Shot in the Dark (Blackbridge Security 2)

“Is that the sex toy girl?”

“Fuck. Don’t you people ever knock?”

I click the screen away which is pointless because he already busted me.

“The door was open,” Ignacio says as he hitches his thumb over his shoulder.

“Put your dick away!”

Now the damn bird decides to give a warning shout? He’s growing useless.

I don’t actually believe that because he was well received not long ago on the elevator, but he could be a little more consistent.

“Did you need something?” I turn to face Ignacio completely, wondering how he would’ve handled the situation on the elevator.

I know he would’ve been late for work because his charm, accent, and that smile I’ve seen him give women would’ve landed him in Whitney’s apartment with her probably screaming his name.

I grow even more irritated as he stands there just smiling at me, and the thought of him going after the girl I’m certain I’m falling for doesn’t help my mood.

“I wanted to see what you were doing for lunch.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “What?”

“Lunch. You know the meal in the middle of the day.”

“We never go to lunch together.”

It’s true. We’re normally all so busy, we just eat when we can. The breakroom is stocked with all types of food, and when we don’t feel like eating what’s available, we have something delivered.

“Are you telling me no?”

“Not exactly, but I am suspicious.”

We have a stare down, both of us watching the other without saying a word for long, drawn out moments.

“I spoke with Flynn.”

“Of course you did,” I mutter. Just like there’s no privacy around here; there are also no damn secrets.

“He said you’re in need of woman help.”

“I’m fine,” I lie, because I’ll never ask him what I should’ve done to at least secure a date before walking away from Whitney this morning. I know it was a missed opportunity, but I’ll never confess my lack of skill out loud.

“I figured I could give you a few pointers.”

“Shouldn’t Brooks be the one offering assistance?”

Brooks can charm the cotton panties off of a nun, but honestly, Ignacio isn’t very far behind him in skill.

“He’s busy. He’s on the schedule to help tomorrow.”

“There’s a fucking schedule?”

“We’re only here to help.”

“So there aren’t any side bets going?”

At least he looks a little sheepish for being called out.

“What’s the over under?”

“Finn, Gaige, and Jude think the first time you go out with your girl, you’ll fall on your face.”

“I can’t help it I’m a little clumsy,” I seethe. Why do they think I’m so good with computers? Do they honestly think people wake up one day and decide to be a nerd? I tried sports when I was younger, but apparently that shit requires coordination. I missed every aspect of that. I don’t open my mouth to tell him I haven’t tripped over my own feet in days. It doesn’t seem very relevant.

“And?” I ask instead.

“Brooks, Quinten, and me think you have the potential to take it all the way.” He smiles like I should give him credit for having faith in me.

“What about Deacon?”

“He’s not involved. He’s got his own lady troubles.”

“And how exactly is going to lunch going to help me with her?”

“You mean sex toy girl?”

“Her name is Whitney.”

“Lunch will be a practice in flirting and using your charm.”

“And there’s no possible way this will go bad,” I grumble, but finally agree to his help.

I’ll take any tips and tricks I can to make sure I end up with this girl.Chapter 8Whitney

“I’m just saying it’s possible.”

“But still very improbable,” I repeat.

“You’re so pessimistic,” Sarah says with a sigh.

“But you love me anyway,” I remind her.

“Of course I do, but could you at least consider that the guy on the elevator and the guy you’re falling for online could be the same person?”

“No,” I deadpan.

I won’t even let my mind go there. The guy in the elevator was so freaking hot, like model hot. The unintentional five-o’clock shadow on his jaw, those bright blue eyes, hell, even his messy sandy-blond hair made him attractive. My luck isn’t that good.

“He lives in St. Louis,” Sarah reminds me.

“Over three hundred thousand people live in St. Louis.”

“He has a bird.”

“Lots of people have birds. They aren’t exactly a rare animal.”

“What about his voice? The guy on the elevator talked, right? Was it the same voice infiltrating your wet dreams at night?”

“Why do I bother telling you anything? And it wasn’t a wet dream.”

“Damp, moist, whatever.”

“Hork, you nasty bitch.” I make a gagging noise for emphasis.

We both laugh. Her louder than me.

“The voice?” she prompts when I get distracted by the work I have going on my screen.

“I don’t know. Maybe?”

“Really?” She squeals like she’s just won a car on The Price is Right.

“The guy on the elevator had a lovely voice,” I confess, but truthfully when I replay that interaction, all I can hear is the hilarious bird saying crude things to me. “Wasp has a lovely voice.”