I looked up the resumes Jennica gave me, I did, but they’re all bad. Like truly bad. Eighty percent want to become cops because they are power-hungry, and the rest don’t qualify. One candidate’s resume stated that he was eighty-two. Eighty-two, for God’s sake. I thought there was some typo and went to check his records. No, he was indeed an eighty-two-year-old veteran who came to visit his granddaughter in Freya’s center and liked it so much he decided to stay.
So I had to throw all the resumes away, getting more double shifts for myself and extra shit from super-feisty Jennica this morning because she had to cancel her plans involving a large margarita with her friends this weekend since, I quote, “I can’t leave your stupid ass here working by yourself.”
She took on some basic training for Brad since she has hopes for him while I’m responding to calls. Unfortunately, looks like Dudley Jr. is really our only option, so I might start training him seriously too.
This morning, she’s been teaching him the rules of arresting someone and reading them their rights. He’s been cackling the whole time, telling us stories of how he was on the receiving end of those readings. Twenty minutes in, I saw her eye begin twitching.
And that’s how I found myself with my tail between my legs this morning, fetching food for her. Because she’s right. We can’t go on like this any longer, and I must find at least someone with two brain cells to rub together and preferably without entitlement issues. After the eighty percent of power-hungry candidates, the eighty-two-year-old guy doesn’t seem so bad, so I might reconsider.
I swallow the lump in my throat when I notice her straight back and proceed to the counter. She’s dressed like a character from the fifties, and I instantly imagine how submissive she might be. A fucking stereotype—I’ll never admit it to anyone that I’d even consider it to be a reality, but how good would it feel to bend her over the table and pull that dress up, revealing her gorgeous, plump ass, a glimpse of which I was fortunate enough to see. I bet she has some sexy underwear—she looks like the type.
But I’d prefer her without them.
Feeling my dick stirring in my pants, I hurry to take a seat. Two stools away from her in case she had the audacity to use that sensual shampoo of hers. I can still smell it, even weeks later. When she gave me that hug after the bear attack, and her hair was right in my face, I got my fill. I didn’t know hair products could smell so damn good, but on her, it was intoxicating.
Everything on her turns out like that. I also remember how she smelled wearing my shampoo. When she leaned closer to see what kind of piercing I had, I got a whiff of somethingmineon her. Oh yes, I remember that too.
While I give my order to Kayla and she passes it to Marina, I notice the sudden shift in the air. Josie’s posture changes: her shoulders square back, and her nostrils flare. She takes a bite but is clearly having a hard time chewing it. When she’s finally able to swallow it, she asks Kayla, “Can I please have the check?”
“Already?” Kayla asks, sounding surprised. “I thought your morning was shit, and you needed some pick-me-up time?”
Josie forcefully shakes her head. “No, I’m good. Something came up.”
“Yeah?”
My head whips toward Kayla, who sounds surprised, and I get the feeling I’m missing a valuable piece of information here.
“Something urgent,” Josie mumbles and digs into her purse. Everything in me has to restrain myself from telling her to put her wallet away. No fuckin’ way a woman of mine will ever pay when I’m present.
A woman of mine?
For fuck’s sake. I have more fingers on my hands than total interactions with her. I need to get laid—looks like my hand can only get me so far. And since Josie showed up in my town, it’s been put to very frequent use. Despite the fuckin’ pain the fresh piercing caused at first.
Josie takes back her card, puts it back into her purse, and stands up.
“I’ll see you later, maybe?” Kayla asks before Josie departs.
“Yes, sure.” Josie sounds distracted.
I can feel her intense presence with every pore on my body. My skin greedily absorbs the air she breathes. It also absorbs the unexpected anger and hurt.
While she’s walking toward the door, I try not to watch her ass with all my might. Or glance in her direction in general. Her whole body seems rigid. Is it because of me? Is it because she despises me so much that just me, appearing in the same space, caused her distress?
The thought doesn’t sit well with me, and I decide to strike up a conversation with her when I see her next. Which shouldn’t be difficult since she seems to be everywhere I go, and avoiding her has been my full-time job for the past month.
“So,” Kayla asks, leaning on the counter in front of me, “what’s your deal with our new friend?”
I look straight at her. “What do you mean?”
“Please.” She snorts. “Justin told me how you came to his garage to demand they hand her over to you like a prized possession.” She wiggles her brows.
“What the fuck?” I cover my face with my palm. “Did Justin join the line of local talkers?”
“He joined the line of Josie’s family,” she says carefully. “We all have.”
I drop my hand and look at her. “Does she need a family, Kayla?” I ask because even if I saw Josie’s naked ass and know it looks mouthwatering, I don’t know anything abouther.
“Don’t we all, Sheriff?” she asks in return with a sad smile.
