front door and see Mac standing on my front stoop, holding a twelve-pack of beer.

”What”s the holdup?” Chase asks from behind him.

”Is he judging the damn snack selection again?” Cash asks, pulling my eyes to him and the box in his hands. ”Adalynn sent me with cupcakes, but if you aren”t interested, I can easily go back to my girl.”

”Did I miss a memo?” I ask, but l step to the side so they can enter.

”You”re hosting this month”s poker game,” Hayes Campbell says, taking up the end of the line. ”Clearly, you forgot.”

”Again,” Cash mutters from inside my house, like he”s a little bitter about being here in the first place.

As much of a distraction as I thought I needed, I don”t think these four guys and their ribbing and filthy jokes are going to make me forget about Claire. If anything, they”re going to make me long for her even more.