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She starts working on our drinks, and I focus on her like she’s creating a masterpiece. Anything to escape the inquiring eyes of my friends.

“Does she think avoiding us is going to stop the conversation?” Rachel asks the other two loudly.

“She’s going to try, but what she can’t evade is the talk around the police station that she’s caught a certain detective’s interest. I personally witnessed this said detective’s expression when he received her phone call on Monday. There was an unmistakable happiness on his face the instant he answered.”

This gets my attention, and my head swings to Nina. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Nina! Why didn’t you tell me?” Maren glares at her cousin. “This is the shit you are supposed to report to me!”

“Wait.” I slap Maren’s hand down. “Tell me more.”

“He had just finished telling Oliver and Captain Corny about his meeting with Carlton, and your car was being taken care of. Captain told him you are known around town as a spitfire, and Oliver looked like he’d lost his puppy. Then Captain mentioned you were a handful.”

“That explains why he hasn’t called,” I mumble, slouching my shoulders in disappointment.

“I don’t think so,” Nina goes on, her face lighting up. “Because he said, and I quote, ‘nothing I can’t handle’.” She uses her fingers to air quote, and my heart flips in my chest.

“I knew it!” Maren starts clapping and jiggling in her seat. “You’re going to owe me a hundred dollars.” She points at me laughing.

I smack her hand away again and roll my eyes as she explains our stupid bet to Nina and Rachel.

“Here you go.” The bartender slides the drinks to me, and I pass them around.

“Let’s do a toast.” Rachel raises her drink in the air. “To Emi, may the next time we get together, you actually have a dating life.”

“To Emi,” they toast.

“Hardy har-har.” I click my glass with theirs, feigning irritation.

The next thirty minutes are spent catching up on everyone’s lives. I’m grateful to no longer be the topic of conversation, and I mostly listen. I’m mid-sip when Rachel surprises me by looking at Maren and dropping a bombshell.

“I told a woman at the salon about Trixsters Anonymous. She’s convinced her boyfriend of two years is stepping out on her. I hope it’s not true, but I mentioned your situation.” Rachel works at one of the most exclusive salon and spas in the area.

Maren stiffens but hides it with a sad smile. “They really helped me.”

“I think it’s a great service. If anything, it’s the mystery surrounding it. No names, no identities, just a true service. I can’t tell you how many PIs come into the station, babbling about women wanting to catch their men cheating. No one genuinely takes them seriously. At least, with this, there’s a sense of belief,” Nina tells us.

It’s weird hearing them discuss our business right in front of us, not knowing we are the Trixsters. Maren starts to drum her fingers on her knee, her nervous tick, and I know it’s time to intervene.

“How about another round?” I announce louder than necessary and wave at the bartender, circling my finger to our group.

“Let’s go back to talking about Emi and her non-existent dating life,” Nina teases, and I bang my head on the bar, not interested in reliving this conversation.

Instead of the usual chatter that would follow, the group goes silent.

Too silent.

“That sounds like a conversation I’d like to hear about.” The deep rumble from behind me makes the hair on my arms stand.

God, no, please no… I slowly lift my head and turn to find Walker Scott and another man at the edge of our circle.

“Walker?”

“Emerson.”

The way he says my name shoots shivers down my spine. God, he’s gorgeous. It should be illegal to look the way he does. The breeze on the rooftop picks up, causing the scent of his cologne to drift my way. I inhale softly, the scent every bit what I remember from last Friday.