39. Thad
As we walk back to the hotel, Helen is glowing. To me, she’s always been beautiful, alluring, and more distracting than I’d like her to be; but tonight, she is turning heads everywhere we go. And it isn’t just because of the outfit. (Fuck me, that outfit. I was almost relieved that Dean wasn’t on the boat once I saw her, because there was no way I would have been able to focus on anything but her all night.)
For as long as I’ve known her, Helen has been a turtle, hiding inside of her shell. The oversized sweaters, the messy buns. And even though she might have been making some moves to occasionally come outside of that, it was obvious she was still hiding a part of herself, not quite wanting to be seen.
She isn’t hiding anymore. Everything about her begs to be noticed, from the way she carries herself, to the warmth and happiness she exudes—and yes, to the incredible body on display in that barely there fishnet dress.
Her glow isn’t just from us fooling around, either—I mean, I’m sure the multiple orgasms didn’t hurt, and I’m sure I’m walking around wearing one of my rare, shit-eating grins, myself. I think she’s proud of herself, for trying something new, and everything about her radiates with pleasure and confidence.
And I think, maybe, just maybe, it has a little bit to do with me, too. We can’t stop smiling at each other. Touching each other. Her hand gripping the sleeve of my shirt, my hand touching the small of her back, her body angling into mine to let other people pass. If I were seeing anyone else behave the way we’re behaving now, I’d probably sucker punch them on principle for being so obnoxious, but I can’t make myself stop.
As we near the hotel, I clock yet another pair of guys craning their necks to look after Helen as she walks by. Some of my innate sourness returns, and my face falls back into its usual, easy scowl. If I had a suit jacket, I would have found a reason to wrap it around her shoulders, even though it’s an unseasonably warm night—anything to keep their eyes off my woman.
My woman. The thought makes me smile again, despite myself. My librarian femme fatale, too sexy to be a good girl, and too sunny to be a vamp. Helen. The only woman in the world, so far as I care.
My expression must be contagious because she sees my face as we step into the lobby and grins back at me, almost shyly. “What?”
I wouldn’t know where to start without turning into mush. This thing I’m feeling is both overwhelmingly strong and incredibly delicate, like if I say the wrong thing or blink the wrong way, it’ll snuff out. “Just thinking about how much I love New Orleans,” I hear myself saying, like a prize idiot.
Either she can read between the lines of what I’m saying, or she’s a bit of an idiot, too, since her smile just broadens, her heart in her eyes as she looks at me. “Me, too. I don’t want to leave.”
“Let’s stay,” I blurt out without thinking.
Her smile doesn’t fade, though it does turn a shade skeptical. “Like, for a few more days? I have to get back to my job once we find Dean.”
His name threatens to sour the mood, the happy bubble we’ve trapped ourselves in. Finding and arresting Dean was always the plan, and I meant it when I told Helen it would be the safest thing for him, with the mafia on his trail; but there’s no way around it—arresting the brother of the woman you’re crazy about is a bit of a buzzkill.
I push past it, blindly and willfully. “Quit your job. I’ll move my business down here, get my bounty hunting license in the state of Louisiana. You can work for me.”
I’m only half joking. If she says yes, I’ll do it in a heartbeat; the joking part comes from knowing she’ll never go for it.
She folds her arms, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “Doing what? I didn’t know bounty hunters had a big need for librarians.”
“Oh, they do. Someone who knows how to do monotonous research? Check. Handle even the weirdest members of the public? Check. Can navigate public records? Check.” I’m kind of convincing myself with this whole bit, though she still looks dubious. Leaning in toward her, I lower my voice to a whisper. “Distract said bounty hunter when trapped on a boat for hours? Check, check, check.”
She blushes, lightly shoving me away. “Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t think it’s the best idea to work for your boyfriend.” She tenses as soon as the words leave her mouth. “Not boyfriend, but…whatever you would call this. If this even needs a name. I’m not saying it does.” A sharp, nervous intake of breath. “Does it?”
Boyfriend is such a stupid word. I’m not opposed to the idea in theory, but it does sound a little bit like we’re back in high school. “You can call me your boyfriend, if you want,” I say quickly, mostly to ease her obvious stress. “I think I’d prefer to call you Sister Helen, though, but only in the bedroom.”
The tension eases out of her shoulders just like that, and she laughs a little, even as she rolls her eyes at me. “Thad.”
“The rest of the time?” I scratch my chin, as if considering it. “Maybe…my old lady?” I hook my index finger into one of the fishnet loops near her waist, tugging her toward me. “My ball and chain?”
She fights her amusement, half glaring at me. “You really like those better than just plain old ‘girlfriend,’ huh?”
