“Wow! I guess,” I said. “You know I get conflicted with the way you handle matters. Of course, he deserves a strong defense—I don’t know what his motives were or if he’s been wrongly accused—but it’s all the witnesses paid on the side and expert testimony you bring in. I can’t help but think they’re people for hire and just plain dirty.”

Drew ran his hand through his hair, and I noticed there was a tiny bit of gray appearing along his temple. “You know what? Let’s talk about something else.”

“Sounds good.” I smiled at the thought of being let off the hook. After all, this was just salad.

“Any big weekend plans?” Drew asked.

“Not really,” I mumbled, my attention drawn to Jake and Camper in my peripheral vision.

Jake’s arm was flung around the back of her chair, and he was leaning in and whispering in her ear. She, of course, was laughing like he was the funniest, wittiest guy in America, and he probably was. His thumb ghosted across her bare shoulder and back again as he leaned in and hung on her every word.

I’d had to try so hard that night in the interrogation room to remain professional and not laugh when he teased me about my name. Yeah, it was annoying, and I’d heard it all before, but the way he said it was the worst song ever. His honesty was hilarious. I wanted to welcome more of it, beg him to continue to chat, to spend the holiday with me.

Camper ran her hand down Jake’s cheek and placed a soft kiss on his temple. He ran his hand down her slender arm that was now bare. She’d removed her sweater, leaving her in a sleeveless black tank. It was the dead of winter, but she probably wasn’t cold cuddled up next to him. He’d gone to jail for her, and even though he played it off that he only was “tapping” her sometimes, it certainly looked like more.

Lucky girl. If you want a bad boy, that is. Although, he didn’t look so bad at the moment.

Thankfully, our food arrived. Drew and I finished our meal in comfortable silence, only interrupted by a few mumbled declarations over how good the food was. He tossed Rome a thumbs-up when the check came, then paid and helped me from my seat.

For a second, I wished I’d considered dessert because we were going to have to walk right past Jake on our way out. As we stood from the table, Drew helped me put on my enormous parka. I busied myself with zipping it and fastening the waist belt, keeping my head low as we walked toward the door.

“You gonna be back, Aly?” Rome bellowed as he pulled out a pizza from the brick oven.

I waved and muttered a quick thank-you, desperate not to call attention to myself.

Rome wasn’t having it, though. He tossed the pie on the rack and hurried out. “Was it all good, babe?”

He winked and pulled me in for a hug. No one could accuse this chef of sticking me in the corner. Prying myself out of Rome’s arms, I tripped over my own feet, overwhelmed with the unexpected display of affection and suddenly flustered with all the attention. Of course, my hip dipped right into Camper’s bar stool before I stilled myself with my hand on the back of the chair.

“Excuse me,” I whispered, then turned and addressed Rome quietly. “It was awesome. Thank so much. Good night.”

Pivoting toward the door, I heard Drew saying good-bye to Rome. When a loud, “Hey!” rang out, I walked on as if I hadn’t heard it.

“Hey, you! Ms. Road?”

I stopped in my tracks but didn’t turn around.

“Aly?” Drew raised his voice from behind me. “Someone’s calling you.”

Running my hand along my sleek ponytail, I swiveled around. “Mr. Wrigley.”

“Jake. Remember, just J-A-K-E.”

I nodded. There was nothing else to say; I wasn’t about to mention we met in jail or that I’d fantasized about him a few times since. Both were against the rules and were considered inappropriate conduct.

“Drew Burnes.” My dinner companion smiled and offered his hand.

“Jake Wrigley, and this is Camper.” His lips pressed tight, Jake poked the bubbly blonde on the shoulder, but she couldn’t even be bothered to turn around when he tried to introduce me. Her curls bounced like a shampoo ad on TV, making me wonder what type of conditioner she used.

“Camp, this is Alyson Road.”

“Shut up! Like the song? That’s hysterical.” Camper now whipped around in her seat, gawking at me. “That’s the dumbest song. I can’t believe you’re named for it.”

Jake’s mouth turned down into a formidable scowl, and although he was trying to be discreet, it was hard not to notice him give the overzealous Barbie a pinch on the arm.

“Well, not exactly. It’s just a coincidence,” I said, not entirely sure why I was gracing her with an explanation. “And I go by Aly,” I felt compelled to add, which was strange since I usually only allowed those who were close to call me by my nickname.

“I never thought of the coincidence,” Drew said in an attempt to join the pointless discussion.

I rolled my eyes and wasn’t entirely sure, but it looked like Jake’s scowl deepened.

“Probably why I stay friends with you. It’s an age-old joke that I’ve been hearing for over the last decade.” I threaded my arm through Drew’s down-coat-padded elbow. “Well, it’s nice running into you, Mr. Wrigley.”

I tried to walk away again when I saw the wheels turning inside Camper’s head. Her gaze was pinging wildly between Jake and me, her brow scrunched tight. She was chewing on her lower lip with such fierce concentration, I thought she was going to eat right through it.

“How do you know each other? Is this the new investor for the third gym?” She waved a hand between the two of us.

Jake shook his head and a loud laugh rumbled through his chest. He was nothing like the anxious inmate I met in jail.

“Nah, why in the hell would you think that?” He turned an eye Camper’s way, and it wasn’t an overly friendly eye. Something dark lurked behind its blueness.

“Because she keeps calling you Mr. Wrigley.” Camper trailed a territorial finger down Jake’s bicep, placing some type of primitive ownership in her touch after she realized I wasn’t a work contact.

“Ms. Road was the lawyer on duty when I got arrested for beating up your boy toy.”

“Ha!” She burst out laughing, almost doubling over in her seat. “I almost forgot about that! God, I can’t believe I slept with that Nazi prick,” she said, shocking me by discussing what I believed to be private matters in front of the whole restaurant.

Her cavalier attitude about Jake’s sacrifice annoyed me, and out of nowhere, I felt compelled to defend the man. “Well, Mr. Wrigley went to jail for it.”

“You let someone out of jail after committing a crime?” Drew feigned being flabbergasted, drawing in a deep breath and bringing his hand over his chest.

“From what I recall, he was defending this young woman’s honor,” I explained. Why, I had no idea, but I felt compelled to stick up for Jake.

“Fuck right,” Jake said. “No one insults Camper—or any woman—in front of me. No fucking way.”

“Wait, you didn’t tell Bess?” Camper pulled on Jake’s sleeve. He shook his head and murmured, “Later,” but didn’t elaborate any further on Bess. I was clueless as to what that was all about, but it wasn’t any of my business. Yet, somewhere in my gut I wanted it to be.

“But you should learn to use your words, Mr. Wrigley and not your fists.” I couldn’t believe we were standing here having this conversation in some suburban Italian bistro. The hilarity of it hit me in a quick swoop, and I had to hold back my giggle. “Listen, it’s been lovely running into you, Mr. Wrigley, but we really have to go.”

“Wait! Thank you.” Jake held his hand out to shake mine. “And yes, I know. I’ve been working on using my words.” He winked as I slid my hand into his, his fingers wrapping around mine in an easy handshake. It must have taken a great deal of effort to be that gentle because Jake Wrigley was a big, strong man.