Page 12 of Win a Date with a Detective

“The detective thing.”

I look at her. She gestures enthusiastically toward the desk.

“You’re analyzing evidence. Your whole face changed. You got all serious.”

“I’m always serious.”

“No, you’re not. You’ve been smiling at my boobs for the past twenty minutes.”

I choke on a laugh. “Rachel.”

“What? I’m observant too.”

I shake my head. This woman.

I turn my attention back to the receipt before I do something spectacularly inappropriate.

“The victim supposedly died at eleven forty-five,” I explain. “But this receipt places one of the suspects at a restaurant across town at eleven thirty.”

“So?”

“So the timeline doesn’t work.”

Rachel considers this. “Unless the time of death is wrong.”

I glance at her.

She gasps. “Wait. Is the time of death wrong?”

“Let’s find out.”

She practically tackles me in her excitement.

And when she throws her arms around my neck, I discover that having a gorgeous woman pressed against my chest is considerably more distracting than any fictional crime scene.

I wrap my arms around her waist.

For one brief moment, neither of us moves.

Her smile softens. My gaze drops to her mouth.

Fuck.

I want to kiss her. Badly.

Then an electronic voice announces that we have fifteen minutes remaining.

Rachel jumps. “Oh, shit! We have a murder to solve!”

She pulls away. And I’m left standing there wondering whether it’s possible to develop feelings for someone in the span of an hour.

Because I’m beginning to suspect I’m doing exactly that.

We escape with four minutes and thirty-two seconds remaining.

Rachel insists on taking a photograph beneath the enormous MURDER SOLVED sign.

Naturally, she makes me pose with my arms crossed.