"Okay, so I don't understand the problem here. He-" She places her hand on my shoulder and spins my chair to face her. "What was his name?"

"Jax."

"s.e.xy name." She smiles. "So Jax was obviously interested. You were interested. I mean, h.e.l.l, you two were basically eye-f.u.c.king each other."

Covering my mouth, I choke on my drink. To be so crude, she sure as h.e.l.l looks put together. "I'm not really a people person."

Janine rolls her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I haven't met an author yet who is a 'people person.' Did you give him your number?"

"h.e.l.l no... he gave me his."

She arches one of her perfectly sculpted brows. "Interesting."

"What's interesting about that?"

"That he gave you his number instead of asking for yours." She shrugs. "I like to a.n.a.lyze people, figure out what makes them tick. That's the only reason I work well-huh, as well as one person can work-with EA. You have to learn what drives someone, you know, and the fact that he gave you his number, well, he put the d.a.m.n ball in your court..." She smirks before lifting her drink to her lips. "Life is about experiences, Miranda. Do something that takes you out of your comfort zone."

"Oh." I laugh. "I a.s.sure you this entire ordeal with Edwin"-I wave my hand-"way, way out of my comfort zone."

Shooting a disapproving look at me, she shakes her head. "Just call the d.a.m.n man, would you? One call. Ask him to have coffee with you or something." She turns back to the counter just as the waitress sets a plate filled with soggy fries and a gigantic burger in front of her. "Coffee and a quick f.u.c.k, is that too much for a woman to ask for?"

Easy enough for her to say. Not in a million-f.u.c.king-years would I call him. No matter how badly I may want to.

"People Are Strange"-Goodbye Nova "You're f.u.c.king sick, man. I'm telling ya. A f.u.c.kin midget? Really?" Tommy asks, scratching his slightly balding head.

"A hot one? Yeah, what's there not to get here, man? You can spin them. Carry them around. There are all kinds of benefits," I say, my eyes counting the cracks in the sidewalk, my brain anywhere but engaged in this ridiculous conversation. If I had known my comment after pa.s.sing a shop with a midget stripper billfold in the window would've led to this conversation, I would've kept my mouth shut.

A migraine is rocking my skull right now, and my aviators do little to keep the noon sun from making matters worse. Nightmares kept me up most of the night. The kind that make you feel like you're right there in it. Living and breathing the nightmare, fighting to get out. I sat up and drank and stared blankly at some s.h.i.tty TV rerun until the sun came through the shades.

Cruising Tenth Street for prost.i.tutes with my chatty partner is not how I want to spend my day.

"You just wanna see them tiny carnie hands around your junk so it makes you feel like I do every day." He laughs heartily, pulling at his junk then putting both hands to his gut. With each bit of laughter, jolts of pain tear through my brain.

"f.u.c.k, Tommy, can you keep it down? I'm f.u.c.king dying over here."

"Yeah, you don't look so good. Long night?" he asks, a pep in his step that makes me hate his a.s.s right about now.

"Yeah."

"Nightmares and s.h.i.t again?"

"Don't you know it," I say with a bland tone as I make the turn down an alley peppered with half-clothed prost.i.tutes.

A few of them scatter, trying their best to act inconspicuous. One drops what's obviously a joint and follows them.

"C'mon now, ladies. No one's in trouble here. We just wanna talk," Tommy calls.

"Ain't n.o.body wanna talk to you, pig!" one of them yells, leaning nonchalantly against the brick wall. Her bleached-blond hair is in pigtails, and a tiny black mini skirt hugs her tight a.s.s.

Tommy just laughs as we approach her. He looks over at me. "Well, ain't she sweet, partner?" He looks back over at her. "You on your period or something, sweetheart?"

She flips us both the bird before slinking around the corner, disappearing into some old shop.

"They're not gonna talk to us," I say as I turn toward Tommy, whose attention has been drawn to the hot dog stand on the corner.

"Partner..." he says without looking. "f.u.c.king hot dog time."

I follow him as he's guided by his gut to the rickety little cart with a white-and-yellow striped umbrella. The man behind the cart is busy slopping wet hot dogs onto buns. He opens one of the containers, and the smell of chili wafts up in a cloud of steam.

"He's picking up speed. Killing faster than he used to." I mumble more to myself than to Tommy as he places his order.

"He's agitated, all right." He hands a wad of cash to the vendor before taking the hot dog and immediately burying it inside his mouth. "Did you see the mouth on that c.u.n.t..." He shakes his head, his mouth full of food. "I would have throttled that one real good."

I pa.s.s him a look of complete disgust, but it goes unnoticed. "Finish. Chewing. Please."

But he just laughs, bits of hot dog escaping his mouth. That's about the time I decide to walk away. I hear him shuffling behind me as I cross the street, and I roll my eyes as he grunts through the last of the hot dog. He catches up, wiping grease from his face with his suit jacket, just as my phone rings.

I pull it from my pocket and answer the call. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Um, is this, uh, Jax?" a familiar voice asks.

"This is him. May I ask who's calling?"

