For a fraction of a second, I think maybe, just maybe, I’ve found a guy who’s immune to River’s appeal. Maybe he’s my unicorn.
Stupid.
Stupid.
Stupid me.
Of all the things I should be worrying about right now—my getting a ticket, River being drunk and underage, although he doesn’t know it, what I’m wearing, River saying or doing something River-like, and my having to call our parents to bail us out—my out of place unrequited insta-lust is not one of them.
Like I said. Stupid.
Chapter Two
I open the door for the driver and out steps a wisp of a girl. Her eyes meet mine and slowly drift away as if she, too, is having a hard time not staring back at me. I have to make a conscious effort to drag my eyes away from hers. There’s something about this girl that has me acting like an idiot. And it’s not just the crazy outfit she’s wearing and all the skin she’s showing. There’s a softness about her I’m drawn to.
I check inside the car once more, evaluating the passenger. I’m looking for any red flags, any signs she’s in distress or needs medical help. She’s drunk but coherent, and her demeanor is calm and compliant. My gut and training tell me neither of them is a threat to me or themselves, and the intoxicated girl is safe with the driver. Even under the influence, she’s absolutely stunning. She smirks at me like she knows something I don’t. But she’s not driving nor disrupting the peace, and smirking is not illegal in the state of Vermont. She’s just another college kid having fun.
I close the door and turn my attention to the little blond pixie in front of me. I need to shake off this attraction. This has never happened before, not like this. I’m at a loss. I like to take my time to think things through, but time is a luxury I don’t have right now. Training kicks in.
“I want you to walk a straight line. Use the markings on the ground.”
I point at the white line that marks the division between parking spots.
“One foot in front of the other. When you get to the end, turn around and walk back to me.”
She’s shivering in the next to nothing outfit she has on. It takes tremendous effort to keep my eyes from wandering all over her petite body. The bare legs, the little boy shorts PJs that barely cover her small but round and firm ass, the tight tank top that does absolutely nothing to hide the fact she’s braless, and it's freezing cold tonight. Her nipples are so hard they might rip a hole through that top any moment now. I have to hold off a laugh when I notice her pink bunny slippers. This is a nice change of pace on an otherwise boring night in this small college town. Other than the occasional streaker running down Main Street, noise complaint calls, and a few drunk frat kids here and there, the town of Riggins, home of Riggins University, my alma mater, is quiet and safe.
Just four years ago, I was one of those college students.
Her blue eyes meet mine, and something stirs inside me, and it’s not only my dick. He’s been paying attention for a while now. I’m not a creep. I don’t ogle girls, and I’m very much in control of myself and how I act. My reaction to this girl surprises me. It brings up a part of me I thought dead long ago. I don’t like it, and yet I’m fascinated by the sudden impulse to let my guard down, to bend the rules a little, to be more lenient than I otherwise would be.
This is a college town, after all. Young, beautiful girls who think they can get away with breaking a traffic law because of the way they look are everywhere. I’ve never given any of them a break because they flashed a smile or cleavage at me. And I had my share of invitations for more. Turned them all down. Politely, of course. They still got a ticket. Maybe I’m an asshole for following the rules so strictly. But a pretty face and a pair of tits are not the thing I’m going to sell out my integrity for. And yet, I find myself treading that very line right now. Something about this girl calls to me, and it’s not just her body. There’s kindness and honesty in her eyes. She’s not trying to manipulate me. It’s easy to see how very uncomfortable she is. She wears her distress like a second skin and it tugs at me.
I tamper down my inconvenient lust with my next exhalation.
“What’s your name?”
“Skye.”
“Do you have a jacket, Skye?”
I like the sound of her name on my lips.
She shakes her head.
“Hold on.”
I go back to my car and return with my jacket. She looks at me with big, pale blue eyes, confusion and anticipation on her delicate face.
I place the jacket over her shoulders, and before I can help myself, I pull her hair from under it. It’s silky soft. My fingertips brush her neck and she shivers on contact. I freeze. Her pouty, full lips call to me. What the fuck am I doing?
I take a big step back and away from her and look down, trying to get a hold of myself. I don’t know what it is about this girl that affects me so.
She’s nothing like the women I usually go for. It’s been a while. I just need to get laid. Yeah, lie to yourself. That’s always helpful. I’m starting to get pissed off at myself for my less than professional behavior.
She grabs the sides of my uniform jacket and closes it around herself, turns around to walk the line, stops, and looks at me.
“Thank you.”
It’s just two simple words I’ve heard and said a thousand times, but for whatever reason, that something inside me no longer stirs.
It churns.
I watch her walk the line in her pink bunny slippers and back again until she’s standing a couple feet away. I take a step closer to her. The car door opens, saving me from whatever stupid thing I was about to do. I’m acting like a teen boy and not the twenty-five-year-old man I am.
The other girl steps out. She half walks, half stumbles to the front of the car and leans on it until her gaze steadies on me.
Normally, this is where I’d tell her to get back in the car and stay there. But I don’t. Everything about this stop is off the books, and it bristles at my sense of order and love of rules, and yet I can’t make myself do what I know I’m supposed to.
