Free The Hunt for Snow by S. E. Babin

me?” I let the shirt slip through my fingers.
    Tears fell freely down her face, and her pert nose reddened. “Because you’re lonely,” she whispered. “I can feel it every time I look at you.”
    Belle gasped. I flinched and stared at Cyndi, the silence in the room drawing out in a tight, taut moment. There were so many things I could say. So many hurtful, awful things I could tell her, and she might even deserve some of them after so heinously rummaging through my private things and interfering. But the problem here wasn’t Cyndi, and it wasn’t my clothing. It was me.
    I finally shut my eyes for a brief moment, holding the frustrated, angry tears at bay, and then excused myself. I allowed the door to close quietly behind me, even though I wanted to slam it with the force of a grenade.
     
    So where does a girl go when she’s hurt and upset? I don’t know, but this girl went back to the bar. I sidled up to it, grabbed a stool and gestured the big, friendly guy over. “Vodka, straight. Not the cheap stuff.” I had to give him credit. His eyebrow only rose a fraction of an inch before he rumbled his big body over to all the glorious booze and poured me a healthy shot. I took it back in one gulp, enjoying the slow burn of the booze, and gestured for another one. He obliged, so I knocked that one back too.
    I asked him for a coke with a shot of vodka and watched his strong, capable hands while wondering what his story was. He slid it over to me with the ease of someone with years of experience in the same job, offered me a slight smile, and left me there to stew. Maybe for the best. I wouldn’t be very good company right now.
    “Did someone take your Sig?” The cool voice intruded into my maudlin thoughts. “Tsk, tsk, it’s a sad day when a pretty girl like you sits at the bar crying over her lost hardware.”
    I snorted and twisted in my seat to look at Robin. I picked up my drink and clinked it against his. “Cyndi feels sorry for me,” I said without preamble.
    His brow crinkled adorably and he burst into guffaws. “Sorry? For you?”
    I let him have his moment. I hadn’t confided in him in years, so he had no idea of the extent of my bone-deep loneliness. “She replaced all of my clothing with frilly garments. Pink. Purple. Pastel. Skinny jeans.” I made a gagging noise.
    His laughter abruptly stopped. “Christ.” He turned a panicked look to me. “Did you kill her?”
    “Not yet,” I said and took a healthy sip of my vodka and coke. “I haven’t got a damn thing to wear and we have this godforsaken mixer in the next hour.”
    Robin gave me an appraising look. “Wear what you have on, darling. You look good enough to eat.” He gave me a lustful wink.
    I chuckled. “Save all your pretty talk for someone who’ll listen.”
    “You always ruin all my fun,” he said. “Say,” he reached over, took the drink out of my hand and set it on the bar. “Why haven’t you and I hooked up before?”
    My mouth dropped open. “For real? Did you just say ‘hooked up’? Have you been hanging out in the ghetto again? No one over the age of eighteen says that.”
    Robin looked almost offended. “Whatever you’re supposed to call it. No one uses the word ‘lovers’ here.”
    “That’s because it’s lame.” I snorted. “You already know the answer to that question. First…” I held up a finger, noticing with amusement how it blurred. The vodka was taking effect. Good. “You have appalling taste in women. Second, you sleep with anything that looks like it might have working lady plumbing.” Robin blinked and opened his mouth to say something, but I held up a hand. “And third, we’re both kind of hot messes, wouldn’t you agree?”
    He slumped and handed my glass back to me. “Guess I can’t argue with that,” he said. “But, we should give it a try, don’t you think?”
    I laughed. “No.”
    A grin spread over his face. “You’re going to be a real pain in the ass for some poor