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She motions for the chair across from her. One of the detectives watches us with interest.
“In private?”
“Are you going to tell me about Saturday night?”
“I have no other choice.” I shrug one shoulder and skim my eyes over her desk. “You could take me to one of the interrogation rooms. Handcuff me to the desk and torture me until I squeal.”
She cracks a smile at that. “I think the break room will suffice.”
Once she has her coffee in hand, she stands and starts for the break room. I follow after, not so subtly checking out her cute bubble butt in her police uniform. The outfit should be banned because it’s criminal how good she looks in it. One of the detectives leaving the break room notices me checking out her ass and then gives me the stink eye.
I bet every damn one of these men around here are dying to get into her pants.
Sloane’s a good girl, though. A model policewoman who follows all the rules. Fraternizing with her coworkers would be a big no-no. Thank fuck for that because I wouldn’t be able to stomach the thought of her getting with any of them.
Saturday night, seeing her with her date, was bad enough.
However, when she called me later that evening, I was relieved to discover she hadn’t spent the night with that douchebag she went to dinner with.
Small victories.
Once we’re alone in the break room, she leans her beautiful ass against the countertop, sips her coffee, and lifts a blond brow in question.
Right.
Time to talk.
I cross my arms over my chest and try to work out how and what to tell her. Her eyes dip from my face down to my tattooed biceps that strain against the sleeves of my black T-shirt. Crimson creeps up her neck and paints her cheeks before she forces her gaze back to mine.
Naughty cop likes what she sees.
My naughty dick likes that thought, but this isn’t the time nor the place to flirt with this angel.
“I should have told you what happened that night, but I needed time to process,” I admit truthfully. “It wasn’t to piss you off, I swear.”
Her eyebrows pinch and her pouty lips press into a firm line. Since she’s not yelling at me like she did the other night, I take it as my cue to continue.
“Those guys…they were bad news.” I spear my fingers into my overgrown hair, messing up the style I worked so hard on this morning. “I think they were in a motorcycle club. Not the crotchety-but-still-cool dudes from the local VFW either. The kind of guys who should be in prison just for existing.”
Hard blue eyes bore into me. It’s precisely this moment when she goes from Sloane, my friend or whatever the fuck we are, to Officer Do-Good. She sets her coffee down on the counter before saying, “Go on.”
“They’d been eyeing Gemma all night and watching our group play. Challenged me and Tate to a game. If we lost, they got to take my fucking sister for a ride on their bike. I knew if I let that happen, she’d never come back.” Blood boils beneath the surface of my skin and I fist both hands, wishing I could turn back time so I could pummel them like they deserved.
“Why would you ever agree to that?” she demands, her own anger making a quick appearance.
I hold up a hand, stopping her. “Don’t call me a child again. Please. That shit’s annoying.”
She nods but doesn’t seem too happy about it. I can tell she’s barely containing the urge to rip my head off about that.
“That Prez guy forced my hand.” I drop my gaze to the floor. “I think Trevor’s working for him.”
“Wait, what?” She sucks in a sharp breath and approaches. “Dempsey, what are you even saying?”
Her small hands reach up and she grips my shoulders as though that will make me focus. It has the opposite effect. All I can think about is how good her hands feel on me. I lean into her, inhaling her sweet caramel-scented mouth.
“Explain,” she rasps out, voice breathy and uneven. “Now.”
I study her supple lips for a beat before meeting her eyes again. “Either Trevor or Charlie followed me to your house the night they tried to sell to me.” Clenching my teeth, I force out my next words. “They told Prez I was ratting them out to a cop.”
