Sergeant Sexypants Page 6

“Austin, I heard the wonderful news.”

  I turn to see Mrs. Percy bustling to the table, her salt-and-pepper perm glinting under florescent lights. She co-chairs the Deschutes Children’s Welfare Society with Mrs. Sampson, and the conspiratorial glint in her eye tells me I’m not going to like this conversation any more than I like talking about my love life or suicidal teenagers.

  “What good news, Mrs. Percy?”

  “That you’ve agreed to do the calendar.” She pats my bicep, taking a page out of Mrs. Sampson’s book. “The naughty cops calendar for the children.”

  Good Lord. “Naughty cops for the children,” I repeat. “Please tell me that’s not the name of it?”

  She gives me a dismissive wrist flick and smiles. “We’ll worry about that later. The important thing is that you’re doing it.” She leans down and lowers her voice. “We might even be able to get you on the cover.”

  This is far from my greatest career ambition, partly because I never agreed to do the damn calendar. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” I tell her. “I’m not posing for any calendar.”

  Mrs. Percy’s face falls, and she looks at my father. “I thought you said—”

  “We’ll talk about it.” My father gives her his campaign grin and winks. “Great scones, by the way. Lacey made them for breakfast yesterday and said you gave her the recipe.”

  “Yes, well.” She preens a little. “We’ll be in touch.”

  Mrs. Percy walks away, but not before ogling my chest and murmuring something about my abs. Christ.

  “Thanks a lot,” I mutter to my dad. “Are you my pimp now?”

  My dad grins and forks up a piece of pancake. “You’re a creative thinker,” he says. “That’s why you’re in line to be chief. You’ll figure out some way to make everyone happy.”

  “Somehow, I doubt that involves me taking off my clothes.” The second the words leave my mouth, my brain zips straight to Bree. I can’t wait to see her later. Even if it’s just a kid’s birthday party, even if she’s got this no-cop rule, even if—

  “Subject is on the move.” My father barks the word into his lapel mike and stands up. He takes one last swig of coffee and heads for the door, leaving me to get the bill. I shove two twenties under my plate and the last piece of bacon in my mouth before following my dad out onto the sidewalk.

  He’s already mid-conversation with a nervous-looking blonde girl who can’t be more than sixteen. My father is frowning with his thumbs looped over his belt. The girl looks at him, then at me. We’re both in uniform.

  “We have a reason to believe you’re dealing weapons to terrorists, young lady,” my father says. “Possibly smuggling aircraft carriers, too.”

  “What?” The girl gives a nervous laugh, then stops. “No, I—this has to be some mistake.”

  “Unlikely.” My father folds his arms over his chest as the girl’s gaze shifts to me. I almost feel bad playing along, but I fix my expression into a cop scowl and let my dad take the lead.

  The girl swallows and reaches for her phone. “I just need to call—”

  “Ma’am, please keep your hands where we can see them.”

  The girl’s smile wobbles. My father must see that, too, because he unfolds his arms and softens his voice as he gestures to her car. “I’m sure we can clear this up easily. Ma’am, I’m going to need you to open your trunk.”

  “My—my trunk?”

  “What’s that?” My father touches his earpiece like he’s getting a call, even though I can tell he’s faking it. He glances at the girl. “Subject is a Caucasian female, sixteen years old—”

  “Seventeen,” the girl says, fiddling nervously with her keys.

  God, I hope we get this over with soon.

  “Subject appears to be unarmed,” my father continues, “but with advanced martial arts training and a history of violence—”

  “What?” The girl looks frantic now. “I don’t know any martial arts.”

  “If you like, we can clear this up down at the jailhouse,” my father says.

  “Jail? But I—”

  “Please, ma’am—let’s do this the easy way and have a look in the trunk.”

  The girl swallows and walks around to the back of her car. As she jams a key into the hole, a mop-haired boy in a rumpled gray suit approaches from the other side of the street. He has a dozen red roses in one hand and a nervous look on his face.

  I don’t blame him. A stunt like this could go sideways in a hurry.

