Groundswell: chapter nine

Patrick Walts: the short fiction collection

“You know, this stuff is harder than I make it look.”

“Detective stuff?”

Candy was sitting with her legs pulled up beneath her ass on an old, cracked and sunken leather recliner.

She’d changed into the shorts and tank top she was currently sporting as soon as they’d arrived at her and Blake’s house. Logan hadn’t thought that odd in itself, changing clothes after work–but she’d done it with the bedroom door ajar so that he was ensured a clear view of her in the dresser mirror from where he was sitting in the den. He’d watched her, listened to her exhale in relief as she unclasped and discarded her bra onto the bed.

Yeah, I looked. So what?

Even though she was smoking, and indoors–two things Logan hated–she still smelled good. It wasn’t any overt or readily identifiable scent like a perfume or shampoo, but something more abstract…

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