Page 249 of Off Limits: The Firsts

My hands are on the railing, my body braced as I watch the sun begin to set in the distance.

My mom steps up beside me and slides an arm around my waist. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“Just thinking.”

“About a dispatch or about Emmy?”

I should have known she’d revisit the topic. “A little bit of everything.”

“It’s okay to be curious about her, Grant,” she says.

“Yeah, but for some reason, I don’t think she wants me to be.”

“What do you mean?”

“She bolted, Mom. She saw me, and I swear the look on her face went from happy to anxious. It was as if she was scared of me.”

“You’re a reminder of her past she’s probably chosen to forget.”

“Yeah. I guess.” But that still doesn’t explain why she’s here in Sunnyville or why I can’t stop thinking about her.

“Are you going to see her again?”

“Even if I wanted to, I told you I don’t have any way to—”

“And I raised self-sufficient, resourceful sons. Don’t give me your excuses,” she says, putting me in my place before patting my shoulder and walking back inside.

Betsy Malone has spoken.

The only woman who can put the Malone boys in line.

What am I doing here?

I glance up at the sign that reads: Doggy Style, and I know this is a mistake right off the bat. I knew she seemed quirky, but this already sounds like a bad episode of COPS. Police officer stumbles unknowingly into a prostitute parlor.

Walk away.

I take another step up the stairs.

This is a mistake.

I knock on the door and am greeted with the baying of dogs and nothing else. No sound of a normally functioning business. No phones ringing. No customers talking. Just a yellow clapboard house I’ve probably driven past a hundred times and never noticed before.

Good. She’s not here. Curiosity satisfied. Time to go.

And just as I begin to walk away, I hear the pad of footsteps on the raised floorboards followed by the sound of a woman’s voice shushing the dogs.

“Officer Sexy,” Desi says, giving me a wide smile when she opens the door.

“Ms. Whitman.” I nod.

“To what do I owe this pleasure? Let me guess. You came here to convince me that beards and tattoos are out and clean cut and uniforms are in and that we’re running away and eloping. Screw our parents and friends, because all we need is each other and the clothes on our backs because love is the currency of life. Is that right?”

I stare dumfounded, trying to process all she just said before laughing and shaking my head. “I was going to say hello, but I think your story is much more entertaining.”

“So, you’re telling me I can still like tattoos and beards?”

“You can like whatever you want.” I turn down my patrol radio as dispatch talks. “Hello, Desi Whitman.”