by Rachel Smith
Jenny snapped her fingers to get my attention. “You going to stare at your drink all night, Liz? Throw that shit back and let’s dance.”
Using every ounce of willpower not to gag, I lifted the shot glass to my lips and tilted it back, letting the warm liquid ooze down my throat.
“Oh, dear God, that’s awful,” I wheezed. Charlotte ran her hand down my back in comfort, but I recoiled from her touch. Anytime I thought about my disastrous relationship with Erik I felt dirty. Like a trashy, skanky home-wrecker.
“You okay?” Charlotte asked.
I nodded, unable to speak because my throat still burned from the whiskey. Or maybe it burned from the churning bile that threatened to spew out. Either way, I didn’t want to talk to anyone. Suddenly, dancing with the Sauced Sisters didn’t seem like such a bad idea after all. I wouldn’t be required to hold a conversation. I could awkwardly shuffle around the dance floor and fake it. Easy.
“Watch my stuff,” I shouted to Charlotte as a twangy country song blared from the jukebox. She nodded, her face lighting up with a smile for someone behind me. Twisting my head, I tried to see who she was looking at, but whoever it was had been swallowed in the sea of people.
As I turned back around, my balance faltered a little. “Whoa, easy, Liz. You sure you’re all right?” I squinted down at Charlotte and blinked repeatedly, trying to focus. Shit, I’m actually a bit boozy after that last shot.
“Sure, I’m sure.” I lifted my fruity, vodka whatever-he-called-it to my lips, tipping it back until I’d drained the whole thing. A small burp escaped before I wiped my hand over my mouth and announced to the drunken trio, “Let’s bust a move, girls.”
I caught my sister’s look of shock before we flounced our way to the small, tiled space they called a dance floor. Letting the music wash over me, I found my groove immediately. One of the girls handed me a bottle of beer—which tasted foul, by the way—but worked perfectly as a prop. I gripped it tightly and swayed to the music. Any eye contact was immediately broken as I lifted the bottle to my lips and looked away.
The downside of my sneaky diversion tactic being the beer flowed a little too quickly and, after I’d somehow downed four more bottles, nature called. A ballad began to play on the jukebox, and I took a deep breath, thankful someone decided to slow things down.
Time for a bathroom break.
I pushed my way through the crowd, only to find the line for the ladies’ room stretched the entire length of the bar. Oh shit. I did a little step-touch from side to side, hoping it would buy me some time. In no way could I stand in line and hold it. Partly because I was afraid I’d pee my pants, but mostly due to the fact I would definitely lose my balance and fall over.
Time to consider my options here. One, I could go outside or… I turned my head and saw not a single person in line for the men’s room.
Problem solved.
Pushing the door open a crack, I placed my lips in the open space and yelled, “Anybody in here?”
Silence.
Awesome.
I leaned my shoulder against the door to push it the rest of the way open and stumbled through. Glancing around in disgust at the filthy urinals, I quickly tiptoed into a stall and closed the door. I pulled several squares from the toilet paper roll and placed them neatly around the seat. God only knew what germs festered on that thing. No way in Hell was I sitting my bare ass on it.
I’d just finished my business, about to pull up my pants when the door creaked, and someone entered. A distinct ‘click’ of shoes slapped against the hard floor. I held my breath, hoping the man would use the urinal and leave so I could sneak out.
The urinal whooshed, more footsteps, and then the faucet squeaked as water began to run. Good, at least the guy washes his hands. I counted to ten inside my head and decided to make a break for it, assuming the guy had already left.
Exhaling my held breath, I pushed through the stall door and came face-to-face with a wall of blue. Police blue.
Well, face to chest, really.
“Oh, sorry, Officer, I didn’t see you there.” What? That’s what my brain went with? I didn’t see you there? I fought against doing a face plant into my palm. Instead, I opted for a steady perusal of the guy.
He was tall. Amazingly tall, and broad. I wanted to run my hands over his chest. Around his waist was a kick-ass, super-hot cop belt. You know… Taser, gun, one of those long black stick things. Even though none of his weapons were currently on him, the empty belt still looked hot.
