When he seemed about to argue, she waved a hand. “I know, the information officer is probably just the mouthpiece for the department, but still . . .” She studied him more intently. “I always figured you’d end up, I don’t know, a cowboy, rodeo rider, maybe an Air Force pilot or something. Navy Seal? But, you know, something a little more dangerous, I guess, and physical. Certainly not a desk job.”

He tapped the tip of his bottle against her glass, then took a long pull. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Just an observation.” She took a sip of wine, felt it slide easily down her throat, leaving a hint of cherries. Yeah, this was a good idea. Maybe. She held the stem in her fingers, watched the wine’s “legs” appear on the bowl of her glass. “I guess I just never thought of you as the buttoned-down type.”

“Buttoned down?”

“In high school, you were a little . . .”

“Edgy?” He took another swig of beer and she watched his Adam’s apple move just above his open collar. “One of those dark, sexy rebel types?”

“Oh, right.” Good God, was he flirting? Teasing? “Well, okay maybe.” Then she grinned and took another swallow. “Or maybe not.”

“Mrs. Gillespie would probably die if she heard that Jase Bridges was a reporter,” he said. “Or, God forbid, hoping to join the police department.”

“Too late. I think she’s already dead,” she said, remembering the woman she’d considered ancient at the time, though Edna Gillespie had probably only been in her early sixties when Brianna had attended high school. Not exactly ready for the grave, but back then, anyone over thirty had seemed really old. Mrs. Gillespie had been sharp and demanding, a no-nonsense teacher. Brianna had dreaded her class.

His lips twisted into a sardonic smile. “She always told me that if I didn’t, oh, wait, what was it?” He paused, the beer halfway to his mouth, his brows arched for a second, then he snapped the fingers of his free hand. “I got it. If I didn’t ‘mind my p’s and q’s’, whatever the hell they are, I’d end up in prison or worse. Yeah, that was it. The dire warning.”

“Guess she was wrong.”

“Shhh.” He leaned closer. “Don’t let her hear you.”

She felt her heart warm to him and blamed it on the wine that was going down much too easily, her glass nearly empty. Nonetheless, she wasn’t going to let her thoughts be muddled by the semidark ambiance of the bar, or a glass of wine, or the fact that she’d always found this man intriguing.

“She didn’t much like me.”

“Always nice when a teacher is so supportive.”