I remember how her full lips thinned when she got pissed, firing back at me.
And how my traumatized cock rose to life when she said ‘daddy.’ I knew at that moment I had to get out of there because A, this shit hurts, and B, these pants are far too tight not to be embarrassing. What’s wrong with me? I’m turning thirty-nine this year. I should be able to control my dick.
But it becomes clearer and clearer the more I remember her angry eyes and tight, black curls that my dick has other plans. It’s getting so painful that I have to unzip my pants. Such an embarrassment—if someone saw me right now, I’d be out of my job in a heartbeat. Dang it, if I saw someone sitting by the side of a road with their junk out, I’d arrest them right away for indecent exposure. I don’t tolerate that.
Feeling like the worst hypocrite on the planet, I hit the gas and drive away, trying hard not to look at the beautiful, angry woman in her toy car whose scolding gaze follows me until her metal tin disappears in the rearview mirror.
The farther I drive, the harder my dick becomes. And more painful. After the stunt those assholes Archie and TJ pulled, I’ve been suffering for a few days now.
And I’m scared. I haven’t been able to get hard since that day, and I thought they broke my equipment. The fact that this is happening would almost be relieving if it wasn’t so excruciating.
By the time I reach the station, I’m calm and able to push the thoughts about the beautiful woman who was just passing through to the back of my mind.
I’ve got other things to worry about.
“Hey, boss,” Jennica, my most loyal and only employee, says from her desk. “We just got the call from your favorite bar.” She wiggles her brows, knowing how much I’m starting to hate the place, and I roll my eyes. “Our friend is there. Again.”
Since Freya, my brother’s wife, opened a PTSD center on the outskirts of the town, there’ve been more and more issues. Not all of the patients in her clinic are mellow. A lot of them tend to get into trouble, and we’ve only got one decent place where they can do that and release some steam. Cat and Stallion, the local bar.
But even her patients don’t stir up as much shit as Jake Attleborough.
I sigh and lift my eyes to the ceiling, asking anyone that will listen to me to find Jake crap to do outside of his new favorite activity—drinking. Jake used to be my deputy, the fuckin’ best shot in the state—even better than myself and Alex, who spent years in the Navy—and now he’s a pitiful shadow of the man he used to be. No one knows what happened to him, but somehow, he lost his way and got into a bunch of trouble with everyone. A few years ago, he saved Freya by shooting her ex, and since then, something has changed in him. Some people said it started later, but I saw him change overnight. He was always a little annoying, but he became angry and violent.
A few months later, he made it his mission to bully a local, Kayla, who happened to be in love with Justin, Jake’s brother. After a few stunts he pulled, I had to force him to go on leave because that kind of person shouldn’t be given the power a badge can have. I expected it to be temporary, but he never came back. Now, all he does is drink and get into trouble.
“Want me to go?” Jennica asks, looking too hopeful that I’ll refuse.
“No, it’s fine,” I say with a sigh as I turn right back around. I feel responsible for Jake because I was the one forcing him to go on leave. And I’m the one who didn’t catch Freya’s ex in time—I’d heard rumors about someone new sniffing around town but never paid it too much attention because I was busy reconnecting with my brother Alex, Freya’s husband. I feel as if this is my personal problem.
“Suit yourself,” she agrees enthusiastically, not even a little bit upset about me going instead.
When I’m almost out the door, she yells, “Boss, did you check the resumes?”
“Not yet,” I reply with a wince.
She groans. Loudly. “Please, do it when you’re back. We’re in desperate need of another set of hands. My hubby is going insane with my crazy hours. I haven’t gotten laid in weeks.”
“That’s TMI, Jennica.” I shake my head, trying to erase the image from my head. “Totally TMI.”
“Your fault for keeping me here all day every day.” She shrugs nonchalantly. “They’re on your table. I’ll withhold your coffee until you take a look at them.”
“I will, and you will not.” I nod and walk out, knowing her threats are empty—she’d kill me first if I went without coffee for a day.
The drive from the station to Cat and Stallion is five minutes, and by the time I’m there and getting out of the car, I hear a loud argument happening inside. I recognize one of the voices—Jake. Of course.
Rushing inside, I find a man in his mid-twenties on the floor, clutching his arm to his chest, and Jake, perched on a bar stool, calmly sipping from a bottle of beer. It took me maybe three seconds flat to make it from the car to here, and the fight’s already over.
“Sheriff!” Rory, the bartender, calls out from the bar as she fills a tall glass. “Take your boy outta here.”
I nod and walk toward Jake.
“I’m no one’s boy,” he sneers.
“Amen to that.” I sit next to him. “But you’ve had enough of that, and it’s not even evening.” I point at his bottle. “I can drive you home.”
“I’ve got my own car.” He takes another slow sip.
“I know, but I’m driving you.” Standing up, I lightly smack him on the back, keeping my hand there. “Let’s go.”
