“Did you just ha me?” Kennedy hisses, like a wet cat.
I turn, facing her full frontal. “No I didn’t ha you. That would be unprofessional.”
“I definitely heard a ha.”
“Then you’re hearing things, honey.”
Her eyes flare, then narrow sharply. She speaks to the judge, but her gaze stays trained on me. “I request that Mr. Mason be disciplined by the court. For referring to opposing council in a derogatory fashion—”
I step closer to her. “There’s nothing derogatory about honey. It’s a term of endearment.”
“It’s demeaning!”
“It’s admiring!”
“Which is neither appreciated or permitted.” Kennedy sneers. “As clearly ruled in Billings v. Hobbs.”
“You’d be right, if it weren’t for Probst v. Clayton.”
Our eyes clash. She steps toward me, breathing heavier. “Probst v. Clayton was overturned.”
I move forward—pulse pounding—until we’re practically nose to nose. “Dwyer v. Bocci, then.” And I murmur so only she can hear, “Suck it.”
Her eyes focus on my mouth. “Bite me,” she whispers back. Then, louder, “I’ll see your Dwyer v. Bocci and raise you an Evans v. Chase.”
And fuck, I want to kiss her. She’s right there; it would be so easy.
It would be so good.
Judge Phillips clears his throat, and we break apart. The room is dead silent—all eyes on us.
“Would you two like to be alone?” He frowns. “I could clear the courtroom.”
My gaze drops to the floor and I can practically feel Kennedy withering with embarrassment. “No, Your Honor.”
“Won’t be necessary, Judge.”
“Ah, you remember I’m the judge. That’s encouraging.” He picks up his gavel. “I, however, would like a moment alone—with the two of you.” His voice projects as he addresses the court. “It’s Friday, so we’re closing up shop early. We’ll reconvene at 9 a.m., Monday morning.” He bangs the gavel. “Adjourned. Miss Randolph, Mr. Mason, my chambers.”
Chatter and motion swamp the courtroom. Everyone stands as the judge vacates the bench, the spectators file out the door, and Mrs. Potter steps down from the witness stand—heading toward the hunched, gray-haired guy in suspenders who I assume is Harold Potter. She pauses as she passes me, with a twinkle in her eye.
“I thought for sure you were about to ravish her. I’ve read a lot of books, and that was just like a scene that ends with the hero ravishing the maiden.”
“I was closer to strangling her.”
The little old lady chuckles in a knowing kind of way. “That’s a different kind of book, sonny.”
I head to the judge’s chambers with Kennedy behind me—practically stepping on my heels. The bailiff closes the door after we enter. Judge Phillips hangs his black robe in the small closet, adjusts the cuffs of his shirt, then sits behind his massive dark-wood desk.
“Mr. Mason, Miss Randolph, we have a problem.” He sighs like a fed-up parent.
Kennedy jumps right in. “May I speak freely, Your Honor?”
“This is not the military, Miss Randolph. Say what you need to say.”
She points at me. “He’s an ass.”
“I’m an ass?” I choke. “What about you? You’ve been busting my balls since day one!”
Her mouth drops open in horror. “I have no interest in your balls!”
“Protesting a little too much, aren’t you?”
And we’re back to the nose-to-nose thing. Except even in heels, Kennedy’s really short—so I have to dip my head.
“I’m getting the feeling you two know each other,” Judge Phillips interrupts.
Kennedy and I answer at the same time.
“Not really.”
“That’s right.”
I give her an exasperated look, then inform the judge, “We grew up next door to each other.”
Kennedy snorts and folds her arms. “In houses that were twenty acres apart—it’s not like we were roomies.”
“We made out once when we were teenagers,” I volunteer. “Then she broke my heart. It was brutal.”
Kennedy’s mouth drops open again. It’s actually a nice look for her.
If it weren’t for the murderous expression that goes along with it.
“I broke your heart! Ha! That’s a lie!”
I gesture with my hands and raise my voice. “You went out with William Penderghast before the saliva was dry on my lips!”
And before the come was dry on my stomach. But I keep that particular detail to myself, because I’m a gentleman.
Kennedy gets right in my face. “Because you were already back together with your raging bitch girlfriend!”
And the judge clears his throat. Again.
Oops.
“Yeah, you two definitely know each other.” He leans back in his chair, eyes going between the two of us.
Kennedy steps forward to his desk, so I can’t see her expression. But her voice is softer, and deliberately even. “We haven’t seen each other in almost fifteen years, Judge. So the truth is, we don’t know each other at all.” She shakes her head, just a bit. “Not anymore.”
Maybe it’s the way she says it—monotone—without a hint of anger or annoyance or even sadness. Or maybe it’s just that the words are true. But my stomach drops. It falls in that sharp, unexpected, yearning sort of way—that feels exactly like regret.