Skye’s eyes bulged. “You got caught?”

I shook my head. “We almost did, though. But I was able to slink out, and then I feigned being sick and Blake drove me home.”

“Have you seen him since?”

“Donovan? No. We talked on the phone later that night, and I told him I thought we should keep our distance.”

“How long ago was that?”

“About two weeks.”

“So you haven’t had contact with him in a while, then?”

“Well, that’s the odd thing. After we talked on the phone, he didn’t contact me for almost a week. But then I got a text one night that just said I miss you. I didn’t respond, and the next day I got a huge bouquet of flowers with a note that said Still thinking about you. And every day since then, he’s done something like that, but we haven’t seen each other or spoken in two weeks.”

“Huh…”

“Huh, what?”

“He doesn’t know anything about your past, right?”

“No, why?”

“Because he’s giving you space, but letting you know he isn’t going anywhere. That’s exactly how you handle someone like us, yet he doesn’t know the history.”

“He’s very smart and intuitive.”

“So then he’s probably figured out that you’re falling in love with him and are just scared.”

I wasn’t falling in love, was I?

Skye saw my expression and laughed. “You’ll figure it out eventually. Now come on, we have four episodes to watch. I’m dying to know what the story is with that crazy bitch who got taken out of the rose ceremony after fainting.”

***

“Good morning.”

Was it possible to be sexy with only two words? I hadn’t thought so. But Donovan Decker seemed able to accomplish it—and at only eight forty-five in the morning on a Monday, too. I wasn’t sure if it was the three-thousand-dollar, well-fitting suit covering the mass of tattoos I knew were hidden underneath, or the cocky smile that tugged at his lips while his deep voice stayed so steady. Good morning. Fuck my life.

I sighed. “Good morning.”

Storm looked up from his phone for a half second. “Hey…”

“It’s about to open up and pour any minute,” Donovan said. “Why don’t we go inside, and I’ll find us an empty room to talk before we have to see the judge?”

“Okay.”

The courthouse had one of those revolving turnstile doors. Donovan held his hand out for Storm to enter first. Once the next compartment came around, he held his hand out for me. But he surprised me by hopping into the tight little area right behind me. And if I wasn’t already thrown by the proximity, I felt his hot breath on my neck as he whispered in my ear. “You look beautiful. Green is my second-favorite color on you.”

I almost tripped navigating the rotating door, but I made it out the other side, glad to have a little air. Donovan seemed perfectly fine.

“Right this way,” he said.

We walked down the long corridor to the last room on the left. Donovan opened the door and peeked inside. Finding it empty, he opened it wider. “Let’s go in here to talk.”

Storm went first, and then it was my turn. “What’s your first favorite?” I asked as I passed.

Donovan’s eyes sparkled. “Nude.”

This is going to be one long morning.

The playfulness stopped once Donovan put on his lawyer hat and explained the terms of the deal to Storm.

“Do you understand everything I just told you?”

“Yeah. If I don’t get in trouble for a year, the charges get dropped.”

“Right,” Donovan said. “But what happens if you do get in trouble during the next year?”

“Really?” Storm said. “I’m not an idiot.”

“Storm…” I warned.

Donovan smiled. “It’s fine. I know it seems like I’m asking you a simple question, but the answer isn’t as simple as you think. If you get in trouble during the next year, the pending charge is reinstated, along with any new charges brought against you. That means one family court judge sitting on two offenses at the same time. It sounds like semantics, but a judge who has two charges in front of his nose is going to feel obligated to teach you a lesson, so the outcome could be more serious than two different judges presiding over two different charges six months apart. That might not be fair, but that’s the truth of the matter.”

“So what do I do? Take the hit with this one to have a better shot the next time?” Storm asked.

“No.” Donovan leaned forward and made sure he had Storm’s attention, then he spoke slowly. “You make sure there isn’t a next time. There can’t be a next time, Storm.”

“Fine…” he grumbled.

“I mean it. You will wind up in a bad place you won’t come back from.” Donovan lifted his arm and pushed up his shirtsleeve, exposing his watch…but he also flashed a glimpse of his tattoos. Storm’s eyes snagged on the ink before meeting his lawyer’s again, and it made me wonder if Donovan had needed to check the time on his watch at all.

“Fine. I get it,” Storm said.

Donovan nodded. “Good.”

“Are we done now? I have to take a piss.”

“Yeah, we’re done,” Donovan said. “I’ll walk you to the restroom and see if the judge is running on time this morning.” He turned to me. “Be back in a few.”

A few minutes later, a bailiff opened the door to the room I sat in alone.

“Oh, sorry. I thought Decker was in here.”

“He is,” I said. “Or he was. He just walked down to the restroom. He should be back any minute.”

“Alright. Would you let him know there’s a change of plans and Judge Oakley is ready for him now?”

“Oh, okay. Thank you. I’ll let him know.”

When Donovan didn’t come back after a few more minutes, I gathered up my things and decided to go look for him. I spotted him standing outside the men’s room, talking to the man I recognized as the prosecutor from the last time we were here. I didn’t want to interrupt, so I waited for them to finish from a few feet away, figuring I’d give them privacy. But apparently I hadn’t waited far enough away to avoid their conversation.

“So what’s the deal with the woman who comes with your client?”

“She’s his social worker.”

“Any chance you know if she’s single?”

Donovan took a minute to respond. “Happily married with six kids. Husband’s a pro boxer.”

“Shit. Okay. I’ll keep my distance.”

“Good idea.”

Storm came out of the bathroom and walked over to me, rather than Donovan. So Donovan turned to follow him and found me standing maybe six feet away. He studied me, probably trying to figure out if I’d overheard.

I raised an eyebrow and smirked.

He chuckled to himself and turned back to the prosecutor. “I’ll see you inside.”

When he walked over, the grin was still on his face.

“I think a gun-toting cop would have been more effective than a boxer.”