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He snorted. “You don’t let up, do you?” he asked as he took another sip of whiskey.
“Never have, never will.”
He shook his head and looked back at me, entertained. “My uncle worked long hours in town, and I would go spend afternoons after school with this lady, Mrs. Nielson. She was the one who taught me how to cook. As I got older, I started spending more time with her husband. He was the sheriff.”
“Did your uncle have anything to say about that?”
“He was happy and said I could spend as much time as I wanted at the police station, as long as I was on the right side of the glass.”
I chuckled. “He sounds like quite a guy.”
“Yeah, he was.” He raised his glass to his lips and took another sip of his drink. “He always did right by me.”
The way he said it made me think that someone hadn’t always done right by him, and my immediate inclination was to push for more information… but I didn’t want him to shut down on me again.
“How long were you a cop for?”
His muscles locked up a little bit, but he forced himself to relax. “About twelve years. I made detective after four.”
My eyes widened. That was insanely fast to make detective. He had to be incredibly good at what he did. So to turn around and give it up…
“What about you?” he asked. “You said your mom and dad divorced.”
“Yeah. My mom raised me after that.” We were quiet for a second as we continued to sip our drinks. “You know, your accent isn’t as strong as I would’ve expected it to be for growing up here.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? You disappointed?”
“No. It’s cute.”
Whoa. Where had that come from?
“Yours is cute too,” he said without missing a beat before draining his glass.
“I’m from LA. I don’t have an accent.”
“Of course you do,” he said, fixing his gaze on me. “And it’s a pretty damn cute one.”
“Is it?” I asked. I knew I was walking a dangerous line, but the alcohol was making me bolder than I normally would have been.
“Yeah.” He set the glass down on the coffee table and turned to face me fully. “It’s not the only thing either.”
I couldn’t help asking, my voice pitched low, “Like what?”
His mouth twisted into a smirk. “Like your mouth. How you suck on your bottom lip right before you start ranting.”
My eyes widened. He’d been watching me closely.
“And your skin. You have the most perfect skin I’ve ever seen. I’ve been wondering for days whether it’s as soft as it looks.”
I swallowed hard. “You want to find out?”
He held my gaze for what felt like forever as he hooked his hand around my ankle. “I’m dying to.”
I didn’t say anything. My heart was beating so hard that I felt like it might actually pop out if I tried talking.
“Macy.” His voice was low as he let go of me to come closer to me, hovering over my body with a foot of space between us. It felt like not enough space, and too much all at the same time. “What do you want me to do? Ask for it.”
“I want you to do… whatever you want.”