  There’s an audible gasp from the girl as the trunk pops open, and a dozen helium balloons fly out. The girl sticks a tentative hand inside and pulls out a cardboard sign. I peer over her shoulder at the red words scrawled across it.

  “You’ve arrested my heart,” she reads aloud. “Will you go to homecoming with me?”

  She looks up at the boy, and her face transforms from terror to delight in the space of ten seconds. For a second, I think he’s going to drop to one knee, but no, that’s not how this goes.

  It’s homecoming season—second only to promposal season in craziness—and this teenage Romeo just pulled off one helluva surprise invitation. Can’t say I’m in favor of the fear factor, but the kid gets props for execution.

  “The boy’s dad is on the force,” my father mutters to me as the girl throws her arms around the kid’s ruddy neck. “Asked me to do this as a favor.”

  The girl is sobbing in earnest now, but it’s happy tears. If I was pissed at my dad a few seconds ago for scaring the shit out of this poor girl, I can admit now it may have been worth it.

  “Yes, I’ll go to homecoming with you,” the girl bawls. “Oh my God, I’m going to kill you.”

  “Ma’am,” my father says. “Threatening homicide in front of two officers of the law is inadvisable.”

  My father grins, and I catch myself smiling back.

  Chapter 6

  BREE

  I don’t know why I expect Austin to show up in a police car to pick me up for a kid’s birthday party. It’s not like it’s never dawned on me he has a life outside being a cop.

  But I’m still surprised to see him pull up in a vintage Volvo. I don’t know much about cars, but this one looks a few years older than I am. That’s judging from the body style, anyway. As soon as he opens the passenger door for me, I can see the leather seats are immaculate, and the dashboard is a high-polished shrine to ‘80s automotive technology.

  “Cool car,” I say, ducking down for a better look. “Very retro.”

  “Thanks,” he says. “I have a truck for camping and stuff, but the Volvo thing is kind of a hobby.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Restoring vintage Volvos,” he says. “This girl is my fifth.”

  I find it ridiculously endearing that his car is female and that he’s clearly fond of her. “Does she have a name?”

  “Tallulah,” he says without hesitation. “It’s Swedish.”

  I laugh as he hands me in through the passenger side and closes the door behind me. Such a gentleman. He strides around the front of the car and gets behind the wheel, but he doesn’t start the car right away.

  “I dated a guy my freshman year in college who drove a Volvo.” I don’t mention it was a souped up brand new one with all the bells and whistles, or that his parents bought it for him. “He called it the Swedish Love Machine.”

  Austin gives me a pained look. “And you think dating a cop would be a step down from that?”

  “Good point.” I bite my lip. “For the record, it’s not about stepping down or up or—well, anything like that.”

  “What is it about?”

  I glance down at my lap, twirling my fingers in the ribbons of the package I’ve wrapped for Ainslie. “Maybe I’m afraid of dating someone who gets shot at?”

  Hey, it’s a good reason. It’s the one I always hear in books and movies when women are reluctant to date soldiers or cops or anyone else with a dangerous job.

  But when I look up, I see Officer Hot
Stuff isn’t buying it. “I’m in a supervisory role,” he says. “The last time someone shot at me, it was one of my deputies with a marshmallow gun. This is rural Central Oregon, not Southside Chicago.”

  And this isn’t the real issue anyway. I know it. He knows it. We’re both just beating around the bush. “I shouldn’t have kissed you,” I murmur. “I’m sorry if I’m sending mixed signals.”

  Austin lifts a hand and brushes a curl off the side of my face. Every nerve in my cheek sizzles to life like a sparkler. “So you regret it?”

  I bite my lip, not ready to go that far. Truth be told, that kiss was the highlight of my month. “I feel guilty for yanking you around.”

  “Honey, you can yank me around anytime you want.”

  I laugh and twirl the sparkly pink gift ribbons around my thumb. “I wasn’t being fair to you.”

  Lame. Lame that I’m sitting here telling him how I shouldn’t have kissed him while every nerve in my body is screaming for him to kiss me again.

