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I can’t arrest her until there’s concrete proof she’ll have sex for money. Therefore, I need a clear statement of intent—a ‘you’ll have to pay me this much for that.’
“A better view of that game for one,” I say, because my next line is supposed to be something about my cock, and I might die of embarrassment if I have to come out and say it. “I’ve got a big screen in my bedroom,” I add, hoping that bit of innuendo is enough to get the conversation headed in the right direction.
She snorts, giving me a grin that seems genuine, considering how deep her dimples go and how bright her eyes get. She gives me a once-over, and the trail of her doe-looking, hazel eyes burns through my fucking clothes. It’s at this very moment I know I’m not made for this. When I talk about sex with a woman, it’s about to happen. This cat and mouse game with the intent to catch the mouse in a trap doesn’t feel right.
“Tempting. What else ya’ got?” she asks, seeming intent on forcing me to ask her for a transaction straight out.
“My bedroom is much cozier than watching the game from out here,” I say. Meanwhile, I’m struck by the realization that I want to have sex with this woman. If we were in the bar together, and she was anyone else in the entire city, I would be putting it all on the line, trying to take her home by drawing on my real lines, or just manning up and asking her to dinner.
Despite the super provocative clothes she’s wearing, I’m attracted to her in other ways. Those doe eyes and that full smile are really doing it for me. But fuck, I’m going to have to arrest her, instead of doing all of the things I’m imagining. What a waste?
“What do you need?” I drawl out, while I fight off a stab of discomfort about setting up the trap like this, so neatly.
My gaze lingers on her plump, golden-glossed lips for
a few seconds, still wet from the earlier swipe of her tongue. Staring so intently, I can watch every move as she opens her mouth to form the reply that will allow me to lock her up behind bars. Somehow, without noticing it, I’ve moved closer to her, so close we’re breathing the same air. My breath comes short, and the waistband of my pants feels tight.
“Hey!” someone shouts from an open window behind us, sounding furious. “This is private property! You can’t be standing around here doing God knows what! Don’t make me call the cops! And, young lady, I’m tired of telling you to leave from in front of my apartment. Have a different man out here every night! Go away, now!”
My mood deflates instantly. Someone like this nosey neighbor called me out here in the first place, and the interruption is a swift reminder that I’m here to do a job—to clean up the neighborhood of prostitution and potential human trafficking activity.
“Fuck!” I say, stepping back from the woman who I’m drawn to like a magnet. It’s too early to have my cover blown.
“Shit!” the prostitute says. “She’s not going to leave that window until we leave.”
We stare at each other for one frozen second before there’s another, “Take your business elsewhere!” hurled at us from the old woman.
“That woman is always hollering at me. She’s batshit crazy, and I don’t feel like dealing with her tonight. I’m out of here,” the prostitute says quickly.
I fight the disappointment over the tone of her voice changing from sultry and relaxed to anxious and raspy. I’m about to lose the chance to talk to her any longer. With the way she’s running away, I may never see her again.
I glance back at the old lady whose long gray hair blows in the wind as she hangs her head out of her apartment window. Her eyes are about to pop out of her head as she watches to make sure we’re leaving. Then, my eyes dart to the prostitute who is walking away quickly. The only relief in seeing her go is the thought that I could wait and arrest someone else who’s less tempting.
“Hey! Where are you going?” I can’t help but ask, hoping for a fleeting chance she’ll invite me to come with her.
“It’s too hot out here tonight,” she says, meaning the old lady is calling the cops. “Let’s meet back up tomorrow night when the chance of us getting arrested is much lower.”
“Tomorrow?” But I want you tonight.
“Yeah, tomorrow!” she yells back to me. “Same time, but this time at the park around the corner, if you’re still interested.” She takes off in the opposite direction than I need to go back to my car.
Sadly, even after she hits a corner and disappears, I’m still extremely interested in being with her tonight.
Chapter Two
Ari
Saved by the old hag screaming from her apartment window. Thank God, she always has her panties in a bunch when I come out here to work. That lady’s obsession with seeing a black face on her block just saved me from forgetting my purpose of being out on these streets in the first place. It sure isn’t to find a lover boy to take home. Yet, a few moments ago, I was ready to risk it all for a handsome face, gorgeous smile, and honey-whiskey voice.
I sigh as I make it to the park and sit down on the bench. I pull off my pumps and wiggle my toes, trying to get some blood to flow back through them. This dress is about to hug the breath out of me, and these shoes are the devil’s son. Dressing up like some cheap hooker is not only demeaning, but it’s just plain stressful on my body and feet.
I look around to make sure I evaded the last potential John. Something about this guy screams ‘I’m a good guy who’s just hard up for a roll in the hay.’ I hate to take guys like him down. It’s the pervy ones who have a wife and kids at home that I live to dismantle. The ones who abuse women, I like to take them down even harder.
I never met a criminal that didn’t look like filth in my eyes, but the soft look in this guy’s eyes tells me he wants to protect girls out on this corner. Or, is it just me he wants to protect? My instincts are usually good, but everyone gets rusty at some point, so maybe this train of thought means I’m losing my edge. Why else is he out here to buy prostitutes when there should be an avalanche of panties coming his way? There has to be some reason for it, I surmise.
The park is empty when I arrive, so no one has followed me. I sit back on the bench and rub my temples. Then, the beautiful smile of my best friend, Tracyee, invades my thoughts. In times of doubt, thoughts of her always set me on the right track. She is the reason I do what I do.
Tracyee ran away from home at sixteen and went to New York. No one in her family ever saw her alive after she left town. We told each other everything, but I didn’t even know she was leaving. Her parents were broken, her brother contemplated suicide, and I was lost without my friend. Then, one night, Tracyee’s father called my father to give him an update.
