A dark, sarcastic laugh. "Yes, honey, getting shot is uncomfortable."
He helps me into the vest, tugs it down into place, and tightens it. And oof, he's not kidding—it's not made for a woman with tits as big as mine. Or, any tits, of any size.
Also, it's heavy as fuck.
I'm immediately hot.
I refuse to complain, though, but I can’t help tugging on it, adjusting it, wriggling in a vain attempt to make it fit better.
Saxon laughs. "Yeah. It's ballistic body armor with ceramic plates thick enough to stop a rifle round. It's heavy, hot, and uncomfortable—and I don't have boobs being smashed by it."
I square my shoulders. "I'll be fine." I adjust it again, futilely. "But I do have a newfound respect for female police officers who wear this shit all day every day."
"Well, you don't usually wear it with the plates, on a normal patrol. You only put in the plates if you think you're gonna face someone with a long gun. Most standard-issue vests will stop most handguns, but you have to wear this shit with the plates to have any resistance against anything else. And make no mistake, it'll still hurt like an absolute motherfucker if you do take a round."
"You act like it's nothing."
He shrugs. "Been wearing this shit for years. Used to it." He closes the trunk. "Let’s get going. Coffee and muffins are in the front."
I climb in and buckle up. "Shouldn't we just take the vests off and put them on closer to the place?"
"Normally, yes. When riding in an armored vehicle, normally, yes. But this is Jarrod. I'm not taking any chances. Best to leave it on." He shoots me an apologetic look. "It's not a long drive."
I adjust the belt, adjust the vest. "Well then, step on it. This asshole is really on my nerves."
He just laughs. "You and me, both, sweetheart. If it wasn't for him, I'd still have you spreadeagle on that bed, and I wouldn't be finger-fucking you."
I point at him. "Don't. DO…NOT. You're still wearing the backwards hat, and the whole fucking uniform look? Fuck. So just…don't reference sex. Okay? We need to focus, and I don't know if you realize it or not, but we sort of have an issue with getting sidetracked by sex. As in, we look at each other crossways and suddenly we're fucking."
He turns the hat forward. "Better?"
I growl. "No. I just can't look at you or you'll be getting roadhead."
Another laugh. "Well fuck, don't threaten me with a good time."
"Just drive. We'll fuck after we've completed our mission." I turn to look out the window as we exit the garage and into a brightening gray day, dawn making itself known over the horizon.
There is coffee, fortunately, which distracts me. And chocolate muffins. I devour one, washing it down with sips of piping-hot coffee. Saxon tries to eat a muffin while driving but only succeeds in making a godawful mess of himself.
I laugh and take the muffin from him. Unwrap it. Pinch off a piece and cup my other hand underneath as I bring the piece to his mouth. "Open."
He shoots me a look. "You're gonna feed me?"
I arch an eyebrow at him. "You want the muffin or not?"
He opens his mouth, and I pop the piece in. Bite by bite, I feed it to him.
It shouldn't be hot. But it is.
It shouldn’t be so intimate, but it is.
It's surprisingly easy, being with him. Even while driving to what very well could be our deaths, being with him is easy. At first, he seemed like your average grumpy alpha hot guy. But the more time I've spent with him—which, granted, isn't very much in the grand scheme of things—the more he's opened up. He hasn’t softened exactly, just…let me see the real him.
I'd love to think it's me that brought that out of him. Maybe I have. But…he's brought it out of me, too. Something in me instinctively trusts him, and he's definitely earned my trust. Which isn't easy.
He's protected me, but he trusts me to handle myself. He doesn't act like I'm some flimsy damsel.
I've jumped in with both feet with this guy. Zero to a hundred in no time flat—just met him to ready to move in, within forty-eight hours? Am I fucking nuts?