  Those blue-grey eyes hold mine, and I swear he just read my mind. “How about I even things out?”

  “H—how?” My response comes out breathy, and I hate how much I want him to touch me again.

  “If I kiss you, you can stop kicking yourself over kissing me.”

  I nod, even though that makes about as much sense as shooting yourself in the right foot because you’ve already shot the left one. Still, I hear myself breathing, “Okay.”

  “Okay?” He sounds surprised.

  “Okay,” I repeat. “That’s reasonable.”

  It’s not even remotely reasonable, but it’s not rational thought driving either of us right now. Austin cups the side of my face in his hand and draws me closer. I go willingly, practically falling into him. I close my eyes and breathe him in, wanting to savor it this time. The last kiss happened so fast.

  He’s gentle at first, barely brushing my lips with his. I reach for the back of his head, aching to feel more of him. Aching for a lot more than a kiss.

  He responds by grazing my tongue with his, still deliciously gentle. I groan and deepen the kiss, not content to make this a perfunctory smooch. I open my eyes, startled to see he’s looking at me, too. His blue-gray eyes lock with mine, and he smiles against my mouth. Breaking the kiss, he rests his forehead against mine, still holding the back of my head.

  “What are you thinking, Bree Bracelyn?” he asks.

  I’m thinking I want to climb over the gear shift and straddle you like a porn star right now.

  “We—we should probably go,” I murmur.

  “Probably.” He doesn’t let go of me. I don’t want him to.

  Slowly, I touch my lips to his again. His eyes flutter closed, and he kisses me again, rougher this time. He grips the curve of my waist, and I arch into him, begging him with my body to touch me. To lift his hand a few more inches. To graze the underside of my breast with one of those massive hands.

  He breaks the kiss again, and this time his eyes are wild and full of heat. “We should definitely go.” His voice is gravelly. “I don’t want to have to explain to my three-year-old niece that I’m late to her party because I was ripping your clothes off in the front seat of my car.”

  “Oh. Yes—that would be—bad.”

  “Not really.” Austin draws back and starts the car then shoots me a grin. “But now’s not the right time.”

  When is the right time? I want to ask, but I don’t think my mouth works anymore. Is this what they mean by kissed senseless? I’m pretty sure that’s what Austin just did, and I want him to do it again.

  But goddamn it, I said I wouldn’t. I have tons of good reasons for that, and I’ll remember them just as soon as my head stops spinning.

  Austin eases the car down the resort driveway, and I go back to twirling my fingers in the ribbons. Austin’s the first to break the silence.

  “You got Ainslie a gift?”

  “I hope she likes superheroes,” I say. “It’s a dress-up kit that has a few different kinds of capes and masks and accessories and stuff. I poked around online and I guess this is all the rage with the kiddie crowd right now. They had a bunch of them at the toy store downtown.”

  “She’ll love it,” he says. “You didn’t have to do that, but she’ll be thrilled.”

  “I remember what it’s like to have a birthday party where no one showed up with presents.”

  Or no one showed up at all. I don’t say that part out loud, but I wonder if Austin reads anything into my silence. I hurry to fill it. “So is there anything I should know about your family?”

  He grins and eases the car out onto the highway that leads toward town. “They’re loud, nosy, and really annoying. Also, I love them to death.”

  I laugh and slip my sunglasses out of my purse. It’s less about the sun’s glare and more that I don’t want him to see how mind-whacked I still am from that kiss. “So pretty much a typical family.”

  “Yep,” he says. “Get ready to be asked lots of awkward questions. I already told them we’re friends, but none of them believe me.”

  I slip a hand back into my purse and pull out a tissue. He keeps his eyes on the road as I reach over and wipe a smear of my lipstick off the corner of his mouth. “There,” I tell him. “At least now you’re a little more believable.”

  He grins and steers down a narrow side road. “Don’t count on it. My dad’s a better cop than I am. If anyone’s hiding anything, he always figures it out.”

  I swallow hard, grateful he can’t see my eyes. “Good to know.”

