Stealing Her Heart

“They let you go? I was sure you were going to be stuck here for days.” When Robert simply shrugs, I look back at Shane. He’s hunched over his desk, not daring to make eye contact with either of us. I’ve never seen him like that. Not even when he was being investigated by the police himself as a high school kid. “What happened in there?”

“Like you said,” Robert finally replies, holding the door of the station open for me. I stumble out of it in a daze. “Just a misunderstanding is all. Now how about that lunch? I heard about this place called Lil’ John’s?”

Twenty minutes later, we’re sitting at a table looking out over the university district, its bars all dark and lifeless at this time of the day. In polar contrast, Lil’ John’s is as busy as ever. Despite the lunchtime rush, we get seated immediately. I’ve never gotten a seat so fast here, and I’m one of the regulars. How Robert managed it is beyond me.

“So I know you’re a teller at a bank,” he says. Robert’s sitting across the table, his full attention on me. In all the dates I’ve gone on in the past few years, the guy has always been distracted by his phone. But the moment we sit down, his phone disappears in his pocket and doesn’t make an appearance again. “Give me the highlights. Who is Hailey....” he trails off after saying my name, obviously angling for the rest of it.

“Perkins,” I fill in my surname for him. That was an easy answer but where to go from here is murky and uninteresting. “Highlights? I grew up here, but that was probably apparent already. I won the state Math Olympics in my junior year of high school. Went to the university just half a mile from here. Worked some shitty part-time gigs to keep me afloat until I landed the job at the bank. Honestly, that’s all there is.”

Robert can apparently read minds, because he responds by saying, “And you’re no doubt wondering why a girl like yourself—a girl that you seem to hold little respect for in terms of accomplishments or interest—would catch the eye of a stranger. A stranger that you can’t quite put a finger on. Isn’t that right?”

I nod, and I can tell he’s about to say something else, but before he can, our plates come out. Shredded barbecue on steamy buns. A side of cold slaw. And two sweet teas. He takes a sip at his and his face twists.

“They weren’t kidding when they said this was sweet.”

I don’t touch my food. My brain is too busy whirring to be distracted by food, no matter how tantalizing it smells. “I still don’t get you aren’t upset with me. I got you arrested this morning! You should be suing me or, I don’t know, something other than taking me out to lunch.”

“What was I supposed to do? You still haven’t given me your number, so I couldn’t very well let you slip away.”

“But why do you want my number?” I shriek a bit too loudly, drawing the attention of the neighboring tables. Noticing this, I make myself smaller while leaning forward to hiss at Robert. “It doesn’t make any sense. Why me?”

Robert leans forward until our faces nearly collide. His lips caress against mine. My breath stops until he pulls back and says, “Because you’re worth being arrested for.”

Chapter 6

Robert

I actually can’t believe that those words came out of my mouth. More unbelievable is that Hailey takes them seriously. That’s not to say that I didn’t mean them. Because I did. But I don’t think I realized it until now.

You see, I’ve had my share of women.

Women with class. Women whose only asset was their ass. Women who knew how to spend money. And women who luxuriated in the things not even money could buy. I’ve been seduced and teased and led on in more ways than the average man even knows is possible. My experiences probably aren’t too out of the norm for other guys in my position: I’ve not only got ‘fuck you’ money, I’ve got that ‘fuck me’ money. The kind that draws women who’ve only heard rumors of the size of my…wallet. And when I can’t get them the standard way, I’ve got more than enough cash and exclusive credit cards to accomplish what I want discretely.

So to say that I’ve seen more than my fair share of women whose beauty wouldn’t look out of place in a fashion magazine wouldn’t be an understatement.

But neither is what I said about Hailey.

What she has that those other women don’t isn't simply down to physical beauty. In a point-by-point analysis, Hailey might not even be on par with 90% of them. But, then again, that wouldn’t be a fair comparison. Every other girl with the cajones to approach me has been surgically improved. Nipped and tucked and lifted and enlarged. Hailey is natural. And not just skin deep either. She’s got a personality that isn’t after my money. Plus, genuine empathy for an error that cost me the morning (but has given me a story that will win me plenty of free drinks in the future), and I can’t help seeing Hailey for the true oddity that she is: in a sea of fakes, she’s real. Down to earth, no matter how trite that cliché may be.

This thing that started out as a curiosity that I wished to itch—an attraction that I only expected to be a fling until I could leave this miserable town—has grown into a need to know more about this girl.

“And despite all I’ve gone though to just swing this date,” I continue. “I still haven’t managed to get your number. So what’s a guy gotta do?”

She bites her lips, her cheeks warming to a rosy color that makes me wonder how far south her blush extends past her neckline. I take a juicy bite of the BBQ sandwich. The ball’s in her court now.

She grabs a napkin, pulls a pen out of her purse and jots down her number. After sliding it across the table, she bites her lips again, which is driving me wild. “What else did you want to know?”

I take another massive bite of the sandwich. “First of all, you can tell me how this hasn’t become a national chain yet. Then you can tell me something about you that’s actually true. Because I’m not buying your I’m-so-boring routine.”

She scrunches her nose up as she’s obviously thinking. “Well, I’m the youngest of four kids. Three older brothers, but they moved away as soon as they finished high school. One lives on the west coast now. The other is doing some kind of work-abroad program in Japan. The last lives down in Florida. I’m the only one that stayed here. What about you?”

I hold my hand up, fingers and thumb curled into an ‘O’ shape. “Zero brothers or sisters. Fa

ther got his son and said that was enough. I guess you could say I still live in my hometown, but I’ve definitely gotten out of it more than a few times.”

“And where is this hometown? It’s obvious that it’s a big city, but where? New York?”

I wag my finger at her. “No, no. I answered your question, so now it’s my turn. You knew that cop. What’s his name?”