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“Don’t call me ‘woman’,” she sasses. “And you must just bring it out in me.”
She didn’t correct me like that when I called her Princess. Interesting. Still, this girl really drives me crazy, and I’ve only known her for all of twenty minutes. I sigh loudly, scrubbing my hands over my face.
“So, how are you going to hide it from him?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.
“No need to.”
“What is that supposed to mean? You expect him to just not notice?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
This girl needs to have that attitude adjusted, and I’d love to be the one to deliver it — the thought of laying her over my knee, my handprint a glaring red mark against her ass cheek flashes through my head, but the red and blue lights in the distance clear the image from my mind.
“Shit, man,” Keaton notices the lights at the same time, and frantically runs her hands through her hair.
What is her deal? She knew they were on the way.
I roll my eyes.
“Just stay calm or they’ll definitely be suspicious.” If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this is a first for little Miss Street King. I guess she thought she was so good, she’d never catch any heat. Well, guess again, little girl.
The officer pulls up beside our vehicles and steps out of his car, adjusting his belt as he walks over.
“Evening everyone.”
“Officer,” I tip my head toward him.
“Hi,” Keaton mumbles softly.
“Seems y’all had a bit of an accident.”
“Yes sir,” I respond.
No shit, buddy.
Did they have to send Barney Fife out to do the job? This guy is barely taller than Keaton, and probably sixty pounds overweight, easily. So, of course, he’s going to be a cop with something to prove.
“Is everyone all right, or do I need to call an ambulance?” he asks, turning to look over Keaton for any possible injuries.
I shake my head. “I’m fine. Ma’am?” I ask, turning toward Keaton.
She eyes me suspiciously before answering, “No, I’m fine.”
I flare my eyes at her for the briefest of seconds, urging her to play along, and she must understand because she loosens up slightly.
“You look awfully familiar, boy.” The officer reaches up to rub his thumb and forefinger over his bare, dimpled chin, squinting his eyes in thought. It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes at him.
“Say,” realization dawns in his eyes.
Here we go.
“You’re Bodhi Kane,” he snaps loudly before wagging a beefy finger in my direction.
Plastering on the cheesiest grin I can muster, I turn up the charm and even throw in a bit of embarrassment.
“Yes, sir. That’d be correct.” I tuck my hands into my front pockets, channeling that good ol’ boy persona, and laying it on thick.
He glances down at my hands as they disappear, and then back to me again and I play into it.
