by Sacchi Green
“Unless it’s a really hot dyke cop. Then lots of good things can come of it.” She giggled. If she hadn’t been my best friend, I would have clobbered her.
I answered the door. “Hello, officers.” I plastered a smile on my face, as Lisa always said I should. “Please come in.”
The two police officers entered. One of them I’d never seen before. He walked in all business-like. As the other brushed past me, familiar stirrings in my lower belly began.
“Hi, Ms. Janssen,” she said in that slightly gravelly voice of hers.
“Officer Brewer,” I responded in a tone that suggested we’d met before. And we had. Ever since I’d moved into this house, I’d had the pleasure of seeing this particular cop numerous times. While the reasons for our encounters were not amusing, I was secretly grateful for them.
“Officer Brewer,” Lisa said in a saccharine-sweet voice. She was taunting me. “Where’s your regular partner?”
“He’s out on disability for a while. This is my temp partner, Officer Nolan.”
Lisa and I nodded to Nolan, who was looking around the house, no doubt searching for crack pipes.
“I hope nothing bad happened to him,” I said.
“No, just some minor surgery.”
“You ladies both live here,” Nolan said. It wasn’t a question.
“Yes,” I responded, looking only at him. I could tell that Brewer’s eyes were fixed on me and if I looked at her, I’d collapse into a pile of goo.
“Your neighbor said you threw sticks at her.”
“No, we didn’t.” There was still a serious matter to deal with. “They fell off the tree out front in the storm last night. She claims they’re my branches, so she threw them over my front fence. So I just threw them back over to her side. Maybe she was standing too close.”
Brewer put her hands around her utility belt, in a sexy Clint Eastwood-type stance.
“There’s a history here of disputes,” she said to Nolan. “The neighbor calls us out here pretty regularly.” She looked at me again. When I caught sight of those amazing brown eyes, my muscles went limp and my underwear got damp.
Is it me, or do her eyes turn to liquid when she looks at me?
“Officer Nolan, could I speak with you privately?” Lisa called out from the kitchen. I hadn’t seen her leave the room.
I turned to find Lisa standing on the threshold between the kitchen and hallway, with a barely suppressed smirk. I threw her a “what are you doing?” look. She raised her eyebrows suggestively.
Nolan disappeared into the kitchen, and I was left standing there with Officer Hot-In-Her-Blues. Awkwardly, I turned back toward Brewer and attempted a smile. I’m sure it was pathetic. Brewer broke the silence.
“Look, I’ll just say what I always say—try to keep out of her way and try to get along.” I knew she knew that the bitch next door was crazy. Except that she couldn’t actually say it.
“Uh, yeah.” Lisa’s voice ricocheted through my head: Ask her out next time—and you know there’ll be a next time. She’d said it the last three times Brewer had come to the house. I didn’t know if it was kosher to ask a police officer out while she was on duty. Maybe that was a big no-no. I didn’t want to look like an idiot.
But with each visit from Officer Chocolate-Eyes, I reacted more strongly. At the moment, my stomach was tight, my knees were wobbly, and my clit was throbbing. And sweat gathered on my forehead. I prayed she couldn’t see it. So not sexy.
“Hey, listen,” I said. “You’re really nice about coming here… I mean, I know you have to, but you’re really nice about it.” That had to sound stupid.
Thwarting my attempt—or perhaps rescuing me from it—Brewer’s radio crackled with the voice of a dispatcher. She gripped the piece on her shoulder and tilted it toward her face, then inclined her head to speak into it.
“6-5 Adam. Still out. Leaving location. ETA about six minutes.”
That. Was. So. Hot.
Brewer looked at me apologetically. Nolan came out of the kitchen, Lisa trailing him.
“Just try to get along,” Nolan said to no one in particular. “Some people just like to complain. Nothing you can do about it.” He kept moving toward the door, passing Brewer on the way.
Brewer turned to follow him but stopped halfway and looked at me. “Till next time, I guess.” The smile she gave me was sultry enough to steam the wrinkles out of my clothes—and then make them fall off.
