Crime (h.s. au)

Chapter Nineteen

Ava

"This is really good," Harry tells me, my lips setting on the glass of wine I poured for myself. I couldn't tell what exactly I all put into the sauce I made, but I'm glad I turned out well. There are times I just think about the ingredients I have and put them together, hoping for the best.

"Thanks," I smile, his hand dragging a napkin across his lips. My eyes dart to them for a moment, seeing the cherry color return back to the surface.

I still can't stop thinking about the tattoos that cover his arms. There are so many and I find them fascinating; I never would have pegged him for a man with tattoos. Then again, everyone has a past.

"I'm glad you invited me over. This may sound weird, but I'm glad I'm getting to know you. Little by little," he tells me, my hand taking his plate. It's a strange feeling coursing through my body. The man sitting in front of me is very attractive and I'm unable to do anything about it.

I had performed a test for myself almost a week ago, and I gave him a hug. And fuck, after that I knew I was screwed. All I wanted to do was feel him, obtain some sort of comfort after everything that had occurred the days leading up to finding the evidence putting Alexander Cross as the murderer. Feeling what I felt that night, I have no idea what to do about it. And everything I want to do about it, is wildly inappropriate and unprofessional.

"Tell you what. I think I'll let you ask a few more questions. I'm growing to not mind it either," I bravely state, knowing there really isn't much he'd ask that would really reveal anything about my past. It's a little nerve-wracking to think I'm allowing someone to get to know me, but I have always gotten this feeling that Harry isn't one to talk.

"Same for you," he sends me a smile, and I return back to my seat. He looks at me and I lean my elbows on the table in front of me, his cherry lips plastered in a smile.

"Go for it," I say, not sure what might come out of this. I'm mindful that I won't answer any questions that I will feel uncomfortable answering, but I don't think Harry will. He's been respectful about most things, and he almost knows not to be invasive.

"Alright, I'm starting simple," he says, rubbing his hands together as if he's conjuring up a brilliant idea. I just roll my eyes, but smile as I bring my glass of wine to my lips.

"Do you have any tattoos?" he asks, and I shake my head.

"Absolutely not. I am not putting that kind of stuff on my body," I explain. "Plus the thought of needles continuously going into my skin sounds terrible."

The smile playing on his lips has my stomach filling with hypothetical butterflies; something not many have done before. Perhaps I've had too much wine.

"They're not that bad. Besides, I think you'd look badass if you got some," he tells me, but I just laugh.

"No, no. I'd like to think I'm badass enough with my job," I remark, pointing at him. His hands go up in surrender and I put my hand down. I set it in my lap and look back over to him.

"Alright, I have no idea what to pick your brain about next," he comments, my shoulders shrugging.

"I don't want to go too personal so I'm trying to think of other things," he elaborates, and I nod. I appreciate that he doesn't want to ask many questions but if perhaps, I was the one that speaks about it without the questions, he can't invade anymore than what I share.

"How about I give you a brief overview?" I ask, and he runs his hand through his hair.

"Go for it," he tells me, my lips releasing a sigh.