Playing Jacks

vi. Life is Dangerous. Let's Ban It. Part 1

“Don’t hold it against me,” Thomas teases. “I’m strictly off-the-clock now.”

“Sure you are,” Sophie teases.

“Why?  Got any juicy confessions?  Say, about a certain ex-husband?”

Sophie lifts her hand as if she could physically stop the words, mid-air. “No discussion of any ex’s.  Tonight’s supposed to be fun.”

Thomas smirks. “Fun it is then.  I hope you don’t mind but I’ve got us a reservation at the Ritz-Carlton.”

Sophie’s breath staggers as she attempts to swallow the gasp.  Looking down at herself, she silently wonders if her dress is nice enough.

“You’re beautiful,” Thomas reassures, opening the door for her.

The evening was perfect.  Thomas opened every door for her, escorting her on his arm like a courtier from a by-gone era.  Sophie languished in the soft jazz played live by their table and Thomas never again mentioned Bryce or his business.  Instead he kept up a lively conversation that touched on everything from current events to archeology.  Sophie smiled easily and frequently.

Upon leaving, the couple finds one of the infamous Georgia downpours awaiting them outside the doors.  The rain hammers the streets, promising to soak anyone who dares step into the deluge.

“Stay here,” Thomas directs.  Before Sophie can protest, he shields himself with a flimsy newspaper and runs into the downpour.  Within moments, he’s brought the car to the door and jumped out into the rain to open the car door for Sophie before she can do it herself.

Settled into the passenger seat, Sophie delicately pats the rain away from her face.  Next to her, Thomas is drenched. “Thank you.  That really wasn’t necessary.”

Thomas throws her a cockish grin. “Of course it was.  And you’re welcome.”  Shifting in his seat to inspect Sophie more easily, he says, “I know I’m being greedy but would you come to my place for some coffee?  I’m not ready to give you up.”

Nervously tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear, Sophie blushes.  From anyone else, those words would strike her as an unoriginal ploy to lure her closer to a bed; but it sounds genuine from Thomas.  She nods, taking the risk.

Grinning like a school boy, Thomas drives through the deluge, letting the conversation drift to the weather and Georgia’s warmer climate.  Once they reach the apartment building, they’re forced to personally confront the aforementioned weather again.  Thomas runs around the car and opens the door for Sophie.  Holding her hand as if afraid he might lose her in the dark, drenching rain, they run together into the shelter of a shallow alcove.  By the time Thomas unlocks the door and lets them inside, they’re both thoroughly drenched.

Sophie laughs, “I hope this doesn’t become the norm around you.”

“No, really, drowned rat looks good on you,” Thomas laughs.  “Come on.”  And taking her hand, he leads her up the stairs towards his apartment. 

Once inside, Thomas rushes through the room ahead of her, turning on more of the soft jazz and clicking on the lamps beside his couch.  “I’m just going to . . . uh,” he points- both thumbs over his shoulder- as he back away from her. “Just get something dry on.”

Sophie smiles her consent, watching him twist and jog out of the room.  Why couldn’t he be assigned to her case?  Not the stoic, always professional and much-too-observant Agent Callan.  But then, if he was, tonight would have never happened.  Looking around the impeccable room, Sophie smiles.  He likes his space uncluttered.  Like the car, the room is neat and neutral.  Large photographs hang on the wall, but nothing personal.  No books lie on the end tables.  No mail lies on the kitchen counter.  It could be a hotel suite.