“Make sure you bring the uniform. It does something for you.” As soon as the words escaped my mouth, I wished I could fall through the cracks of my parquet floor.
And then Officer Brewer walked out of my door for the umpteenth time, leaving me wet and aching for her.
It was Saturday night and, as usual, I was alone. Lisa had gone off on a date, and I was settling in for an evening of old movies and “Saturday Night Live,” a bucket of freshly popped popcorn on my lap. After my encounter with Officer Brewer that afternoon, I wanted to be alone, anyway.
The doorbell rang. I set my popcorn down and went to the door. When I opened it, I was surprised to find Officer Brewer on my doorstep. A sledgehammer to my gut would probably have had less impact.
“Hi,” she said, quirking up one side of her mouth.
For a moment, I had a fantasy of the romantic suitor who just couldn’t stay away from the object of her affection and came to serenade her at her door. But then I came crashing down to earth. This was a cop at my doorstep. Nothing good ever comes from a cop on your doorstep.
“Hi, Officer Brewer. Don’t tell me my neighbor called you again? I haven’t done anything since this afternoon.”
Her lips quickly formed an “o” shape. “Oh, no, no. It’s not that.” Her lightly tanned, smooth face seemed to redden slightly under my porch light. She said nothing else, so I invited her in.
She stood stiffly in my hallway while I waited for her to explain her visit. Finally she cleared her throat. “I was on my way home and thought I should check in on you. I mean, you seemed upset earlier.”
Oh. She’s being a dutiful civil servant. “I’m fine. She’s nuts.” I waved my hand in the general direction of my neighbor’s house. “Where’s your partner?”
“He went home. We’re off duty.”
“Oh, right. You said you were on your way home.” It was then that I noticed the lack of bulkiness in her shirt. No bulletproof vest.
Wait a minute. She’s off duty. “Do you often check in on people when you’re off duty?” Despite my insecurity, I managed a flirty smile. I hoped I wasn’t making a fool out of myself.
Brewer gave me a small smile in response. “No. I don’t.”
This statement completely dismantled me. Not the words so much as the look in her eyes as she said them. Those eyes, with their long, dark lashes, set above high cheekbones, told me that if I played my cards right, I’d find out what it was like to plunder the thin blue line. Problem was, I wasn’t sure I believed it.
“Well, uh, since you were so kind to check in on me, the least I can do is offer you a drink. Wanna sit?”
“Sure.” Brewer walked into my living room and sat down on the couch. I waited a moment before following her and stared at the back of her head. Her black hair was cut in typical dyke cop fashion—short on the sides, spiked up on top—although she did have a little swoop on the sides. I had the urge to sneak up behind her and slide my fingers through it. My fantasies about her had often included having my fingers in her hair while her head was between my legs.
I was jolted out of my thoughts when she turned around to look at me. “Um, are you going to join me in here, Ms. Janssen?”
“Oh, yeah. I was just going to ask you what you’d like to drink. And please, call me Morgan.”
“Sure. Whatever you’ve got, Morgan.”
I retrieved some wine from the refrigerator and brought it into the living room, along with two wineglasses. I uncorked the bottle and poured some out for each of us.
“Wow, I haven
’t seen rosé in a long time,” she said, looking at the pink wine in her glass.
“Well, this is what rosé should be. I picked it up in Provence. They specialize in it there,” I said, sticking my nose in the air in mock arrogance.
“Oh! I see.” She flashed me another smile—a creamy white, beautiful smile. For a moment, I was bewitched.
We both laughed, then sipped.
“Mmm. This is good,” she said.
“Told you.”
Then there was an awkward silence. After a long minute, it was so painful that I had to end it.
“Were you worried that my neighbor snapped and beat me with that rake she’s always using?”
Brewer laughed nervously. “Nah. People like that puff themselves up, but it’s usually only for show, like a peacock.” Then, after a pause, “I really just wanted to see you.”
