A Week Later

The work day was coming to an end while Clary and I wrapped up a few loose ends in the office. She sat with her rose gold laptop on her knees, spinning in slow circles in the swivel chair and chewing on her lip as she studied the screen. I watched her out of the corner of my eye until I heard Clary's stomach growl quietly.

"Looks like we're about done here," I said a bit eagerly, standing from my seat and snatching the collar of my black jacket from where it hung on the back of the chair. "Wanna go to the Mexican restaurant down the road? My treat."

She suddenly looked up with her big green eyes as if I just broke her out of a trance, making my stomach flutter slightly under the fire of her gaze. Then all too suddenly she looked down at her watch. "Oh, man, I'm sorry. I actually have plans to go out tonight. I have to go home right now and get dressed quickly," she said apologetically.

My stomach plummeted. "Plans? What are you up to?" I tried to say it casually to mask the concern in my voice, but I was unsure if I was successful.

She fiddled with the end of her ponytail. "Simon asked me to go with him to the Sunset Bar on Ironwood at 6 tonight."

"Like a date?" I blurted, kicking myself internally at the invasion of privacy.

"Uhm," she stammered with pink cheeks as if she hadn't thought about that, "I really don't think so. It's just a friend thing, we've been friends for most of my life."

"Hmm," I hummed. "Well, let me drive you home." There was no way I could let her take the bus anymore, not with the horrifying fact that she had no self defense tactics to her name. Perhaps I could convince the Captain to slip a can of pepper spray her way without her thinking I was the one being too cautious.

"I'm ok, I have a bus pass—"

"It's already 5 o'clock. You're going to be late if you take the bus, princess," I interrupted. Her face turned pink once more, but I couldn't determine if it was from the nickname or the idea of her approaching date.

I sort of hoped it was the former.

After a small nod, she stood and collected her bag but fiddled with her Rubik's cube in her fingers as we walked to the elevator together. She was nervous, I could tell that for certain.

The precinct was nearly empty on the first floor, aside from Natalie who again was trying her best to catch my gaze with a half unbuttoned blouse. I stared down at Clary instead, expecting her to be swiping away distractedly at the colorful cube but I caught the tail end of her crossing her arms over her chest in discomfort, her anchor squeezed in one hand. I felt my brow furrow and my hand come up to brush the small of her back without a second thought, but pulled back before my fingers could graze the knit material of her sweater.

The lobby doors swung closed with a click. Clary reached for the chrome handle of my car. "Nope," I said and snatched it instead, pushing the button and opening the door.

"If you're going to keep driving me around, you're going to have to teach me how to open this door the correct way," she huffed in irritation but there was amusement behind her green eyes.

"No way. What use would I be if I didn't open the door for you?" The bold statement earned me a flash of pink across her cheeks and an emerald eye roll before plopping down onto the leather seat. I pushed the door closed and hopped into the driver seat.

After starting the engine, I looked out my window over my shoulder while reaching for the stickshift, but my hand grazed something soft and warm before finding the knob. My head snapped over to Clary, her face was blood red as she looked down into her lap and clutched on the hem of her beige skirt—but didn't seem to pull it down farther.

"Sorry," I mumbled, throwing the car into reverse, trying not to add more attention to the accidental touch than need be.

The clicks and whirs of her Rubik's cube were much faster than usual. "Are you nervous for your date with the forensic tech?" I asked after a few beats of silence in an attempt to get her out of her thoughts and to voice her nerves rather than sit with them.

"It's not a date," she said flatly, completing her puzzle before setting it on her knees.

"I'm pretty sure it is." I grinned with amusement and plucked the cube from her lap with my fingers without touching her skin—no matter how much they had begun to itch for it this past week.

She looked out the window while I spun the pieces around in a chaotic combination, her fingers absentmindedly brushing over the area of skin that I touched earlier near her knee. Blood tried to creep into my pants before I shoved it down and set the cube back into her lap gently.

"Thank you," she mumbled but didn't pick it up. Instead, she continued staring out the window at the passing forests.

"Is he going to pick you up from your apartment?" I asked into the silence.

"No, I told him I had a ride," she answered.

I rolled my eyes. "What a gentleman."

She snapped her gaze to me and swatted my arm while I clung to the gearshift with a white knuckle grip. "Wouldn't it make him more of a gentleman that he respected my word when I told him no?" She tried to sound irritated, but a smile played at the corners of her mouth.

"Not in this situation, princess. If it were me, I'd show up at your apartment to pick you up anyway."

She huffed a sigh, immediately attempting to engross herself with the Oregon forests from our vantage point on the mountain road. Though, she balled her fingers into a fist on her lap and a conceited part of myself wanted to believe she was refraining from grazing the flesh below her skirt again.

She picked up her Rubik's cube and let the flying colors distract her until I shifted into park. Streetlights had started to turn on from the darkness the cloud cover provided so easily at this time in the evening, casting the streets in an eerie orange glow.

I hopped out and opened the door for her, stepping to the side on the grass lawn. As much as I could see how badly she wanted to protest when I opened the door for her, she stayed silent and accepted the act, possibly knowing I'd tell her the same lie I have been spewing for the past week about faulty door handles.

"Would you like a ride to your date?" I asked, my tone was playful but even I noticed my jaw tightened slightly. I internally hit myself for acting so strange, feeling so indifferent over nothing.

"Uh, no, I actually do have a ride, thank you," she stammered quickly and cringed at herself. "And thank you for bringing me home."

"My pleasure," I purred, trying to sound approachable.

"Goodnight, detective."

"Goodnight, princess."

I watched her scurry in a beeline for the staircase in a rush to get to her date with Bill Nye. The stubborn part of me didn't want to admit that I felt slightly forgotten about—almost dismissed.

That feeling didn't last long, because when I looked up at the redhead fiddling with her house keys, I caught the tail end of her fingertips brushing against her outer thigh once more.