Page 36 of I Can't Even

I did, and we were back out the door and on the streets in two minutes.

He got on his radio and said, “Unit 1-0-9-3 back in service.”

The woman on the radio replied, but I didn’t quite hear what she said.

I was too busy studying the man at my side.

And, before I could stop myself, I said, “That was pretty hot.”

He looked over at me with raised eyebrows.

“What was?” He looked adorably confused.

“The thing you did back there, dragging that guy into the station.” I flicked up a finger. “How you arrested that guy but still treated him like a person.” I flicked up a second finger. “When you got in the car and did your seatbelt up, you were also pulling away, so you were looking at the road, and your arms were all muscley and stuff.” I flicked up another finger. “Then you went and grabbed that mic and brought it up to your face, all the while merging onto an interstate.”

I knew I wasn’t making sense.

But literally everything he did was doing things to me, and sometimes I blurted things out without thinking.

I inwardly winced.

“Also, you can ignore me.” I hunched my shoulders and sort of curled in on myself, hoping that if I made myself smaller, maybe he wouldn’t call me on my weirdness.

My mom was always telling me I should think before I speak. Truthfully, that was probably why I didn’t have any girlfriends. I was blunt, inherently honest, and abrupt.

My mom said I got it from my dad.

Truthfully, I said what I wanted, when I wanted, and hoped that I didn’t get in trouble for it after.

“Calamity, look at me.”

I felt things inside me tighten at his deep voice.

He could literally read audio books and have ladies panting after him.

He’d probably have a following like Teddy Hamilton in no time.

Also, Teddy Hamilton. Rawr.

That man could read an audio book like no other.

But Quaid Carter? He could give Teddy a run for his money.

I looked over at Quaid and found his eyes on the road. But when he felt my gaze on him, he glanced over and said, “Never change.”

My lips tipped up at the corner and a feeling of peace washed over me.

I was just about to say something, probably inappropriate, when my phone rang.

I looked at it and groaned.

“What?” he asked as he changed lanes behind a fast-moving car.

“It’s my mother,” I grumbled.

“Why did you groan because it’s your mother?” he wondered as he multitasked by typing in a license plate while also driving and periodically glancing at me.

“I guess it’s easier to just let you listen,” I grumbled. “I might’ve mentioned the serial killer in our last text message before I had to go to work today, and she’s been painfully patient with me, but I imagine that patience has come to an end.”

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