There's a pause before the woman clears her throat. "Miranda. I, uh... met you in that bar the other night..."

Now I'm left without words. I know exactly who she is, though I didn't spend nearly enough time with her, because she hasn't left my mind in the day since I met her. I was hoping she'd call, but I surely wasn't expecting it.

"Miranda? Yes, of course. Sorry, I wasn't really sure if you'd call or not." I swallow hard, fighting back the nerves. "I'm glad you did though."

"Yeah, I don't really do stuff like this and I-" There's a rustle over the line, and I can make out her whispering to someone. "Fine, Janine," Miranda says with a groan. "Look, I'm in Asheville. Do you want to have coffee or something?"

Without a second's thought, I respond, "Off Fletcher and Richter Streets. There's a little coffee joint down there. It's right by the baseball stadium. Would that work?"

"Yeah. Sure. Um, what time?"

"I gotta drop my partner off at the station. Give me fifteen?" I ask, pushing Tommy away as he's started eavesdropping.

"Yep. See you there."

"I look forward to it," I say before hanging up. Without my even realizing it's happened, a s.h.i.t-eating grin has taken up my face.

"What the f.u.c.k was that?" Tommy asks, a suspicious look in his eyes.

"Don't you worry about it, f.u.c.ker. C'mon, let's go."

She's already in the diner when I walk in, seated at the counter with her back to the door and a coffee in her hands. For a fleeting moment, I think about turning around and hitting the liquor store, maybe grabbing some last-minute liquid courage. Instead, I muster up the natural stuff and work my way toward her. When I tap on her shoulder, her head turns.

"Hey, Miranda, sorry I'm a little late. Traffic here can be a pain."

She smiles. "It's fine."

I notice her foot bobbing up and down, a lip between her teeth. She looks more settled today, more relaxed, like whatever was bothering her the other day has been lifted. I like that a lot. She was beautiful when she was sad, but with just a little more light in her eyes, it takes my best not to be a b.u.mbling a.s.shole.

When I realize that I've been standing entirely too long, I put up a palm and motion to the stool beside her. "Mind if I take a seat?"

"Nope." She smiles-just barely-nodding at the stool, and I sit before the nerves take my legs completely out from under me.

I motion to the waitress for a coffee of my own then redirect my attention to Miranda, though her rich hazel eyes are scanning the countertop.

"So..." Words are lost to me. I haven't been on a date, or whatever the h.e.l.l this is, for a long time. And certainly not sober. I've almost forgotten how the f.u.c.k to do it. f.u.c.king say something, man! "I gotta say, you were the last person I was expecting on the other end of that call. And you even ignored the three-day rule. Nice!" I say as playfully as I can, though I probably come off sounding more like a total jacka.s.s.

She shrugs. "Yeah... something like that." She brings the coffee cup to her lips, her gaze dropping to the grease-stained floor.

She's so short with me that I can't tell if she's not into me or just quiet. I remind myself that she probably wouldn't have called if it were the former as my sweaty hands fumble with a fresh cup of coffee.

"How much longer do you have here?" I ask.

Her eyes lift back to mine. "A few weeks. But, um, I'm not actually staying here, you know, in Asheville."

"Oh, that's right. So where about are you? I've lived here in North Carolina my whole life."

"In the middle of East-Budda-f.u.c.k up in the mountains. About fifty miles outside of town, I guess. Some place called Devil's Hatchet. Fitting place for an author, huh?"

My eyes go wide, the coffee mug settling back on the counter. There's only one author anyone knows up in those mountains, and he happens to be one of my favorites. "Wait a second. EA Mercer lives up that way. And you said you were here for writing research. So..."

She cracks a grin. "You know the name?"

I nod. "Who doesn't? The guy is a genius. Detective Bryce Hernandez from his Bloodl.u.s.t series is the reason I became a cop."

"No kidding? I love the gruesome way he describes those murder scenes..." She shudders a little. "Unbelievable."

"I can definitely appreciate his ability to make you feel like you're right there in the story, but it's the character development that I've always loved the most. He has the most ruthless villains. Tragic, unapologetic heroes. It's the best."

"I love the tragic heroes. f.u.c.k all that flowery bulls.h.i.t other people write. That's not life. His stuff is raw and gritty and just..." She gets lost in her words and bites her lip, her eyes locking with mine.

I laugh, knowing exactly what she's talking about and appreciating the commonality. "Let me tell ya... there's only one other big-time author anywhere close to here, and his name is Nicholas Sparks." Her face wrinkles with disdain, and I grin. "So I know all about that flowery c.r.a.p. No f.u.c.king thanks."

She laughs, and f.u.c.k, she's adorable when she does. "Have you ever met him?"

"No, never have. Actually, that's the thing. No one's really met him. The stories around Asheville about EA Mercer are abundant, though they're all just hearsay. No one's ever really seen the guy...kind of a hermit, I guess." I laugh. "So wait, you said you're here for writing research... tell me you're not trying to meet the guy. I'm not trying to discourage you here, but he's literally a ghost. I mean, he has an a.s.sistant who does everything for him, right down to his grocery shopping, and from what I've heard, all she does is b.i.t.c.h about what an a.s.shole her boss is."