  Austin’s family is everything he said they’d be and more. Ainslie is freakin’ adorable and keeps planting herself on my lap and adjusting the tiara she insisted I wear the second I walked through the door.

  “Do you like camels?” she asks with an earnestness that has me grinning.

  “I do like camels,” I say. “Very much. How about you?”

  “I, too, like camels.”

  I could seriously gobble her up. “How about reindeer? I have some friends with a big herd of reindeer.”

  “Santa?” Her eyes go wide, and it occurs to me I should have thought this through. Amber and Jade hired my cousin, Brandon, to be Santa last year at their ranch. The sisters spend the Christmas season playing up the whole Santa-and-his-reindeer thing, but I’m not totally sure how they explain things in the off-season.

  “The reindeer stay here on a ranch when Santa’s back at the North Pole,” I say, hoping that’s vague enough. “They—uh—do special flight training when it’s not Christmastime.”

  I lift my gaze to find Austin’s sister, Kim, offering a reassuring smile. “We went out there last December to get our picture taken with Santa and the reindeer,” she says. “Ainslie learned all about them.”

  “Mom, remember how Vixen pooped?” Clearly this was the highlight of Ainslie’s young life, and she bounces off my lap to go tell Austin about it.

  I follow her with my eyes, watching as he interrupts his conversation with his father and brother-in-law to kneel down and talk with Ainslie. I’m not even sure I ever want children but seeing the way he holds eye contact with her, the way he listens to her story like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever heard—I’m seriously feeling my ovaries twist.

  Kim leans closer to me on the couch. “He’s always so great with kids,” she says. “Someone needs to hurry up and make my brother a daddy.”

  I turn to face her and get the sense she might be interviewing me for the job. “He’d be a good father,” I manage, giving her my best PR smile.

  Not that I know what a good father looks like. My dad may have gifted me a ranch, but I can count on one hand the number of times he gave me a hug or remembered my birthday or—no. I’m not going down this poor-little-rich-girl path.

  Time to redirect the conversation. “How did you and Ainslie’s dad meet?”

  Kim smiles and looks over at the tight knot of men conversing across the room. Since the knot includes Austin, it’s a great ex
cuse to watch him again.

  “Brian and I were college sweethearts,” Kim says. “We’ve actually been married almost twelve years, but it took a lot of trying before Ainslie came along.”

  “She’s adorable.”

  I feel for couples with fertility challenges, but there’s something about the notion of “trying” that always makes me picture the couple with matching sweatbands and a coach’s whistle having exuberantly competitive, sweaty sex.

  This is not the picture I need in my head right now, so I keep my eyes on Austin, figuring he’s a good distraction.

  “God, I hope Meredith doesn’t marry Eddie,” Kim whispers. “Baby sister doesn’t have the best track record.”

  “Eddie’s the guy talking to Austin right now?”

  Kim nods. “Meredith has a habit of picking absolutely horrible guys.”

  “Horrible like—dangerous?”

  Kim shakes her head, then shrugs. “Not dangerous, though Austin or my dad will usually do a background check on Meredith’s dates. They did the same thing for our other sister, Katie, before she got married. I need to remember to ask Austin if he’s done one yet for Eddie.”

  I swallow hard, hoping Kim doesn’t notice the waver in my smile. “He does background checks on people you date?”

  “Yeah.” Kim laughs. “Our dad did it, too, back when I was in college. He ran one for every guy I dated before Brian.”

  “Does that freak you out or make you feel safer?”

  “Oh, definitely safer.” She smiles. “Being in a family of cops, you know they’ve got your back no matter what.”

  It must be good to have that level of security. To know someone loves and supports you no matter what. My siblings and I weren’t close growing up, but I like to think we’re building that now.

  “How did you and Austin meet?” Kim asks.

  I lift the glass of pink lemonade Ainslie brought me earlier and take a small sip. “Austin came to our VIP event at Ponderosa Resort a couple weeks ago.”

  “Oh, so it’s a new relationship?” Her eyebrows do a hopeful lift.

  “I wouldn’t call it a relationship, exactly.”