It may have been the lusty rosé, or it may have been the surreal quality of the moment, but I felt like a wave had picked me up off a beach and was holding me aloft on its crest, under a sparkling sun that warmed my skin from the inside out.
I decided it was the rosé and that I shouldn’t get my hopes up too much. Officer Brewer was just being a concerned upholder of the law. I poured some more wine for both of us. “Oh, I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me.” I gave the friendliest smile possible.
Brewer, on the other hand, got a strange look on her face, bringing her brows together ever so slightly. Like she was trying to figure something out.
“How did you—and Lisa, right?—come to live in this house together?” she asked.
“Long story short, I wanted a house but knew I couldn’t pay all the bills myself, so I asked Lisa to move in with me and share the expenses. At least for a while, until I got things under control, got a raise at work, et cetera. It’s working pretty well. Except for my crazy-ass neighbor.”
“Yeah, unfortunately, I see this way too often. It’s a shame.” She sipped her wine and her eyes stopped at an art photo on the wall. Although she seemed taken with it, she didn’t ask me about it. “So, what do you do?”
The conversation was in familiar territory now. Tucking my feet beneath me, I said, “I’m an X-ray technician.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“It’s not.”
Brewer laughed, hearty and unrestrained. It was deep and throaty and inviting.
The sun was making its final descent, and I lit a candle to keep the room softly lit.
“What’s it like being a cop, Officer Brewer?” Brilliant, original question.
“Call me Nicole,” she said. “It’s a living.” She lifted one eyebrow.
I wanted to ask her for stories but knew that sometimes cops didn’t like to talk about “the job” when they were off duty, so I sipped as I tried to come up with alternative conversation topics. Then I thought, hell, she’s sitting here in her uniform, and I have nothing to lose except my dignity.
“Why did you become a police officer?”
Her eyes were steady on mine. They were like hard, smooth stones, but in the shifting light of the room, they softened to warm, luminescent rings of sienna and sable.
“Because I sucked at everything else I tried.”
I stopped mid-sip, not knowing if she was serious or joking. She grinned, and I swallowed. “You must have to go to a million places a day.”
“I’m not one to sit behind a desk.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, suddenly self-conscious. “I don’t mean to pry.”
“That’s okay. I don’t mind.”
In the span of time it took her to answer that question, I realized I’d come to care about Nicole Brewer. Not just lust for her, but care for her. And, as if I’d known her for years, I worried about her safety, physical and mental.
“Does it affect you? I mean in your head?”
Brewer gulped the rest of her wine. I held out the bottle to give her more. “No, thanks. I have to drive.” She put her arm on the back of the couch and turned her body to rest one leg on the cushion. I could almost see the wheels spinning in her head trying to formulate her answer. I felt like I was being scrutinized.
“Not too many people think about that aspect of it,” she said. “I love my job, but it’s hard sometimes, like when you have to deal with brutality.”
“But you don’t see brutality every day, do you?”
“There’s physical brutality, then there’s brutality of the soul.”
Whoa. Her eyes bore into mine, and I knew that she was entrusting me with something special and exclusive.
I felt honored. And guilty for objectifying her. Officer Brewer was not just a badge and uniform—hot as that was. She was a person, and she was a woman who probably cried now and then, even if only on the inside. When I finally got the gumption to speak, all I could say was, “Thank you for what you do.”
Jesus, I sound like a dork. That was the most unsexy thing ever.
Her features softened into an array of emotions I wanted to study and dissect and understand. But not now. Right now, I was wet for her and wanted to do nasty things to her.
“Look, I should go,” Nicole said, getting up. “I didn’t mean to take up so much of your time.”
Well, that’s it. I blew it. I kept myself from leaping off the couch and grabbing her by her well-muscled shoulders. Don’t go! “That’s okay. I enjoyed talking to you.”
As she walked to the door, I couldn’t help but look at her ass. Even with the loose-fitting pants, I could see she was tight. And round.
