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There’s a car waiting in our driveway when we arrive. I practically fling myself out of the SUV, eager to make my escape until the party starts. In the darkness, I can’t make out whose car it is, but when the person steps out, I know.
Golden blond hair flutters in the late May evening breeze, sending a hint of lavender my way. I inhale the scent, knowing it without ever having to see who it belongs to because I’ve memorized it—obsessed over it.
She’s a gorgeous, long-legged beauty with lips that beg to be kissed.
Local cop and pillar of the community.
Twice as old as me and my mom’s best friend in the whole world.
Sloane Thurman.
I’m obsessed with her, but she’s completely off-limits. She was in the room when we were born, babysat us twins on occasion when my parents needed a break, and has been a part of our lives for eighteen years.
Because she’s Mom’s best friend.
I can look all I want, but I can never touch no matter how much I want to.
And, goddammit, I really, really want to…
“Sloane,” Mom greets happily as she rushes over to her best friend. “Oh my goodness. I forget how long your hair is. You really should wear it down more.”
Sloane, lovely face shimmering in the moonlight, smiles at Mom. To my mother, it’s an indulgent, patient smile, but to me, I see the slight tension in her shoulders and the twitch of a muscle in her cheek.
She’s uncomfortable in her own skin when she’s not being Officer Do-Good. Without her job and sense of purpose, Sloane grapples with her identity. This, I understand wholeheartedly.
Dad gives Sloane a slight nod but otherwise ignores her altogether. I feel like there’s beef between them, but I’ve yet to find out what. Sloane is always around to help our family because of her loyalty to my mother, but I don’t think she exactly cares for Dad.
Mom loops her arm around Sloane’s and together they walk into our house. It’s decorated with red and black graduation banners, a shit ton of balloons, and red streamers everywhere looking like barfed spaghetti.
The twins only graduate from high school once. May as well go all out.
I follow them inside, suddenly not so eager to escape to my room upstairs. Sloane looks especially good tonight in a form-fitting navy-blue dress that hits just above her knees. She has a couple of wrapped gifts peeking out of the top of her purse—another unusual thing to see on her. I’ve seen her plenty of times not wearing her PMPD uniform, but she’s usually donning jeans and a T-shirt.
Tonight, she’s not plain or wearing a ponytail, trying her best to blend in.
She sparkles and shines and fucking blinds.
My fingers twitch to sketch her form in the dress that should be illegal. Even drawing her feels forbidden. And yet, I ache to know how the curve of her breasts feels simply from running my pencil over the paper, mimicking their shape.
As guests begin to arrive for Mom’s party, I slink away from the people and linger in the corner of the living room, my gaze never leaving Sloane. Watching her whenever she’s around feels like a gift. An indulgence in a treat I’m not supposed to sample.
Sloane is a beacon of strength and resolve, yet shrouded in an air of unapproachable mystique. When it comes to policing the fine folks of Park Mountain, Washington, she’s firm and unyielding. She sticks to her morals like fucking glue.
But the real Sloane beneath her badge and place in this community?
Well, no one knows that version.
Hell, I don’t think she truly does either.
It’s in my nature to poke and prod, testing people’s limits to see if I can get some sort of rise out of them. Though the urge is there with Sloane, I don’t. I can’t. There are too many factors at play.
She’s been my mom’s best friend since high school, so there’s a lot of history involved.
There’s also the fact I respect her. Something about her personality demands it. I can be a shithead to everyone else but not Sloane. She’d put me in my place.
The most important is that I’m stupidly in love with the serious cop who’s old enough to be my mother and who will never ever see anything in a guy like me.
It’s wrong to keep pining after her. Stupid. Reckless. Selfish.
