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CHAPTER FIVE
ISLA
It’s almost nine when I finally drag my ass through the front door, one arm loaded with takeout containers, the other juggling my purse, my keys, and a bag of cat food that’s leaking some kind of radioactive orange dust. There’s a new sticky note on the apartment building’s front door that says, “Please keep the noise down after 10 PM—Management.” Joke’s on them. The only party in 3B is me, my pets, and whatever episode of true crime happens to be playing.
Oreo’s perched on top of the bookshelf, a loaf of black-and-white judgment, and she immediately starts in with her wailing meow, like she hasn’t eaten in days. Alfred, my crusty old Shih Tzu, musters a little half-bark from his donut bed by the couch but doesn’t bother actually standing up. I try not to take it personally.
I kick off my shoes, dump the cat food in the pantry, and set the takeout on the counter. The Chinese place down the street knows my order by heart now—Kung Pao Chicken, chow mein, and a Diet Coke the size of my forearm. I spend the next five minutes changing out of my uniform, carefully hanging it up because dry cleaning costs an arm and a leg. After a quick detour to put Alfred’s arthritis meds in a piece of hot dog, I feed it to Alfred and give Oreo a scratch under her chin. Then I head straight to the bathroom and turn the shower on until it’s one notch below boiling.
By the time I step in, my brain is so fried from the day that the hot water barely stings. I tilt my head back, eyes closed, and count down from twenty, trying to let the scald burn off all the crap I dealt with on shift. I spend an extra minute exfoliating my face, as if a little microderm can scrape away all the bullshit.
Spoiler alert, it can’t. As the only female deputy on the Riverbend Ridge Sheriff Department, I end up dealing with all the shitty assignments and all the bullshit a few male chauvinist pigs can throw my way. Over the last two years, I’ve perfected my mask of indifference.
My phone vibrates somewhere in the apartment. I ignore it until I’m done with my skincare routine. By then, the phone’s gone off twice more with texts.
I pad out to the kitchen and open the freezer, holding my phone between my shoulder and chin as I search for the last emergency ice cream bar. While I enjoy my frozen treat, I glance down at the screen and find there’s a text from an unknown number.
Unknown
How was your day?
I draw in a deep breath. Too deep. The next thing I know, I’m hacking up a lung. After my coughing spell, it takes me two tries to unlock the phone.
Me
Who is this?
Unknown
You can call me “Sir”
I roll my eyes to myself, knowing immediately who it is. It’s getting to be nearly impossible to ignore what I’m feeling for Dawson Hot. My mask of indifference slips big time whenever he’s around.
Me
Dawson?
Unknown
You know it.
Since I don’t have a good response, I decide to answer his earlier question.
Me
My day sucked. The highlight was saving Mrs. Leona’s cow from becoming hamburger on Route 3. How was your day?
Unknown
Ouch. My day sucked, too. It was too goddamn long since I saw you.
Oh man. I’m in so much trouble here. Biting my bottom lip, I stare down at the screen, trying to figure out how to reply. Luckily, he sends another message, saving me.
Unknown
I’m going to Houston for a conference on Wednesday and Thursday. My asshole brother signed me up for the conference as revenge for all the coffees and donuts. He’s had to hit the gym harder, and he’s blaming me for his sweet tooth. But don’t worry, I’ll be back in plenty of time for our date.
I stare at the screen for a solid minute, chewing on the end of my ice cream stick, before I realize I’m… disappointed? That’s the word I want? Because he’ll be out of town for two whole days? I’m going to miss running into him at the coffee shop every morning. Jesus, get a grip.
