I shifted off Brody’s lap, giving an imperceptible wiggle, but it was enough to make the shifter give a groan. A mature person may have let it rest. A mature person would have let Judge get away with his little slip and not pushed him about it. But I never said I was mature. “Am I your girlfriend, Judge?” I purred, sashaying toward him. Well, what I assumed was a sashay; hopefully it didn’t look like I’d fallen in the shower and dislocated my hip. Apparently, Judge wasn’t one to let things go either, because he stared back at me defiantly. I wanted to know it was just a Freudian slip, a way to
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