It’s like I’m under some kind of spell. Except, I don’t believe in magic. Never did.
“Officer, she's not drunk. My sister never drinks. I am, though.”
She giggles as she lifts a hand, pointing at the sky. Even drunk, she looks perfect, with long legs in skinny jeans, a tight sweater that shows off her large tits, and high-heel boots adding a few inches to her already tall frame. She’s slim and curvy in all the right spots. She’s exactly the kind of woman I go for. Gorgeous, confident, unapologetic. But when I look at her, I feel nothing. My brain recognizes what my eyes see, a beautiful woman, and yet I have no interest, no attraction.
Maybe a few hours in the can will sober her up. But as soon as I think it, I dismiss the idea, imagining what kind of distress it would cause her sister.
The blond pixie steps into my line of vision, between me and her sister.
“I’m so sorry, Officer. My sister was at a party and she needed a ride. I was already in bed—I didn't expect to have to leave my car. I just ran out to get her,” the petite blonde explains.
Skye. I remind myself of her name.
The brunette points a finger at me and then at her sister.
“My sister doesn't like parties. She likes books.”
I’m still looking at the brunette when Skye responds to her.
“Yes, I do, and I was reading a very good one when you called me to rescue your ass, yet again!”
“She likes to read smut.”
More giggles.
“I do not!”
“Yes, you do. All those books have half-naked men on the cover.”
Normally, this is where I’d halt the conversation, gain control of the situation, and put a stop to it. Well, if I’m honest, it would’ve never gotten this far. Instead, I repress a smirk, still trying to do my job, but relaxing and enjoying myself for a change. This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time. Too long to count, and it almost
makes me feel like I’m back in college again. The poor girl stammers.
“I—I’m not responsible for what an author puts on the cover of their book.”
“You need the real thing. You should just get laid. I bet officer Hot Cop can help you. You know, protect and serve. He can service you.”
Now, there’s an idea I can get behind. I shake my head as if doing so would get rid of all the random thoughts in it. I cross my arms over my chest and try to pull my head out of my ass and do what I always do when something doesn’t go as planned. I take a step back and analyze the known facts.
One: I’m attracted to this girl.
Two: She’s scared, embarrassed, and out of her element.
Three: I’m in a position of authority, in uniform, at work, and behaving in a way that’s not professional or up to my own personal standards.
Four: There’s no way I can act on this attraction. Maybe not right now . . .
Five: I have to get this mess under contr—
“River!” Despite the cold, her face burns with embarrassment.
“Or not. I know! You should use your vibrator,” the brunette quips, like it's the greatest idea of the century.
“I.
Do.
Not.
Have.
A.
Vibrator.”
Skye enunciates each word.
“I'm buying you one for your birthday. It's a great twenty-first birthday gift!”
The brunette slurs between giggles and looks at me.
“We're twins, you know. Fra-ter-nal twins.”
And now she’s confessed to underage drinking, which for a college town is common, but damn it! I walk up to the front of the car to get a closer look at her. It doesn’t matter if she’s just buzzed or drunk. It’s still underage drinking. She’s able to hold eye contact, her breathing is normal, not labored, and her words are clear enough, a little slow and a slur here and there, but still coherent. She’s tipsy for sure, but not plastered.
“Can I see your driver’s license, please?”
She fishes in her back pocket and hands it over. I tilt it to the light to get a better look. Her birthday is September twenty-second. She’ll be legal in a week.
I scratch the back of my neck. I have a decision to make. Take her in for underage drinking, in which case they’d probably just keep her until morning so she sobers up, or make sure they get home safely.
“I'm buying my sister a rabbit,” she tells me.
“River, they don't allow pets in our building.”
Skye says this with more patience for her sister than humanly possible. As if humoring a little kid in the middle of a tantrum.
The brunette—River—is laughing now.
“You don't even know what a rabbit is?”
“A rabbit is a furry animal that comes around on Easter,” Skye says, hands going to her hips.
She’s swimming in my jacket, it’s so big on her.
River is bent over the hood of the car, holding her belly and laughing.
“O-M-G, Skye! A rabbit is a vibrator! It has these little rabbit ears that go right on your—” She holds a hand up, showing two wiggling fingers up like a rabbit's ears.
“River, there’s no such thing!” blondie interrupts before her sister can go on.
I feel like a spectator in a verbal tennis match. Okay, enough of this. I have to get control of this situation.
“Miss?”
I give the brunette her license back.
“You have to get back in the car. It’s for your own safety.”
She looks at me, more sober than before, and she takes her license, and again, I wonder how drunk she really is. If at all.
“Help me out here. Please tell her there is such a thing.”
River throws the words over her shoulder as she makes her way back to the car.
Skye turns my way, eyes wide. I have a primal urge to hold her and protect her from her sister’s taunt. What the hell is wrong with me?
“Miss, in the car. Now.”
She eyes me warily. I wait until she gets in and closes the door before turning my attention back to the driver.
“Officer, I'm not drunk. I was home. My sister called for a ride, and I went to this party to pick her up. Please just let me blow on your stick and you'll see that—”
The brunette is in the car but leaning out the driver’s window.
