Born Under a Blond Sign Page 29

  I brought Regan over to his house whenever I came by. At first, he was very freaked out about the door hair. He’d follow her around with one of those stick vacuums, cleaning up all the fur. That made me feel bad, but I couldn’t leave her outside or anything, because Miles didn’t have a yard. And—to his credit—he never once suggested that we shut Regan up in the bathroom.

  Slowly, though, he started to loosen up. After a month or so, he wasn’t vacuuming in her wake. Well, at least he waited until I was gone to vacuum.

  I cooked more. I went to the grocery store weekly and purchased enough food to eat for the entire week. I made lists and plans and all kinds of normal things like that.

  Miles got my gun permit pushed through the bureaucracy. Of course, for the next three months, I didn’t have any cases except cheating spouses, and I spent all my time sitting outside of seedy motels taking pictures. Sometimes I brought Brigit with me for company. It was uneventful, it was boring, but it was paying the bills.

  And anyway, I liked having time for Miles.

  Sometimes, on Saturday mornings, we took Regan to a park and we walked her through a little nature trail. While we walked, we held hands. We didn’t say much, but I loved those mornings together. I felt so normal and happy and good.

  Was everything perfect? No, it wasn’t.

  We were still struggling to figure out the sex thing. Sometimes, I really wanted it, and Miles just couldn’t be bothered.

  But I managed to stay away from temptation. I didn’t go and seek out some stupid, pretty twenty-two-year-old to make me feel better.

  Instead, I would find other ways to occupy myself. Usually, I just went on a long run with Regan, and I came back sweaty and too tired to care about anything except vegging out.

  But even that felt good. Better than waking up somewhere hungover and ashamed.

  I was doing it. I was living the life I’d always wanted.

  Okay, I wasn’t back at work at the department or anything, and I wasn’t solving murders all the time. It was true that was part of the life I always wanted as well. But this was close.

  So, I was glad.

  I was happy. Happier than I’d been in a very, very long time.

  One thing that I missed was seeing Crane and everyone at The Remington. I didn’t make it out there quite as often as I used to, what with one thing and another.

  So, one afternoon, I cut out of work early, and I sent a text to Miles that I was going out for happy hour, and he could join me later if he wanted.

  I found Crane at the bar, blowing out dessert-scented vapor. He grinned at me. “Long time, Ivy.”

  I gave him a hug. “I know, I haven’t been around.”

  “But you look good,” he said.

  “Thanks,” I said. “You too. So, what’s going on with you?”

  He shrugged. “Oh, you know. Same old, same old. It’s summer, so I’m footloose and fancy free. No students to teach, nothing to worry about. I started writing another book.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “You did?”

  “Yeah, and I’ve made it pretty far. I’m nearly finished. I think I might actually get this one done.”

  “Seriously? That’s amazing.”

  “So, do I get to buy you a drink in honor of this rare and delightful encounter?”

  I laughed. “Sure.”

  “A real drink, not that crap beer you drink.”

  “A real drink,” I said. “Fine.”

  It was like old times, Crane and I drinking together in The Remington. I knew then that I couldn’t leave this behind. Being here, drinking with Crane, this was part of who I was, and I couldn’t be complete without it. So, I vowed that I’d make it a point to come by here more often.

  The hours slipped by.

  Miles sent me a text saying that he didn’t feel like driving all the way to Keene.

  I texted back that I was probably too drunk to drive, so I’d see him tomorrow.

  And then I went to order another round of drinks for Crane and me.

  There was a young guy at the bar. He had a round chin and dark, warm brown eyes.

  “Hi there,” I said, being friendly.

  “Hi,” he said, looking me up and down.

  There was no harm in talking to him. Talking didn’t mean anything was going to happen. I could look. Look, but not touch.

  Sure, I could.

  What’s next?

  Try the thriller

  Rough Edges

  Was a twelve-year-old girl victimized when her parents were murdered? Or was she the co-conspirator and illicit lover of the killer?

  Or, stick around Keene College and find out who killed Cori Donovan, the drug dealer. Check out:

  Frenzy

  a new adult romantic thriller

  Sex. Drugs. Murder.

  If you’d like to find out the minute my next book is available, plus get information about all my new releases…

  Join my email list.

  vjchambers.com

  Your opinion matters!

  In this new and exciting world of indie books, other readers rely on reviews from people like you to make informed purchases of books. Please consider returning to the site where you got this book and leaving a review to let others know what you thought.

  More THRILLERS by V. J. Chambers