Page 4 of Eternally Devoted

As soon as Juni looked at me, eyes dripping with concern, her hands clenched to her chest with hope, I knew.

I knew I was going to risk my job and break the oath I took. I knew I was going to and would continue to risk it all, too.

“Yeah?” Sterling asks, sweeping the end of his toast through his eggs. He takes a bite, jaw flexing as he quietly chews, his eyes meeting mine.

“Am I just the worst fucking cop ever or what?” The question rolls out with a laugh, but it doesn’t feel funny at all. I’ve been asking myself this question for the last few weeks.

Sterling lowers his fork to the plate. With his paper napkin crumpled in his fist, he blinks at me.

“You’re loyal, D. What you did for Ivy because of Juniper,thatmakes you loyal.”

His appreciative gaze wraps my ribs, leaving my chest tight. I sip my coffee then nod.

“Yeah,” I say, after the hot sip fails to cool me down. “I guess.”

He abandons the napkin on his plate and beneath the table, nudges his bare foot into my calf. “Hey, listen to me, what you did for her was honorable and loyal, so don’t be thinking since you didn’t cuff up Ivy that you’re a bad cop.” He shrugs, his hazel eyes pinning me to my seat with their weighted intensity. “Ivy and Trace are together. They worked it out, anyway.”

Another sip of my milk and sugar-drowned coffee. “Yeah, that’s true.”

“Anything else got you twisted up?” he questions, concern etching his raspy morning voice.

Lifting my gaze, I nearly choke as our eyes come together, the truth bubbling up on my tongue. “I’m a little scared.”

His nostrils flare on an exhale. “Why?”

I shrug and shake my head, because there’s no good way to put this. “I broke laws for Ivy, which was really for Juni and I—I don’t think there is a rule out there Iwouldn’tbreak for her, you know?”

Sterling’s mouth curves into a small smile, but sadness lines his features nonetheless. “I do.”

At that moment, our phones rattle in near unison. I reach back and swipe my phone off the kitchen counter, focusing on the screen.

“Juni?” Sterling gently pokes, not grabbing his phone from the table but instead, he focuses on finishing breakfast.

“Yeah. She wants to go bowling next week, on neon night.” My eyes skim over her request on the screen. The alley uses black lights instead of the usuals. Neon night is 70s night, after all.

He smiles down at his plate of food, likely thinking about her. Why? Because I know I am. Fuck, she’s a sight.

The full curve of her breasts filling out her bowling top, the pinch of her waist with the bloom of her hips, all accentuated by her black bowling leggings.

I smile while watching him. My groin floods with heat. Then, in my version, I see Sterling handing Juniper her new bowling ball. Her effervescent grin shines under the black lights as laughter passes between the two of them. She rocks to her toes, tenderly dragging her fingers along his strawberry curls, on her tippy-toes to reach him.

Glancing my way, Sterling does a double take, catching me. I’m staring. “You’re in then?” I inquire, casting my eyes down to my phone screen, trying desperately to ignore the heat creeping up my neck.

“Sure,” he says, finishing his coffee.

I send off a return text message to Juniper in the group chat, making Sterling’s phone sound off between us.

He takes his final bite, then skims his palms down his chest and stomach, letting free a satiated groan. “As always, that was better than I deserve. Thank you.” Through a stretch, he tips back and his spine pops, and he gets to his feet. He’s such a big man but something tells me he bends and moves just fine when it counts.

Getting to my feet, I push our chairs in before making my way past Sterling, to the other side of the counter. At the sink, he rinses dishes before sliding them into the dishwasher.

Collecting the bread from the box, I snatch up the container of turkey and salami from the fridge, and another full of peppers and pickles. “Italian today,” I tell him as I start to assemble our lunches. Sterling fills his mug with another round of piping hot coffee.

“Shit, that gave me a halfie. I love your Italian subs,” he says, with a sexy, partially asleep grin. With a lift of his mug, he drifts down the hall toward his room, calling to me over his shoulder. “Thanks for lunch. Have a good day, man. Stay safe.”

The shower in his room starts up, and with my own halfie, I make the best fucking Italian hoagie I’ve ever made. I wrap it in wax paper and tie it with candy cane colored twine.

I take my time writing his name on it.

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