I made my way up until I reached the corded muscles of his neck. The thick bump of his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. “What the hell are you doing in the men’s room?”
My head snapped up, meeting a pair of cold, hard eyes. Sexy as hell… but pissed. “It’s you.”
His strong jaw was set tight, lips stretched into a thin line confirming his displeasure. God, how I wanted to trace my finger along that chiseled jawline. “Yeah, me.”
“Hey,” I said, excited to show him my accomplishment for the day. “I put real pants on.” Lifting my leg, I held my hand just under my knee to show him my jeans. “Super proud of myself. I put the first leg in, then the other, pulled ‘em right on up and voilà! Pants.”
He looked down to my leg and then back up at me. “Congratulations. Now tell me what the fuck you’re doing in the men’s room.”
His authoritative tone sent a shiver down my spine. “Oh dear, I must’ve been confused,” I said with a gasp. Playing dumb—most definitely the route to go here. Except, the fact I couldn’t keep my balance was a dead giveaway of my level of drunkenness.
“Sure you were.” He rolled his eyes and wrapped his fingers around my upper arm, pulling me out of the bathroom. “Come on, Elizabeth.”
I jerked my arm to get out of his hold. “Don’t call me that,” I hissed. “My name is Liz.” His eyebrows shot up and he lifted his hands, palms out, like a burglar who had just been caught red-handed.
“Sorry. Jesus.” He had the audacity to look annoyed, when he was the one who manhandled me out of the bathroom. I should be annoyed. In fact, I am annoyed. I shouldered my way around him, almost falling in the process, and stalked to the table. Charlotte stood when she saw me approach. I could feel the hot cop on my heels, too close for comfort. The look of panic on my sister’s face almost made me feel guilty.
“Relax,” I placated her. “I’m not getting arrested. I just peed in the men’s room because the line…” I stopped, my body jolting from a hiccup. “Because the other line was too long.” I hiccupped again and burst into a fit of giggles.
Mr. Hot Cop walked around the table and scowled at me. “You said you got confused.”
Busted. “Oopsy.” I lifted my shoulders in a half shrug. “Yeah, confused. I was definitely confused.” I crossed my arms and leaned my hip against the back of a chair, somehow managing to topple it over in the process. Thankfully, I caught myself before I went over with it.
“Alex, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize my sister had so much to drink.”
“This is your sister?” he asked.
My head snapped up as I bent to straighten the chair. Alex? Heroic, wonderful Alex who ran through a burning building and saved my sister’s life? Well, shit. The music began to blare again, and Bon Jovi’s raspy voice wailed from the jukebox. I knew this song, “You Give Love a Bad Name,” it was Erik’s anthem. It took every ounce of willpower not to bust out my kick-ass dance moves during the guitar intro.
Alex’s hand scraped across the stubble on his jaw, rubbing it back and forth while Charlotte babbled on next to him. Her hands flailed incessantly, gesturing like a street mime.
Due to my drunken haze, and the noise level in the bar, I only caught bits and pieces.
“She’s typically shy and reserved.”
I rolled my eyes and took another swig of beer.
“… worried about her. I think something happened…” The chorus of the song hit, and the place erupted in an epic shouting rendit
ion of “Shot through the Heart” muffling Charlotte’s voice. I watched her lips move, trying desperately to find out what she was saying about me, but decided to shift my focus to the male specimen of perfection instead.
Damn, he was breathtaking. Dark hair, piercing blue eyes, a tweak in his nose like it’d been broken once upon a time. Maybe it was the booze talking, but this guy was like something you’d see in a glossy magazine. Tall, amazing bone structure, and sexy as hell.
And what was it about a man in uniform? Sweet baby Jesus, it made my heart go pitter-patter inside my chest. I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans, the small movement causing the room to tilt, and I stumbled off balance. Needing something to do with my hands, I hastily gathered the four empty shot glasses and took them to the bar, dropping one along the way.
“Shit!” I hissed and then giggled at my feeble attempt to pick it up. Thankfully it didn’t break, but I had almost toppled over headfirst into the row of barstools. A hand on my upper arm helped me up and I dropped the shot glasses onto the bar haphazardly.