Stop it! Stop it! I didn’t want to be disrespectful. After all, she’d just bared her soul to me.
I wish she’d bare more.
Stop it!
She turned around and I just barely brought my eyes up to her face in time. If she’d caught me looking at her ass, I would’ve died.
“Thanks for the drink.”
“My pleasure. Any time.” And don’t forget the handcuffs. Oh, hell. Just the hat will do.
I put my hand on the doorknob and hesitated. I really wanted her to stay, but I opened the door. She stood there looking at me for a moment. Again, I could see the wheels turning. But about what? What did she want to say?
“Take care,” she said and walked out.
Once again, I’d let Officer Brewer walk out of my house, and all I had to show for it was a wet crotch.
Cats purred contentedly by my head on the sofa’s back. I’d been sitting there for a while, thinking about Nicole, and finally decided to go to bed. After turning out the lights, I headed upstairs to my bedroom. I was just about to change when the doorbell rang.
I went back downstairs, a little freaked at first, considering it was one a.m. But by the time I got to the bottom, I’d decided that it was my crackpot neighbor ringing my bell to complain some more. Angrily, I flipped the switch for the porch light and pulled the door open. “What?” I yelled.
“Whoa. Sorry, I know it’s late.”
Under the harsh light of the lamp, Nicole’s features were sharp and clear. She seemed startled but not terribly so. She’d probably seen much more violent reactions than that.
“Nicole. I’m so sorry. I thought you were my neighbor.” My face got hot, and I looked down at her feet.
“That’s okay. Is it too late?”
“No. Not at all. Come in.” I held the door open and as she walked past me, I got a whiff of musk, and it went right to my clit. The pulsating began all over again. “Is everything okay?”
Nicole hung her head for a minute and she stared at the parquet floor, as if contemplating something. Her thumbs were hooked on her utility belt in that way I loved.
“Nicole?” I put my hand on her arm. Had something bad happened after she’d left earlier?
Before I could register anything, Nicole turned fully toward me, pushed me against the corridor wall and kissed me. As stunned as I was, it didn’t take long for me to fall into her kiss and let my lips part for her. Her hands went around my waist, and I slid my palm
s up the well-ironed blue shirt, my ring catching on the edge of her NYPD patch. When both my hands were behind her neck, she held me tighter and pressed her full weight onto me. Her kisses became harder, more urgent, and her tongue slipped into my mouth hungrily. She pulled away, breathing heavily.
I’d fantasized about this woman so much, and now that I had her in my arms and had felt her lips on mine, I didn’t know what to do. So, I opened my mouth to speak. “Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”
She let out a sputtering laugh. I laughed, too. “Sorry, I’ve always wanted to say that.”
“It’s okay.” She chuckled again.
The evening was warm and muggy, and the house offered little air. I wiped a bead of sweat from my temple. “Hey, you wanna step outside to my backyard? It’s cooler out there.”
“Sure.”
I led the way to the back of the house, the whole time self-conscious about my backside. Was she looking at it? Did it look good? Was it jiggling? I was relieved when we’d gone through the door, and I was able to move to the side. I flipped on the back porch light. When I turned, she was looking at me with such intensity that I thought I would spontaneously combust.
I swallowed hard. “Um, we can sit over here,” I said, pointing to a stone bench. I sat, but she remained standing.
My garden was my oasis, a place of Zen tranquility. Fruit trees rose to meet the ten-foot fence surrounding my backyard. Fallen peaches dotted the grass, and the little plums that had gotten too ripe left wine-colored blotches on the paving stones.
“Wow, this is really nice.” Brewer pulled her eyes off me to look around at my creation.
“Thanks. I love it out here. It keeps me sane.”
“Too bad your neighbor is nuts.” She turned to me and smiled. “That’s off the record, of course.”
“Of course.” Would throwing you to the ground, ripping your uniform off, and making your eyes roll to the back of your head be off the record, too?
“What are these for?” she asked, pointing to a pile of canvas.
“Oh, those were on my furniture. Haven’t put them away yet.”