My dad stuck his head into the bathroom where I was just finishing my makeup. His nose was red from the cold, and he’d succumbed to wearing his giant glasses rather than his contacts. “You can see how I’d find this surprising, given our lengthy discussions about dating cops.” I blinked, checking my mascara for lumps. My dad had two rules when it came to dating: one, Don’t date, and two, Don’t date cops. “We discussed it when I was seventeen, Dad. Anyway, that’s Marcos. He’s the one Terry assigned to my protective detail before . . .” Everything fell apart. “I thought you’d met him.” He made an unconvinced noise. “I would have remembered.” “He’s just a friend,” I said. “He’s dating a friend of mine.” “Oh.” Dad’s face lifted. “Well, that’s good news.” I followed him out to the living room where Marcos was waiting, looking somehow more comfortable in his formal police blues than in jeans and a T-shirt.
