Page 1 of Cash

Chapter 1

Livi

“If you spit on me, I swear to God, I’ll remove your tongue!” I growl while struggling to get the offender turned around so I can cuff him.

He spits. I duck to the side, and it misses me. Unfortunately for the offender, it doesn’t miss my partner as he arrives to assist. Officer James Green is the wrong man to spit on. He’s a mountain of a man with little tolerance for stupidity.

Mr. Stone, the offender, gets swung around and planted against his car. This wasn’t done nicely, and I have to snicker a little. I especially like the whoosh of air that he expels when his frontside hits metal. I pull out my cuffs and place them on the now compliant offender. After placing him in the backseat of our patrol car, I reach into the front and grab a pack of Wet Wipes. Pulling one out, I hand it to James.

“What do these fucking morons think they’re going to accomplish by spitting?” James asks.

“No idea. I never can figure out what goes through their heads other than they must like being manhandled,” I reply as I climb into the driver’s seat.

“I can’t wait for this shift to end. Four days off and away from the dredges of society. I’m getting drunk tonight even if I have to do it alone. You’re not going to make me drink alone, are you?” James asks as he places his considerable self in the passenger seat and closes his door.

“I would never make you do that. I’ll meet you at Dolly’s after shift. I have to run home and let Snots out first.”

“I thought you had a doggie door for him now?” James questions.

“I bought one, but I haven’t gotten it installed yet. It’ll be nice when it is though. I won’t have to clean up his accidents anymore. The dog has the bladder of a 90-year-old man,” I complain.

“Cats are easier. And, no offense, but they smell better than Snots does too. Your dog has some serious gas issues,” James says with a laugh.

“Ain’t that the truth,” I mutter as we pull into the police station.

*~*~*~*

“You made it!” James shouts as I take a seat across from him.

It’s only been an hour since I saw him last, but he’s spent that hour hammering down the alcohol it appears.

“Yep. Snots only had one accident and only chewed up one dish towel tonight, so it didn’t take me long,” I answer with a grin.

I order a beer on tap from our server and raise an eyebrow at James. He knows what it’s about.

“Yes, I ordered the triple-decker burger, onion rings with ranch dressing and Ass Blaster chicken wings for you already. How you can eat all that and stay so slim is beyond me. I look at your food and gain weight. Life’s not fair,” James moans.

“If you’d work out with me occasionally, we wouldn’t always be having this conversation,” I tell him with a smug smile.

It’s widely known throughout our colleagues that James despises sweating in any form. For being several inches over six-foot-tall and nearly as wide, he’s prissy as hell about some things. He’s not fat or overweight. Well, not much anyway. He’s just a very large man that I love having as my partner. We were partnered up almost six years ago, and it’s been a lot of fun. We work great together and balance each other’s weaknesses and strengths perfectly.

“What you do isn’t considered working out. It’s attempted suicide. All that running, conditioning, parkour and ninja warrior princess stuff? No, not happening. No black man should ever be seen trying to be a ninja warrior princess. Especially one my size. I could rock the princess part, but no fucking way am I running my ass off for the rest of it,” James states in no uncertain terms.

Halfway into his rant and I’m laughing my ass off. We’ve had this conversation many times, and he never fails to make me laugh. I enjoy working out and spend a lot of my free time doing it. James, not so much. He barely scrapes through our yearly work physicals no matter how soon I start riding him to get into better shape. His excuse is always the same. That his gayness doesn’t allow him to look buff. He claims it’ll scare off the men he’s always trying to attract at the sex club he’s a member of.

Gay, in shape or not, James is the best partner I could ever have. We bonded early in our partnership, and we’ll be bonded for life. He’s my best friend and makes up the entirety of my “girl gang” as he calls it.

As we’re eating and drinking a few beers, I notice the same blond biker I’ve seen in here a few times now. He’s hard not to notice. He’s even taller than James, probably around 6’5”, and muscled. Wedge-type shape as in his shoulders are wide, but his hips are narrow. Thick thighs and biceps. His face is a picture of raw masculinity. Short, spikey, blond hair, slightly darker eyebrows, square jaw. I’m not sure on the eye color, but they’re light. Viking God in leather. Yum. Definitely eye candy and worth more than a few looks. I know he’s a member of the Devil’s Angels, and that’s not a turn-off. They’re not a bunch of choirboys, but they’re not dirty either. They mind their own business, handle things their way and leave the cops out of it.

“You’re eye-fucking that biker again, aren’t you?” James says while looking over his shoulder in the same direction I’m looking.

“Yes! Who wouldn’t?” I agree.

“Me. He’s too all that to be my type. I like them leaner, prettier. To each their own, though. Are you going to ask him out?”

“No! You know I like to look, but I’d never ask him out. I’m not that brave,” I answer while still sneaking peeks at the Viking God.

“You can borrow my set if you can’t grow your own, girlie,” James taunts with a grin.

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