“Elizabeth…” Alex scolded. “I think you’ve hit your limit for tonight. Here…” He slid a glass of water in front of me. “Drink this.”
I pushed the water back in his direction. “I told you not to call me that.” My voice snapped out each syllable. I lifted my chin and looked directly into his eyes. “I’m not trying to be cute, or funny, or playing games with you. I go by Liz. Only Liz. Got it?” My body began to tremble. Erik never called me anything but Elizabeth. Not once. I’m sure I’d eventually get over it, but right now it was too fresh. Too raw. I couldn’t stand to hear that name.
He held my eyes, not wavering, not blinking. Finally, his gaze dropped to my lips before he pushed the glass of water back toward me. His body followed, leaning closer, his voice gentle when he said, “I’m sorry. I won’t call you that again.”
Mmmm, his deep voice purred inside my chest like a content kitten with a tummy full of warm milk. My eyes drooped a little, partially from the amount of alcohol coursing through my veins, and partially because my body had a bit of a mini orgasm at the sound of his voice.
I shook my head to clear out the lust haze. “No thanks, Officer.” I pushed the water glass back once more. “I think I’ll have one more of those yummy shot drinks. Bartender… line ‘em up!” I swooshed my arm through the air, motioning to the empty shot glasses in front of me, and hitting Alex square in the chest. “Oh, ‘scuse me.”
Standing had become such a chore, so I hefted my booty onto the barstool. “Jack this time,” I slurred to the bartender before turning to face Alex. He had three eyes and two mouths.
“Jack,” I repeated, closing one eye in a last-ditch attempt to find my focus. “’Cuz that’s all men do to me is jack me around. But…” I hiccupped, almost falling off my barstool in the process before I forged on, “…never again. I’m a new Liz… here… where I live… in Iowa.”
My fuzzy brain vaguely registered Alex’s gentle look of concern.
The night was a total blank from that point on.
5
Alex
My back hurt. My neck hurt. Every muscle on the left side of my body throbbed, yet my ass had gone completely numb. I opened my eyes and stared straight ahead at the bathroom vanity. Leaning against the side of the bathtub, my long legs stretched in front of me, I yawned, trying to get my blood pumping properly again. I still had on my full uniform, but at least I’d been able to take off my shoes.
A soft moan floated through the air and I looked down to see Liz curled into a ball. Half her body on my lap, half on the cold, tile floor. I shook my head. This was definitely not what I had in mind when I went out last night. So much for hanging out with my buddy and having a few beers. I chuckled to myself at the thought that this was how I’d brought home a woman from the bar. Liz wasn’t even technically a local. She was a transplant, like me, trying to find her footing in the world of small-town living.
Lifting my arm, I checked the time. It was too dark to see the numbers on my watch, so it had to be early. Hell, the sun hadn’t even peeked over the horizon yet. Even though I had the day off, I needed to get up and moving. Maybe even stop by the station and then check on Brandon.
Before my shift ended last night, his arm had been cast, and his aunt picked him up from the hospital. Still no word on the mother’s whereabouts, but at least I could clock out knowing his piece of shit dad was locked up and Brandon had a safe place to crash for the night.
I felt around the floor until my hand landed on my phone. Bingo. I pushed the oblong button on the bottom, shocked when a picture of Liz came up as my wallpaper, her lips pursed into one of those ridiculous duck faces that women do in pictures. Most of the time it looked fucking stupid, but not on Liz. On her, it was hot as hell, and I couldn’t help picturing those sexy lips wrapped around my cock.
Jesus, Lexington. Pull your shit together.
Sliding my thumb across the screen, I hit the camera icon to pull up my photo gallery. “What the fuck?” I whispered. How long did she have my phone last night? And how the hell had I missed all this?
First up… a video.
I cringed as I clicked on the little triangle to begin, hoping she hadn’t taped herself doing anything obscene. She’d gotten drunk enough last night though, so it wouldn’t surprise me if she flashed her tits in a video.
