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I couldn’t help the scowl darkening my features, but it only made her smile harder. Instead, I dropped my focus back to my knitting, letting my needles clack furiously as I pretended it demanded all my attention.

When I deemed it safe, I glanced once more at Andi’s end of the table, only to get caught in her dark brown eyes. They searched mine, and I forced a smile.

Maybe a post-trivia hookup was off the table, but Jimmy never said we couldn’t be friends.

***

After a quiet lunch with my fellow jurors, we listened to opening statements in the trial. The judge excused us for the night, admonishing us not to read about the case or discuss it with others. Staying away from the news would be difficult. I tended to scour it regularly for trivia tidbits. But social media would be no struggle. Once my injury ended my professional soccer career, the last thing I wanted to do was interact with disappointed fans. I had that in common with Hernandez. Except he was still in the game, lucky bastard.

My back ached after sitting for hours. At least at work, I could knit while I talked, and sometimes pace on longer calls. Sitting on the jury meant just that: a lot of sitting still. I needed to get in extra time at the gym in the mornings before court started if I didn’t want my back seizing up and my knee getting stiff. Souvenirs of a past I was struggling to put behind me.

I nodded good night to the other jurors as we packed up our things and headed out to the courthouse parking lot. Andi beat me outside, sliding behind the wheel of a familiar car.

I watched her expression turn from calm to dismay as I climbed into my truck. She thunked her head against her steering wheel. Concerned, I pushed open my door to walk to her car.

“Everything okay?” I projected so she could hear me through her closed door.

She scowled, shaking her head, and opened her door with a tired sigh.

“My car won’t start. I think my door didn’t shut or something. Battery must be dead.”

“Do you need me to jump you?”

Her mischievous smile paired with the light in her eyes were more like the Andi I remembered. The friendly version, pre-proposition. I hadn’t meant it that way, but if double entendres got us back on a more equal footing, then I’d be doubling down on every opportunity.

“If you don’t mind helping me, that’d be great,” she said softly.

She shivered, and I glanced dubiously at her thin jacket. I’d bundled up against the wintry Tacoma weather but clearly, she hadn’t been as prepared.

“You don’t have a scarf or hat?”

She laughed ruefully. “I’m always losing them. I haven’t bought a new set this year yet.”

“I thought it was sunglasses Washingtonians lost every year?”

She shrugged, her lips still soft, eyes playful. “I guess I’m the exception to the rule.”

I debated wrapping her in my scarf and plopping my hat over her curls but second-guessed the impulse at the last moment. Probably too familiar. We were friendly rivals, but not exactly friends.

“Why don’t you pop your hood, and I’ll get you jumped?”

Her soft snicker signaled I’d chosen the right words. “Next you’re going to claim you’ll rev me up?”

I grinned. “We’ll get your motor running in no time.”

She groaned softly, but the light of appreciation in her expression told me the teasing had done what I hoped—set her at ease with me. That was one of the benefits of long acquaintance—my sense of humor didn’t strike her as unusual.

I parked my truck closer to hers and pulled my jumper cables from beneath the seat, connecting them to our battery terminals.

Andi shivered again, and I couldn’t help myself. “Get in my truck. I think I’ve got a spare blanket or two on the back seat. You can snuggle up while we give your battery a few minutes to charge.”

She nodded, her teeth chattering, and climbed in the passenger side. I slid in the driver’s seat as she turned to me with a broad grin, her arms full of baby blankets.

“Do you have a secret brood I don’t know about?” she asked playfully. “This is alotof baby blankets.”

I scratched my head, trying not to look sheepish. Knitting was nothing to be ashamed of.

“Uh, no. I knit a lot at work. Almost all the dispatchers do. It’s my turn to do donation drop-offs.”