Page 61 of Renegade

Cop school?

How did she manage to say things like that and not sound stupid? She just came across as cute and witty.

God, I needed my head checked. I was starting to think like a chick.

“I did go to real school and cop school. Got my degree in sociology and then went to the academy.”

She nodded her approval. “You’re a smart one, aren’t ya, Tex?”

She hadn’t called me Tex since Galveston, back when I’d just been Jack the surfer. I’d convinced myself that I was just playing a role to get what I wanted, but was I really?

I hadn’t lied to her once tonight—I mean, I hadn’t been really upfront with the situation with my old man and where I really grew up, but I’d been honest enough that I was starting to question my intentions.

I was doing all of this just to get laid…right?

“Grab your wine and come sit with me on the front porch. You haven’t experienced a real west Texas sunset until you’ve seen it from my porch.”

We’d gotten to know each other even more over a dinner of steaks and salad. I’d planned on serving baked potatoes as well, but when I went back in I realized that in my fog, I’d forgotten one important step. Since I’d never turned it on, I had a cold oven full of raw potatoes.

Lauren hadn’t seemed to mind and I was starting to wonder if anything fazed her. Even when she’d confronted me on the patio atNick’s, it had felt more like a questioning than anything aggressive.

The screen door slammed shut behind her and she balanced her wine glass as she settled in next to me on the front porch swing. I hadn’t planned on installing that, but David had assured me that every old farmhouse needed a good porch swing.

I pulled her closer. “This is one of my favorite spots at night. It’s quiet, so I get a chance to decompress from the day.”

I had to be careful or I was going to end up pouring my heart out to her like some fuckingLifetimemovie.

She sighed happily and murmured, “I don’t think I’d ever make it inside. I’d just kick my shoes off and spend the night out here.”

I glanced down at her bare feet. “Well, you’re halfway there already.”

Lauren rested her head against my shoulder and stroked my arm. “I didn’t know you had all these tattoos. I’ve only ever seen you in long-sleeved shirts, I guess.” Her fingers traced the intricate designs lightly, sending my body into overdrive.

I hadn’t thought much about my ink in a while. I laughed softly, “Well, I meant to just get one, but it became an addiction of sorts.”

“What does this mean?” She pointed to the quote that wrapped around my forearm and up into my bicep.

“He who knows when he can fight and when he cannot, will be victorious—it’s a quote from Sun Tzu.” Seeing her blank expression, I added, “He wrote The Art of War.”

Lauren nodded and lightly dragged her finger over to the one next to it. “And this one?”

It was singlehandedly the most erotic thing I’d ever experienced while sitting on my front porch.

Jesus.

“Perfer et obdura, dolor hic tibi proderit olim—Ovid. It’s Latin for ‘Be patient and tough; someday this pain will be useful to you.”

Nearly all of my tattoos were related to pain and war. Coincidentally, I’d started getting them once I knew I was indebted to the club for life.

If a therapist ever got wind of it, I was certain they’d piss themselves with excitement.

Lauren continued running her fingers across them before quietly saying, “It’s beautiful work though—they should put your arms in an art gallery.”

I tilted her chin up so I could see her face. Her eyes were a little glassy, but she wasn’t drunk like I’d suspected. “You wanna put my arms in an art gallery? Where’s Charlotte when we need her? She’d know if these babies were the next van Gogh.”

She bit down on her lip and smiled lazily. “I like you, Mike.”

I felt like puffing my chest out. I’d done it. Four more dates and she’d be mine. “I like you too, Red.”

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