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Once I’m inside, I head over to the dairy aisle and grab some milk to take back to the station. Lucille is irritable without her morning coffee, and I’d jumped at the chance to get out of the office for some fresh air.
I try not to, but I can’t help peering down the aisles to locate him. And when I do eventually spot him scrutinizing the shelves in the hardware section, it suddenly occurs to me how ridiculous I’m being.
This is borderline stalking. Squealer has made no attempt to contact me since he fucked me and walked out of my room, and desperate has never been my thing. He hasn’t noticed me, he’s far too engrossed in what he’s looking for, so I quickly make it to the counter to pay for the milk before he catches me.
“Officer Monroe.”
Shit.
I spin around when I hear the sound of my name and breathe a sigh of relief when it’s Mark Peterson standing behind me, wearing a tailored suit and a wide smile on his clean-cut, handsome face.
“Mr. Peterson, it’s good to see you, are you visiting the station?”
“I’m actually meeting Roswell over at the diner, they do a really good meatball sub.” I can’t imagine the guy eating a meatball sub; he seems much more a cheese and lettuce kinda guy.
I’ll bet he tucks the napkin into his perfectly ironed shirt before he eats.
Over Mark’s shoulder, I notice Squealer join the line. Now there’s a meatball sub kinda guy right there.
“So, what do you say?” Mark asks.
“Sorry, I…I didn’t catch that,” I apologize, furious at myself for letting that asshole distract me again.
“I asked if maybe I could take you out for dinner. No shop talk, I promise.” He laughs at his own joke, and I make eye contact with Squealer over Mark’s shoulder, hoping every word of this is heard… I really am ridiculous.
“Are you asking me on a date, Mr. Peterson?” I flirt back before I get called up.
When I finish paying the cashier for the milk, Mark steps up behind me, ignoring the other cashier who calls him.
“Yes. I’m asking you on a date, are you free tonight?” He awaits my response patiently.
“Sure,” I agree, watching Squealer hand cash over to the register clerk serving him. The snigger he gives me only makes me more determined.
“Great, I’ll pick you up around seven-thirty.” Mark smiles.
“I’ll be ready.” I laugh shamelessly. It’s not my usual style, but the fact Squealer is still in earshot makes me want to give him a show.
“I’m uh, gonna need your address,” Mark says awkwardly.
“Of course.” I take the pad from my utility belt and a pen from my breast pocket and scribble it down before ripping off the page and handing it over. He smiles to himself as he reads it over.
“Guess I’ll see you later then.” He does the gentlemanly thing and rushes to open the door for me.
“Thanks.” I leave him to rejoin the queue as I walk out onto the street, wondering what the hell I’ve just got myself into. I’ve just agreed to a date with a man I have no interest in to try and piss off Squealer.
It’s unfair, but the more I think about it, the more I think it’s a good idea. Maybe some male company will do me good.
“Ain’t you becoming little Miss Popular around these parts.” I hear Squealer's voice, and when I turn around, I see him stepping out behind me to straddle his bike, those big muscly, tattooed arms casually hanging over the handlebars.
“Jealousy doesn't suit you.” I’m about to walk away, but the sound of his chuckle irritates the fuck out of me, so I decide to stare him down instead.
“I don’t do jealous, darlin’, especially not over losers like that one.” His head nods, and I follow his eye line toward Mark, who’s fixing his tie as he crosses the street.
“Someone’s looking mighty pleased with themself. You think he got a shot at handling ya?”
“It’s a date, Squealer, not a hookup. Not all men think with their dicks.”
“Didn’t have you down as the dating kind.” He shrugs before pulling a toothpick out of his cut pocket and placing it between his lips.
