Page 28 of Can You Take It?

And I know, no matter how many times I try to wash her out of my system, she’s not going anywhere.

I’m sipping coffee, trying to regain some sense of composure. But before I can settle into any semblance of normalcy, there’s a sudden loud banging on my front door. I curse under my breath and hurry over to see what’s happening.

A delivery person stands impatiently with a package. I sign off on it and take it inside, catching a whiff of the lingering scent that’s been messing with my head. I'd spent three hours last night, lying about needing to meet my CI for some bogus intel, just to comb through countless body lotions. I scoured every damn shelf for the exact scent—lavender and cinnamon—that had lingered on Izel the first night I met her. I must’ve tried over a hundred different lotions before finding the one that matched.

The thought crosses my mind as I take the package in the direction of her room: it’s only because I want her to feel comfortable here. Not to have her scent lingering around like a memory I can’t shake. But who am I kidding?

Izel, just awake, is tidying her bed as I enter her room. Seeing her in those skimpy shorts with her ass on full display, is enough to make me want to fuck her hard. But that’s a problem to tackle later.

I clear my throat, just enough to break her focus. She glances up, catching sight of the package in my hands. Her eyes narrow a little before softening as she takes it.

“What’s this?”

“Open it,” I reply, stepping back and crossing my arms, aiming for a look of disinterest.

Her fingers tear into the box without a second thought, ripping through the tape, and then she freezes, staring down at the lotion bottle with this ridiculous grin spreading across her face.

“Oh my god!” She screws off the cap, sniffing the lotion, her eyes rolling back a little like it’s the best thing she’s ever smelled. “Thanks!” She beams up at me, then tilts her head. “Wait, but why’d you get a new one? You could’ve just grabbed mine from the dresser.”

I stare at her, trying not to give away the complete idiocy I’m feeling right now. “Your dresser?”

“Yeah, where I keep my body lotion. You must’ve used it as a reference to get this, right?” She shakes the bottle.

My face heats up instantly. Three hours of combing through lotion bottles, and I never thought to check her damn dresser? Trying not to look as idiotic as I feel, I straighten up. “I can’t just go grabbing stuff from your dresser. That place is technically a crime scene. Evidence and all.”

Her eyebrow shoots up. “My body lotion is evidence?”

“Well, yeah. Anything in there is part of the investigation,” I say, doing my best to sound serious.

“If you say so, Agent.” She rolls her eyes and sets the bottle on her nightstand, turning back to smooth out the pillows on her bed.

“Hey, hold up,” I say, stopping her just as she finishes fluffing the last pillow. I pull out a second package and toss it to her.

“Another one?”

She rips open the parcel to reveal a set of clothes. “I figured you might need more clothes.”

Izel eyes the contents warily, pulling out the pants with a look of mild annoyance. She holds them up, her lip curling slightly. “I don’t wear pants,” she mutters.

“Well, it’s not like you have an option. I couldn’t find the shorts you wear.”

It’s a lie, of course. I know exactly the kind of shorts she prefers, but I can’t have her parading around in those barely-there garments.

“Thanks, I guess,” she mumbles with a hint of sarcasm. She doesn’t look at me when she says it, though.

Izel puts the clothes aside and continues fixing her bed. I take the cuffs out of the drawer, the metal clinking softly as I do.

Her head snaps toward the sound, and I’m struck by the fear shining in her eyes. The blue one reflects a sharp wariness, but the brown one betrays her. It holds a shadow of panic she’s trying to bury behind her bravado. She's putting on a front, but I know it’s there. After all, she did try to escape yesterday, and it’s clear she’s not giving up on that idea.

“Izel,” I say, holding the cuffs in front of her, “we need to talk.”

Her gaze flicks to the cuffs and then back to me. “Talk about what?”

“About how you stole my gun and a licensed car. Do you have any idea what kind of trouble you could’ve gotten into? It’s a good thing I’ve got connections within the system, or else you’d be looking at some serious jail time.”

She shrugs, clearly not giving a damn. “Underwear drawer tip: don’t hide your gun in there. Not the smartest move.”

She’s impossible. Just when I think I’m about to lose it, she smirks and says, “What? You want me to show some gratitude? Fine, here: thank you.”

---