Page 52 of Dirty Judge

He set down his pen and finally looked up.

“Just because someone was speeding doesn’t make them a terrible person,” I said. “Everyone does it here and there, and there’s this thing called ‘flow of traffic’ that could get you killed if you don’t follow it.”

“I wasn’t aware that you’d passed the bar exam, Miss Spencer.” He narrowed his eyes. “Last I checked, you didn’t even finish law school.”

“You don’t have to go to law school to have common sense and compassion.” I hissed. “But I do recall a lesson on giving other people the same grace you give to yourself.”

“What are you implying?”

“That you’re a terrible judge and everyone hates you.”

“If everyone liked me, I’d be a terrible judge,” he said. “It’s not my job to make friends.”

“That’s probably why you don’t have any of those.”

“I’m pretty sure Mara would say differently.”

“She’s only here because you pay her.”

“Get back to work, Miss Spencer.”

“Only after you reconsider the Garrison case.” I couldn’t get that guy’s tear-stained face out of my mind. “He didn’t deserve that. Just like I didn’t deserve the sentence you gave to me.”

“Miss Spencer, you’ve sped through at least three red lights every morning that I’ve been in the car with you.” He stood up from his chair.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“You seem to have no idea what the ‘No U-Turn’ sign means, and you seem to be incapable—fucking incapable—of using your turn signal.”

“Maybe it’s just broken.”

“It’s not.” He walked toward me. “If anything, I’d be doing every person in this city a favor by never allowing you behind the wheel ever again.”

I swallowed. “The entire point of this conversation was about Mr. Garrison, not me.”

“Mr. Garrison has a pending child endangerment case in the family court.” He glared at me. “Two, as a matter of fact—both because of his reckless driving.”

“I didn’t see that on his file when I looked.”

“Because you didn’t look in the right place.” He took one step forward, and I took one back.

Then another.

And another.

The edge of his corner chaise bumped against the back of my thighs.

There was nowhere left for me to go.

“Because again—” He didn’t miss a beat, “you’re not a lawyer, Miss Spencer, and you’re definitely not a judge.”

“You were still extremely rude.” I barely managed. “And um…”

“And um,what?”

“I should probably get back to work now.”

“You should’ve done that five minutes ago.” He pressed his lips against mine, silencing my next sentence with a primal kiss.