“Tsk, tsk, Mister Officer. Rule number one in a bar… never leave your phone unattended. Because someone just might grab it.” She giggled at herself as the neckline of her sweater fell off her shoulder, exposing the thin bra strap against her milky skin. “So, to teach you a lesson, I think I’ll make you a little Lizzie photo montage.” She winked and then blew a kiss to the camera. “Enjoy!”
And… I’m hard.
Fuck me, could this woman be any sexier? Even drunk she was a knockout. A crazy, slightly nerdy knockout, but still. Gorgeous. And she called herself Lizzie. I liked that. It fit her.
My jaw dropped as I scrolled through picture after picture after picture. None of which I took or was even in. There was one of her doing a shot. Lizzie making a ridiculously silly face. Lizzie’s boobs—with a bra covering them—as her fingers pulled the neck of her sweater open. After that one it was just a montage of blurred color. I continued to swipe the screen, counting as I went.
Thirty-seven.
Sneaky little devil stole my phone and took thirty-seven damn pictures. Only six of which were worth a shit.
The last picture had the sideways triangle. Another video. Mustering all my courage, I clicked the button and music began to blare from the tiny device. The dim lighting in the bar made it hard to see much of anything, until the camera swung around and Lizzie’s face filled the screen. And there, in my hand, I watched as she lip-synched “Like A Virgin” along with the jukebox. Perfectly matched with the beat, she never missed a word. The arm not holding the phone perched in front of her mouth like a microphone.
Nothing about her entire performance said ‘virgin’ to me. More like hot-as-hell sex kitten. I wanted to wrap my hand around all the hair and feast on her plump lips.
I ached for it, actually.
I’d never wanted anything so bad in my entire life. Suddenly, being a cop in small-town Iowa didn’t seem so bad. She was here, and she was amazing.
I sighed and looked down at the spitfire in my lap. Charlie had told me she was shy and awkward. A total numbers geek who, when she wasn’t working, was content being alone, doing her own thing.
Except I didn’t buy it. Shy, awkward girls don’t throw back drinks like she did last night. Yet, judging by the concerned look on Charlie’s face in one of the photos, I’d say Lizzie’s behavior may have been a bit out of the norm.
“Where am I?” I heard as she lifted her head from my lap. I didn’t answer or move. Her eyes narrowed into tiny slits as she looked around the room. “Oh my God.” Her hand flew to cover her mouth and my instinct kicked in immediately, guiding her toward the toilet.
&n
bsp; “Shit, are you going to puke again?” I asked.
She looked at me with wide eyes, shaking her head back and forth slightly. I held my hands in front of me, palms out as if trying to calm a wild animal. She crouched on her knees, lowering her forehead to rest on the edge of the porcelain bowl.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, honey, but you might not want to put your face that close to the toilet.”
“Uugghh,” she moaned. “Did I throw up last night?”
I stifled a laugh. “Yeah, once or twice.”
“Marvelous.”
“Look,” I continued, “it’s probably a good thing you did. If you still had all that alcohol in your body, you’d be feeling pretty damn shitty this morning.”
Lizzie lifted her head just enough to meet my eyes. Even pale faced, with black smudges under each eye, her beauty shined through.
Damn, I’m in trouble.
Her green eyes roamed over my face. I suddenly felt exposed, like she could see right through me. “You mean, there’s a chance I could feel worse than I do right at this very moment?” She lowered her head back to the toilet seat and closed her eyes before she whispered, “Not possible.”
I chuckled. Beautiful and funny.
“Are we at your house?” she asked.
“Yeah, I promised Charlie and David I’d get you home safely, but my place is closer to the bar and I was afraid you were going to yak all over my truck.”
She lifted her head, brow furrowed as if she was lost in thought. “David was at the bar last night?”
I nodded. “He took Charlie home early because she was tired. I promised to stay and make sure you didn’t do anything crazy.”
“Ugh,” she moaned again and settled her cheek against the toilet seat again. Apparently, she didn’t care about the germs. “Crazy like, get completely drunk and pass out in your bathroom?”
I nodded, knowing she wouldn’t want to hear the rest. “That, yes, and crazy like dance on a table at the Hornet.”