Page 9 of Denial
I scoop up my purse at my feet and squint up at Officer Smiley. My neck cracks as I tilt my head back. He has to be over six-foot, six-foot-one. “Has anyone ever told you you’re really tall?”
He holds out his hand. “Can’t take that in back with you.”
“This just keeps getting better. You’re treating me to the full experience.” I hand over my bag.
He snatches the purse from my fingers before I can blink.
“Hey! Be careful of Bert!”
The officer tilts his head. He shakes it off and escorts me to the back of his car. “What is aBert?”
“Bert is my tiny cactus. He’s fragile but really low maintenance once he gets settled.” I lift a shoulder and let it drop. “Like me.”
The officer lets out an aggressive cough.
“Are you okay?” I stop suddenly and turn to face him. A red hue spreads across his cheeks just above that sexy salted beard.
“Fine,” he grunts, swinging open the back door of the cruiser. His knuckles blanche white where he grips the top of the door. “Get in.”
I glance at the hard, pale plastic masquerading as a seat and turn my body toward the cop. “Before I climb in and you lock me inside, I want you to know that I know this is just some bureaucratic nonsense, and you’re just doing your job.” I let my eyes trail down his strong body encased in the dark blue uniform. He looksreallygood in that uniform. “You’re very good at it. I’m sure you scare the crap out of real criminals.”
His gaze remains pointed across the top of the car, but the twitch in his jaw reveals he heard me.
“I’ll write a positive review to your supervisor.” I hop into the back and slide onto the seat. The hard plastic doesn’t bite as much as I thought it would, and I recline my head and close my eyes. This is the first time in three days I’ve been in a car, and not the one driving. A catnap sounds like the perfect way to take advantage.
“Crap!” I startle. My heart rate climbs tens of beats as Office Smiley leans around me and fastens a seat belt without warning. The scent of something masculine, whether it be his aftershave,cologne, or deodorant, infiltrates the cramped back seat, and I’m reminded that it’s been a long time since I’ve been around a good-smelling man. Archie doesn’t count. He strictly wears Old Spice. Archie smells like a grandpa. This man smells like romantic candles and a bubble bath and the sweat after a job well done.
My stomach flips in agreement.
“Wow.” The word slips through my loose lips.
His forearm tenses as he snaps the buckle into place, highlighting a ridge of muscle across the back, and he withdraws his hand with a speed required for avoiding an open flame.
I barely register the slam of his door before we’re peeling off the gravel shoulder and racing into town, leaving my car in the dust.
“What is it I’m being detained for? I don’t think you said.”
“Suspended license.”
I chew the inside of my lip. “Huh.”
Those dark shades hide his eyes, but I feel his gaze in the rearview.
“Can’t you just give me a warning?”
“I don’t make the policy,” he mutters.
I nod along. “But you would if you could. See? I knew you were one of the good ones.”
“Most people choose silence when they’ve been arrested.”
“I’m not most people.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“I like to think of myself as memorable.”
“You’re something.”
