Twenty-Two
At least I wasn’t in as dire of a condition as when J.T. and I had first saw each other after a decade apart. I’d been recovering from being nearly stabbed to death. He answered the door looking more awake than I had expected.
“What’s wrong?” He asked.
“Can’t a girl just drop by to see her boyfriend?” I asked and held up my hand. “Also, I may have sliced my hand with a fruit knife.”
“You don’t own a fruit knife,” he said and ushered me inside.
“Work-related injury,” I added with a smile and kissed him on the cheek.
He pressed his palm to the small of my back and kissed my lips, holding me close for a long time. When he finally pulled away, he asked, “Do I want to know?”
“Hunting down a rogue Whisperer at a bar. I needed to keep her in one spot and apparently the best way
