He cut his eyes in her direction and
evaluated her with suspicion. “One’s for Autumn.”
Brenda chortled out loud as a Shirley
Temple-drink wisecrack jumped from her brain to the tip of her tongue. About to
open her mouth, she halted the comment when CJ narrowed his gaze.
“Listen.” Brenda’s tone became more
affable. “We’ll have to work together pretty soon. I’m thinking we should clear
the air.”
“Really? Well, I’d say you’re itching
for a fight.”
For a brief second, she pondered the
notion that he might be right. Had CJ’s earlier grumpiness offered an excuse to
funnel untapped anger over Jack’s abrupt departure? Anger she’d kept bottled
inside for the past year? “No. Just conversation.” She used as much sincerity
as she could muster.
He surveyed her, then shook his head.
“My Aussie grandmother used to call me a larrikin when I acted like you.”
“What’s a larrikin?”
“Depends on how it’s used.” He cast a
scorn-laden glance in her direction.
The bartender placed two cognacs in
front of CJ, who pulled a twenty from his pocket and handed it to him.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
The bartender returned with his change.
“Look it up.” CJ pocketed the bills, then
lifted the drinks. His mouth curved into an I-got-the-last-word-this-time smirk
and he walked away.
***
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