Page 66 of Finding Noah

But I hoped he meant me.

I really, really hoped he meant me.

***

I started work at the RCPD that following week, as Patrick had promised, and my first role as a police officer was to sit at a desk in the front office and answer the phones.

Being a secretary wasn't exactly what I’d had in mind when I said I wanted to be Batman, but, hey, it was a start, and it was a better step in the right direction than getting stoned every weeknight and looking for trouble.

Plus, I was down the hall from Meg.

“Mason, what the hell are you reading?” Officer Mike, one of the cops who'd been here the night of Seth’s attack on us, asked as he walked in from his lunch break.

I turned the book I was holding over to look at the cartoon illustration on the cover.

“You can't read?” I asked, raising a brow. “It's called Kiss and Don’t Tell. Clearly says it right here—see?” I ran my finger over the words and read them again, slower than before.

“Yeah, wise guy. I can read, thanks,” he muttered with a smirk. “Why are you reading that? Looks like one of those smut books my wife reads.”

“Because it is,” I replied, opening the book back up to the page I was on. “Not bad though. It's pretty funny.”

He took a seat at his desk and snickered a bit. “Wouldn't have pegged you as someone who read girlie books.”

“I don't usually,” I muttered, diving back into the book.

“Decided you needed a change of pace from, what? Little Women? Pride and Prejudice?” He laughed like he'd just made the cleverest joke.

“It was given to me,” I muttered absent-mindedly, starting to read again.

“By who?”

“A friend,” I grumbled, growing exceedingly more annoyed the longer he talked when I was obviously trying to get some reading done in between calls.

Which didn't happen often, it seemed.

Not much went down in small towns, where crime was as foreign of a concept as a biblical-level flood sweeping over the earth.

Not impossible, but … unlikely.

“Oh, a friend, huh?” He laughed again, slumping into his office chair and opening a drawer to dig into his candy stash. “I bet I can guess what kinda friend that is.”

“Bet you can't,” I muttered.

“Any woman who wants a guy to read a book like that is hoping he gets some ideas,” he went on as he dug through the pile of chocolate bars and lollipops. “So, I hope you're taking notes because—”

The door opened, and in walked Sergeant Kinney, accompanied by his daughter, her curls pulled back into a bouncy ponytail. Her shift on the emergency hotline was about to begin, and I quickly tucked my bookmark—a receipt from Black & Brewed—between the pages and stuffed the book into my desk before straightening my back and attempting to look busy.

Officer Mike narrowed his suspicious eyes at me before following my gaze. When he saw Meg, he pursed and twisted his lips to the side, slowly nodded his head, and waggled a finger at me before dipping that hand back into the candy drawer.

“Say no more, young Mason.”

“Look who's here!” Meg exclaimed, heading over to my desk with a grin plastered on her face.

Her lips were painted a rosy pink. It was a different color from what she usually wore. It was deeper in shade. Less glossy. Softer-looking.

I needed to stop staring at her mouth, but, damn, I liked that color. I liked it on her.

“How do you like being a working man?” she asked, oblivious to my silent critique of her choice in lipstick as she picked up the shiny new plaque with my name on it and turned it over in her hand.