My heart does a little stutter at that word. Girlfriend is much better than boyfriend, I decide right away. It doesn’t sound stupid or immature at all. A girlfriend is the woman who can make your heart skip a beat when you pick her up for date night, but who is also unbearably cute in sweatpants, ready to binge-watch TV. A girlfriend makes you lose your mind with how much you want to touch her, all the time, but also makes you laugh and gives the best hugs when you’ve had a bad day. “Actually,” I manage at last, “girlfriend sounds about right.”
Her smile back at me is so bright, it almost hurts to see it. I feel like I’ve been sucker punched in the gut, but also, strangely, like I kind of…enjoyed it?
“Ms. Flanagan?”
We’re so locked into each other that we both start at the sound of someone approaching. I turn to see one of the front desk clerks. That intense, electric chemistry between Helen and me must not be all that subtle, since the clerk is staring down at the ground, hard, like he’s afraid to look at us too directly. “Someone left a message for you at the front desk.”
He passes Helen a folded-up piece of paper before beating a hasty retreat back to the desk. Helen exchanges a quick, surprised frown with me as she looks down at the note. “What’s this…?”
I watch her as she unfolds it, tracing the furrow of her brow, the widening of her eyes. “Who’s it from?”
“Dean,” she tells me, eyes still wide with amazement.
The message is curt and to the point: Meet me in 508 bring no one - D
I’m immediately skeptical that it’s from him, though Helen seems to think it tracks. “He’s not much of a chitchat guy,” she explains to me as we make our way to our room. “This seems exactly like the type of message he’d leave—because he’s much too important to write full sentences or punctuate.” She rolls her eyes.
The fact that she becomes a belligerent teenager whenever she talks about her brother is weirdly cute. But I’m not letting that distract me from my distrust of the message. “Or it could be someone trying not to give you too much information so they won’t tip off that it’s not actually Dean.”
Helen pauses in front of the room door and turns to face me. “You think it might be a trap?” At my grim nod, she nods back, but more so to herself. “I’d better change, then.”
I follow her into the room, frowning. “I tell you that we might be walking into danger, and your first thought is about your outfit?”
Helen gestures down to herself. “It’s not the most practical outfit to get ambushed in. Imagine being tied up in all this fishnet, helpless.”
Oh, I’m imagining it now, all right, but I don’t think Helen and I are quite on the same page with the visions that concept brings to mind. Someday, I tell myself before I can get too far off track. She’s still a virgin, for goodness’ sake. And if there’s any life motto I live by, it’s that you don’t spring bondage-play on unsuspecting virgins.
“Change,” I manage through gritted teeth. “Quickly.”
As she heads into the bathroom to put on the clothes the Deltas had delivered back to our hotel, I’m half tempted to leave her here, go scout out room 508 for myself. Maybe it’s a shady mobster, waiting to pounce on Helen and use her as bait. Or maybe it really is Dean, and this case will almost be over.
Hard to say which is the more comforting option.
Helen and I seem to be on the same page about continuing things…for now. But I’m not delusional enough to think that there won’t be a hard transition back into normal life. It’s one thing to have two such polar opposites, who are attracted to each other and in close proximity, act on their hormones. But when Helen goes back to working at the library, I wonder if my life of late nights and weekends and weird hours will start to seem less exciting and more inconvenient.
I manage to shake the thought as Helen reappears. I’m a little sad, and a little relieved, to see her in clothing more substantial than the too-small bikini and fishnet dress. I’m pretty sure that the memory of what she looked like on the deck of that boat will be the last thing I remember before I die, but this outfit looks much more like her usual style. Plus, it will make it way easier to concentrate, if we are about to be ambushed by mobsters.
Helen grins at the sight of me. “A part of me thought you’d go without me, for sure.”
Feigning innocence, I point back to my chest with my thumbs. “Who, me?”
“If anything,” Helen muses as we make our way to the door, “it should be me going without you, since the note said to come alone.” At the look on my face, she laughs. “Don’t worry—even I’m not naive enough to fall for that one. I’m just saying, as a matter of principle, if anyone’s going on their own?—”
I silence her by pushing her up against the wall—not hard, but with purpose—holding her in place with my body as I catch her gaze with mine. “How about from now on, we both agree that we’re in this together?”
I mean that for much more than just finding Dean. I hope she knows that. I hope she can hear it in my tone, see it in my eyes.
Helen blinks at me in surprise, then tilts her head, studying me. For a long moment, we just gaze at one another, holding an entire conversation without saying anything at all.
“Okay,” she says at last. “I can agree to that.”