Page 3 of Eternally Devoted

Mindlessly, I push eggs around the skillet as my focus slides back to Sterling, his large hand stroking the rolled newspaper, forcing off the rubber band.

Quickly, I refocus on the eggs before it gets weird. I’ve never gravitated to watching a man do basic things until Sterling, but something about the ease in which he does everything, his sheer size and his comforting, calm persona has me captivated.

“Have a good workout?” he asks as I slide four pieces of rye into the toaster.

From the fridge I pull out my favorite flavor of jam, and Sterling’s favorite too. Strawbarb. I bring it to the table, along with Sterling’s mug of plain black coffee.

I need mine with a little milk and sugar, but something about him drinking it black makes my skin tingle.

Plating the toast, eggs and bacon, the image of me standing in the garage with a halfie next to his truck, staring inside the cab like a complete horndog loser, flashes behind my eyes. “Great pump,” I reply, hoping the flush I feel in my veins doesn’t leak into my cheeks.

Sliding into the chair across from him, Sterl smiles, but it's slightly duller than normal. “Thanks for breakfast, man. You always kill it.”

My eyes hover on him while his focus veers to the plate of food. Now that I think of it, he has seemed a bit lackluster lately. Off his usual jovial temperament. “Hey—” The one word stops his movement mid-reach for a fork. Our eyes lock. “You all right?”

He waves me off with an unconvincing smile. “Hungry, that’s all.”

I nod. “10-4.”

I watch him as he stacks bites of egg and bacon on the tines, peppering everything with his other hand. The pepper shaker—a cowboy boot—looks like it belongs to a Barbie from how dramatically he dwarfs it. From there my eyes drift off course, veering to his bare chest. He lifts weights once a week, sometimes more, but his sculpted shape and solid build always have me in awe. He swipes jam over his toast, and passes it to me.

Juni’s Jams, the label reads. I rub my thumb over the black letters. Juniper Ellington. The only woman—in Bluebell or otherwise—to hold my attention for the last two years.

I remember the first day I met her. The sunshine swept her bare shoulders as she rocked on the balls of her feet, a mile-wide smile stretched across her plump cherry lips. And though I could tell she meant something special to Sterling, hestillinvited me to hang out with them.

We haven’t stopped. It’s been two years of the three of us just hanging out.

Life has never been better.

“So,” Sterling hedges, alerting me to the fact I’d just been staring at him, something I think I do far more than I’d like him to realize. “Any updates on the Warriorville Missing Misters case?”

My mind takes a moment to reroute from the image of Sterling, completely naked, a terry cloth towel pooled at his feetas he digs in his chest chair, scratching. Every so often, for no reason at all, my mind does things it never did before I came to Bluebell. Picturing him naked and wondering what his cock looks like, and what he may look like touching it are two of them.

“Uh.” I take another sip, searching for facts filed away in my brain. “Not much of an update. There haven’t been any leads. I mean, none. I think at this point in the investigation, detectives are leaning toward the Oakcreek Nabber extending his reach to Bluebell.”

A couple of years back, a man went missing in our county, Warriorville. Actually, a man and his father. Since being on the force, two others have gone missing, too. Because it’s been all men who disappear, the case has been named Warriorville Missing Misters. As a beat cop, I don’t actively work on cases in that capacity, but because Bluebell is so small, most police officers are privy to things they wouldn’t normally be in a big city. Like case details.

Sterling’s shoulder torques as he reaches across the table, swiping a napkin from the holder. “Does the Oakcreek Nabber take men?”

I nod. “He’s taken a few, yeah.”

Sterling nods. “No women missing from Warriorville or specifically from Bluebell, though?”

I shake my head. “Nope. Just the four men.” Thinking of the name, I can’t help but snort. “The Missing Misters makes it kind of sound like an episode ofMurder, She Wrote, doesn’t it?”

Sterling’s laughter roars from his chest, vibrating through the kitchen, bringing it to life. “It’s a terrible name. Then again, Chief Greenly is what, sixty-eight?”

“Yeah, the man who never retires,” I reply, sharing the town’s nickname for the chief.

Sterl just shakes his head, chuckling before going in for another large bite. Something about his Adam’s apple slidingdown his throat and the sound of his swallow makes the back of my neck break out in sweat.

I take a few bites, thinking about the chief, and who would maybe take his place if he does retire. Not Keanu, and certainly not me. After all, I’ve not upheld what I promised when I was pinned with my badge.

The worst part about that is I don’t feel bad that I broke laws, I feel bad thatI’d do it again.

With the incident on my mind, I look up, studying Sterling as he splits a piece of bacon in two. “About the other night—with Ivy,” I start, a specific and very jarring memory tumbling through my brain as I think of Juniper. Her little sister, Ivy, got herself into trouble.

Trouble.Otherwise known asmalice mischief, which can carry a 6-month sentence and lots of fines.

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