Page 2 of New Hope, Old Grudges

My skin had cleared up since high school, and a lot of the freckles that had covered spots not taken over by acne had faded with the California sun, resulting in a light dusting over my nose. I got Lasik surgery after carefully weighing the pros and the cons of such a procedure. Though there had been instances of it not working for some people, it was successful for me, so I didn’t need to wear glasses anymore.

My once shapeless frame had finally filled out in the right places, though more weight went to my butt and thighs than I would’ve liked.

In short, I’d grown up. I’d grown out of all of those awkward teenage features that plagued most of the population who weren’t starring in a CW series.

But even though I lived in L.A., I hadn’t gotten any surgical procedures—beyond the Lasik—nor had I drastically changed my appearance. I still looked like me.

Just like Brody Adams looked like him.

Yes, there was gray in his stubble and hair, the scar, the muscles, and that joyful sheen of youth seemed to have gone. But in my mind, he was still the captain of the football team and one of the leaders of my torture brigade.

“I would definitely remember you if I was at my best when we met, which I obviously was not,” he continued, sounding friendly and apologetic.

“We didn’t have some drunken one-night stand,” I snapped, guessing at what he was alluding to.

“I know,” he replied. “I don’t do drunken one-night stands.” He had the gall to sound like he was some kind of decent guy who respected women. Too bad I had hard evidence to refute that fact.

“Oh,please,” I muttered.

He leaned farther into the open window. Too close. “I’m gonna offer you an apology for whatever I did to ignite this ire, and how about I let you off with a warning for the brake light?”

He was still going for the easy, teasing, friendly small-town cop routine. With just a smidge of that smoldering, rugged male thing that probably worked on a lot of women. At least the women who hadn’t gone to high school with him.

“Oh, yes. That’ll fixeverything,” I snapped. “You letting me out of the ticket. Howgraciousof you.”

I had an overwhelming urge to headbutt him. Even though I had no idea how to headbutt someone. I’d taken one self-defense class when I moved to L.A., but it was a disaster because I was not what anyone would call athletic nor coordinated.

Headbutting him would likely only give me a bleeding head and more than likely a charge of assaulting a police officer, so I refrained.

Brody reeled back from my words and the anger behind them, obviously still surprised, still trying to remember me.

He opened his mouth again, probably to try more of the charm.

“Is that it?” I asked him, thrumming my fingers on the steering wheel. “I said I’d come back here when hell froze over, and it is definitely cold enough for that. I’ve been driving for ten hours, and I would really like this interaction to be over.”

I didn’t think his eyebrows could’ve gone higher, but they did. And I waited. For the boy I’d known to show up in the man I didn’t. Because people didn’t change. And he was obviously given power and authority, and bullies did not wield power with benevolence. So I waited for the change, for him to use that badge to make sure I paid for my insolence against him.

Except it didn’t happen.

He stepped back from the car. “Promise to get that brake light fixed?” he asked, tone still light but expression tight with confusion. “Winter’s closing in, and the roads get treacherous.”

I rolled my eyes. “I may have been gone for a while, but I know plenty about the roads. I grew up here.”

I wound up my window, but not before muttering, “Asshole,” under my breath, loud enough for him to hear.

Then I sped off. In the direction of hell, which had indeed begun to freeze over.

BRODY

I watched the Prius sped off much faster than it had been going when I pulled it over. A single brake light flashed as it made its way into town. It seemed like a ‘fuck you’ since there was no need to brake, and the woman driving quite obviously hated me.

I rubbed my jaw as the Prius turned around the bend that led to New Hope. I thought I had a pretty good reputation around town, a pretty good memory. And I definitely thought I was a good enough man to ensure that beautiful women didn’t hate me on sight.

I didn’t do drunken one-night stands. And I wouldn’t have needed to be drunk to sleep with the woman in the Prius. It sure as fuck wouldn’t have been one night either.

I pulled over plenty of beautiful women. I made it a point not to make any kind of advances toward any woman while wearing a uniform. I was well aware of the power imbalance and how fucking problematic that shit was.

Yet I was tempted as fuck when I pulled over the redheaded bombshell. Even more so when her green eyes had lit with a fiery hatred when they landed on me. I didn’t think a woman could be sexier when pissed off.

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