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But I wasn’t mad at him.
Ever since I’d done the interview and found out that he carried my hair around with him everywhere—even if that was a tad bit weird—I’d started softening toward him.
And I really didn’t like the idea of being mean when I didn’t want to be.
Louis started to chuckle. “I remember him being a hardass in school, too. But, saying that, maybe he’s not bad as an adult. Maybe he’ll be cool, and you won’t have to worry about it.”
I doubted it. First impressions were important. They set the tone of a relationship. And Mr. Carruthers—he didn’t even give me his first name—didn’t seem like the type of man that I would like.
Kind of like I knew Romeo Ricci was going to be a creepy adult just like he’s a creepy teenager.
“We’ll see,” I murmured, only just then realizing that at some point during our conversation, I’d turned my chair to face Louis. And I was now so close to him I could reach out and touch him.
Run my fingers along the length of his erection.
Wait… he had an erection.
I quickly looked away, hoping that he didn’t see me looking at his penis.
A penis that I wanted to stroke and lick and…
Get ahold of yourself, Calloway!
“What are your plans for this evening?” he asked, sounding casual.
I didn’t want to tell him my plans.
In fact, I didn’t want to tell him anything at all.
I now wanted him to leave, because now all I could think about was him in his uniform, stripping out of it. Him pulling his gun belt off, but plucking the handcuffs from the little holder at his side belt, flipping me over onto my belly, and handcuffing me. Then, when he’s done restraining me, he pulls my clothes off, one article at a time, and tosses them to the floor.
All but my shirt. That can’t come off because of my hands being restrained. My shirt and bra pool at the base of my wrists, covering my ass partially so that all he can see is the bottom curve of it.
Then he delicately runs his finger down the curve of my spine, chuckling softly when the move causes goosebumps to pebble my flesh as his thumb moves.
His fingers move over my bunched-up clothes, then rounds down the curve of my ass to run lightly over the seam of my…
“Earth to Calloway.”
I blink, startled.
“Umm, sorry. What were you saying?” I asked.
“I was asking whether or not you had any plans for tonight,” he repeated. “I wanted to know if you wanted to go out to dinner with me.”
I was just about to answer when the dower-faced Mr. Carruthers breached the hallway between Ares’ office and mine and looked into both of them, alternating directions of his head so he could peer into both offices.
What he saw, apparently, didn’t make him very happy. Because his eyes narrowed and he folded his arms across his chest before gently beginning to tap his foot.
I rolled my eyes.
“Wonder if he thinks that’ll actually make us nervous,” Louis mumbled so low that I could barely hear him. “He does know who our parents are, right?”
No joke.
Ares, Louis, and I had all grown up with fathers that were on the SWAT team. Men that fully expected us to behave, or else.
Mr. Carruthers was likely intimidating when I was a kid, but now? Not so much.
“Agreed,” I murmured, laughter filling my voice. “He’s thinking that his stare’s gonna get him somewhere with us, and it’s not. I’ve stared down kids that were more intimidating than him. Romeo, the creepy-eyed weirdo, being a good example.”
I smacked him on the arm, causing his eyes to sparkle with mirth.
But before I could say anything about it, Mr. Carruthers got tired of standing there and stormed into my office.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Alvarez, but this is not acceptable workplace conduct,” he snapped, filling my doorway with his body. Trying to appear intimidating.
He didn’t even know what intimidating was. He’d never seen a pissed off six-foot-six police officer—better known as my father—tear into my ass for doing something stupid.
So no, Carruthers didn’t intimidate me.
Louis stood to his full height, straightening up out of his chair as if he was just a lazy cat looking for a stretch. When in reality, he was pissed off.
How did I know he was pissed off?
Louis had a tell.
Outwardly, he’d appear calm, cool and collected. But when he was pissed, he’d roll his right shoulder, almost as if he was anticipating a fight.
See, back when we were in high school, Louis was a wrestler. His senior year, he’d had his shoulder dislocated. Going on to win the match, he’d then gone to the hospital and had it popped back in—something which I’d watched, and still cringed thinking about.
Now, every time he thought he might have to fight or deal with something physically, he’d absently roll that shoulder as if he was anticipating trouble and wanted to get it warmed up.