"Oh, well"-she arches a brow-"while he is a literary genius, he absolutely has his moments where he's a big-time d.i.c.k." She shakes her head. "He means well, I think, just has a very short fuse."

My body stiffens and eyebrows rise. "No way. You're f.u.c.king with me, right?"

"What? That he's a huge d.i.c.k? No." She takes a sip of her coffee, smiling around the cup rim.

"No, the fact that you actually know he's a huge d.i.c.k. How? Spill."

Her eyes drop to her lap, and she fidgets with a loose piece of thread on her shirt. "I, uh... I'm doing this book with him. I mean, it's not really a-it's more of a writing project. So anyway, he had me come up to his cabin to work on it with him, and well, he can just be an a.s.shole sometimes." She glances at me, a nervous grin inching across her lips. "So, yeah..."

I glance from side to side and twist around to scan behind me before looking back at her. "Am I on Punk'd right now or something? You said you're still in school, didn't you? And he's EA Mercer. Did you win some kind of author lottery?"

Her cheeks flush, and she shrugs. "Kinda. I won some contest he held to find a co-author." An uneasy laugh bubbles from her throat, then she swallows hard. "Crazy, huh?"

I put my head in my hands and run my fingers through my hair. "Consider my mind blown. Very impressive. You must be one h.e.l.l of a writer."

Now her cheeks are full-on red. "I'm just... sick in the head enough for him, maybe?"

"Well, the cat is out of the bag. I'm going to go ahead and apologize ahead of time if this ever dominates future conversations. Just give me a swift kick to the shin or something to reset me."

"It's fine. And I'm not kicking you."

"So I'm going to a.s.sume, by that response, that there will, in fact, be future conversations?" I smile, though I can feel my face flush with nervousness. I've never been confused for being smooth. That's just not who I am.

"I mean"-she swallows-"sure."

My gaze fixes on the tiled wall. I'm unable to read this woman whatsoever. I finish my coffee, and without turning to her, I say, "I like the enthusiasm." I smile, the cup still held to my lips.

"I'm not one to get overly excited about anything... but I do like talking to you, and I don't like most people, so there's that."

"Oh yeah, you either?" I say, setting the cup down, a devious smile stretching across my face.

"Nope. People are a.s.sholes."

"I spent three years in the army. Two of them were spent fighting against the most vile pieces of s.h.i.t this world has to offer." My eyes drift to hers. "It takes the optimism right out of a man. When it comes to humanity at least. I guess that's why I became a cop." I lean in just a bit, smile, and shrug. "Well, that and EA Mercer."

"Thank you for your service," she blurts then inhales an uneven breath. I get the feeling she's never exactly certain when to say something or how to say it.

That comment though-I can't help but internally cringe. Sometimes I feel that by talking about my service, I'm invoking some sort of appreciation. I'm not. I'm just talking about me, and I know she likely means her thank you, but I still can't help but feel it's most often said because it's the only thing to say.

"Thanks," I say, my voice unsteady. "It was honestly my pleasure. It's what made me the man I am today." My eyes stray to the clock on the wall and then back to her. "The good, the bad, the ugly. I'm a better man for it."

A long awkward moment pa.s.ses between us that makes me both uncomfortable and a bit more attracted to her. She's as socially dysfunctional as I am. I can only look at her and weakly smile.

"Can I mention I'm not the best in these types of situations?" I say. "If I'm being perfectly honest-which h.e.l.l, after that awkward little moment of silence, why the h.e.l.l not?-I haven't been on a date, or in a situation like this, in a while. A long while." I can feel heat radiating throughout my body. Dealing with bullets and bombs-no problem. Talking to a woman without the a.s.sistance of alcohol and I'm in f.u.c.king full panic mode. "So I tend to have a little word vomit from time to time. You'll just have to bear with me."

She laughs, tossing her head back a little, her auburn hair falling down her back. "Trust me, Jax, I suck at conversation in general, much less with a guy like you..." Her eyes widen. "I mean, you know a guy. Just a guy, not like there's anything, uh..." Her gaze drops to my lap, and she flinches. "Yeah... so. How about you just don't worry about my word vomit and I won't worry about yours?"

I laugh, impressed by her candor. "I like the sound of that." My eyes drift again to the clock. The time reads five minutes past when I told Tommy I'd be back, and I can already hear his s.h.i.t-talking. I pull out my wallet and toss a ten on the counter before stowing my wallet away. "I've gotta get back to work. But I'd like to see you again. I need you to let me know when I can make that happen."

"Okay. Sure."

I can only shake my head and laugh as I stand from the stool. "You and that 'sure.'" I make my way to the door and hold it open for her as she stands from her own stool.

"Fine." She grins as she heads toward me. "I'd love to see you again. I'd be ecstatic."

Pointing at her as she pa.s.ses through the doorway, I raise my eyebrows. "That's more like it."