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I closed the door so that only my head was poking out.
“Do you mind turning around so I can get this bag?” I asked politely.
The wedding planner turned.
“Thanks, dear,” I said as I opened the door.
Reaching down to get my bag, I pulled it up and covered my junk with it before closing the door once more.
When I turned around, it was to find Saylor staring at me in horror.
“So she’s already out there,” I offered. “No need to rush.”
Saylor’s cheeks went pink as hell, and that pink stole all the way down her chest as she tried to come up with something to say.
“You’re hilarious,” I snorted. “It’ll be fine. You’re an adult. I’m an adult.”
Saylor nodded. “That’s true. I am an adult. I’m allowed to have sex with hot cops.”
I grinned at her and started getting dressed. Once done, I hung my uniform up in my dress bag and watched as Saylor finished getting dressed.
“You never got those ten thousand bobby pins out,” I said. “Do you want me to help you with that?”
She studied her hair in the mirror, then shrugged. “I’ll get them out tonight.”
My eyes went down the length of her body.
She was in a tight black tank top and jeans, though the jeans she was wearing were filled with so many holes that they might as well be shorts for all they covered.
“What’s the point of jeans like that?” I wondered, leaning casually against the counter.
“Nothing,” she admitted. “I just like them.”
I studied her breasts that were puffed up and spilling out of the top of her tank.
They were on display and looked like they were practically begging for me to put my mouth on them.
I stayed where I was, though.
Despite wanting to go at Saylor again, I did have a reception I still had to attend, and somewhere in that reception were Saylor’s parents, whom I would be meeting by the end of the night.
“I forgot shoes,” she said disappointedly. “Shit!”
I looked at her cute little feet.
“My sister left some of her stuff in my truck when we visited the lake this weekend,” I offered. “I might have some shoes in there.”
She looked so hopeful that I almost prayed that I had some.
“I could wear those wedding shoes,” she said. “But they hurt my feet so bad that I almost would rather go barefoot.”
“I doubt that’d be a problem,” I admitted as I checked my watch. “But we need to head out there. The reception is starting in fifteen minutes, and people are going to be arriving.”
She went to put on her shoes, but I halted her when I saw the state of her feet. She already had a blister forming on not just the inside of her toes but the outside as well.
“I’ll give you a piggy-back ride to my truck,” I offered. “If nothing else, you can wear my Crocs that are in the bed of the truck.”
Her smile was beautiful as she headed my way. “Your shoes will swallow me. But I’ll take them.”