“You want to blow his stick? Well, that's a way to get out of a ticket.”
The little pixie—Skye—looks down and covers her face with her hands for a long moment before looking up at me again.
Her eyes shine with unshed tears.
“Officer, I live fewer than two blocks away. Could you please just follow us home, and I can show you my driver's license there? I swear I didn't drink a drop of alcohol.”
I should just let her go. End this foolishness right now. Chalk it up to a late night and a long self-imposed dry spell. Forget about tonight. But I don’t. I can’t.
There’s something at play here, something I have no clue about, but the cop in me needs to know why. What about this wisp of a girl has me so out of sorts?
I need to know what. And then make it stop. I’ll follow them to make sure they get home safely and are off the street. That’s all. I just want to make sure they’re safe.
I take her in, her small body hidden by my jacket, eyes wide and expectant, full rosy lips, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Again, it’s like I’ve fallen under some sort of spell. I draw in a breath and attempt to shake off whatever hold this girl has on me.
“Okay.”
I follow them home to a street I’m all too familiar with. There’s a moment of awkward silence as Skye and I stand by her door, staring at each other while her sister makes her way inside the building. We both speak at the same time.
“I’ll go get my license—”
“No need to get the license—”
The low sound of a laugh escapes her mouth. I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips when her face pinkens.
Her eyes go to the name tag on my chest.
“Thank you again, Officer . . . ?”
“Logan Cole,” I say.
I need her to know my full name. Not just the last name on the tag.
“Skye Devereux.”
Her right arm rises, but her hand is lost inside the sleeve of my jacket.
“Oh, your jacket! I’m so sorry. Forgot I’m wearing it.”
Another awkward moment follows as she unzips and shrugs my jacket off. Her skin pebbles with the loss of the heat it provided.
I take the jacket back and give her my hand to shake. It’s an innocent enough gesture, but I can’t fool myself into thinking there’s nothing to it. I need to touch her. Just once.
Her hand is so small, it disappears into mine. Delicate bones and soft skin meet my roughened hand. Her left arm drapes over her chest. I know she’s trying to hide her near-nakedness from me. Too late. I memorized it all. But I don’t ogle or make it even more embarrassing for her. Too soon, I let her hand go and gesture to the door behind her back.
“Good night, Skye. Be safe.”
Walking away, I put the jacket on, still warm from her body. A faint scent of orange blossoms lingers on the heavy fabric and it makes me smile. I look back when I get to the cruiser, just in time to see the door close. She’d been watching me.
Chapter Three
“Great! This is just great,” I blurt, holding the empty bag of coffee beans.
It had been River’s turn to go grocery shopping yesterday, but she slept until noon, showered, took the shopping list, and left right after. She hates food shopping and always tries to bribe me to do it. I’m sure she only went out to avoid me. She did a pretty good job of that. Between her being out and my having to finish a paper yesterday afternoon, she’d managed to avoid me all of Saturday. I’m not sure what I’m more annoyed with—her avoiding me, avoiding talking about her drinking the last few months, or her forg
etting to buy coffee even though it’s on the list.
I can’t go without coffee. I need my morning fix, so getting dressed and facing the Sunday morning chill it is. The weather app on my phone says the current temperature is a crispy forty-three degrees. It’s a little on the cold side for early September but not unheard of. I pull on my favorite pair of yoga pants, extra soft from many washes, a thermal, and the red hoodie with the Riggins University logo. Then, I step into my shearling boots and grab my jacket.
I’m one of those people who’s always cold. Being born and raised in Vermont should have made me less susceptible to the cold, but I’m not. Which again, for the umpteenth time, makes me wonder what I was thinking when I went out late Friday night—or Saturday early morning, rather—dressed in pajamas.
I leave a note on the fridge for my still-sleeping sister, letting her know where I am, and walk to Pat’s Cafe, half a block away.
A couple of minutes later, I wave to Pat behind the counter as I step through the front door of the café. The scent of coffee and sugary goodness makes me instantly happy.
The décor is what one could call bohemian chic. The hardwood floors are dark with age and use, but the space is bright with sunlight and color. The café is decorated with a mismatch of tables and chairs of all different colors, textures, and sizes. A couple of couches flank one of the walls along with a few oversized beanbags. Those are always taken first.
I’ll miss this place when we graduate and I have to move closer to wherever I can find a job. I first met Pat when we moved into our apartment three years ago to attend Riggins University, and she promptly declared herself our college mom.
I sigh, eyeing the big clock on the wall, and wait in line for my chance to order. The place is busy for 8:00 a.m. on a Sunday, but it’s mostly locals hanging around. I see a few RU students, but they usually arrive later in the day after having slept the morning in. Pat’s Cafe is always busy with college kids despite the food plan the university offers. The chance to eat a meal that tastes like homemade with a side of free Wi-Fi and Pat’s ever-loving mothering of anyone who comes into her café is not something many can pass up. Pat knows everyone by name and has no qualms about giving them a verbal smackdown if she thinks they’re misbehaving. Or an actual smack to the back of the head if she thinks they deserve it.
Because of Logan Page 2