Page 17 of His Every Move

“Absolutely not. I’ll buy an extra Taser, more mace. Whatever it takes. I’m a tough cookie. Promise.”

This didn’t feel right. I didn’t want to let this random asshole affect me this badly, but I couldn’t help it. I was scared. This was escalating. Once again. Taking it to an entirely different level.

Was I going to have to quit streaming? Lay low? What would I do to make money? I could maybe find some temp jobs or pick up a gig as a waiter, but that would take some time and wouldn’t earn me nearly as much as being a cam model.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I pulled up the detective’s number. He said it was his personal number so I’d be able to reach him whenever I wanted.

The phone barely rang before Benji answered. “Hello?”

“Hi, I just got another message. From Nomad.”

“Can you send it to me?”

“Yes, for sure. I was also wondering if I could meet with you in person today? Just to discuss the case some more. I know it’s a Saturday, but?—”

“Of course. The Stonewall offices are closed, but we can meet somewhere else. What’s a good location for you?”

“I kind of want to be somewhere outside. Meet at the Bethesda Fountain in Central Park?”

“Perfect. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

* * *

Benji sat on the edge of the fountain. It had been turned off today, likely to conserve water, but that didn’t take away from its beauty.

Or from his.

Fucking hell, Benji was hot. I had to admit to myself that suggesting this meeting wasn’t solely about discussing the case. He had a scruffiness to him that I found incredibly attractive. It was a well-kept scruff. His dark black beard was kept trimmed around his neck, giving it a sharpness that helped enhance that already masculine face. He had expressive hazel green eyes that popped against his dark features. And that wasn’t even mentioning his full lips and his long, thick lashes.

And those forearms. Fuck, those forearms.

I didn’t know what it was about a guy’s forearms that always got me going, but they did, and Benji’s were perfect.

His looks were so distracting that I almost didn’t notice the small dog sitting patiently between his legs.

I greeted Benji with an enthusiastic wave before I crouched down and said hello to the dog with some head rubs. “Who’s this?”

“This is Lucky. He’s, uh, well, my new dog.”

“Really? You just adopted him?”

“You can say that. He sort of fell into my lap. But yeah, hope you don’t mind he crashes the meeting.”

Benji scratched behind Lucky’s ear, our fingers brushing together. I always loved theatrics and could be a little extra sometimes, but I wasn’t being extra when I described his fingers touching mine like a blast of lighting striking me down.

“He’s a cutie,” I said, running my fingers through his soft fur and trying to ignore the residual tingling sensations that rose from Benji’s touch. Lucky got on his hind legs and gave me some kisses. “Are you sure you didn’t get him just to impress me? Rented him for the day?”

Benji smirked, tilting his head slightly. “And if I said that was true?”

Oh… Okay. I wasn’t expecting him to play back.

I looked up at him, my fingers still trailing over Lucky’s soft coat. His eyes flickered with something playful, something dangerous. I swallowed, my pulse suddenly aware of just how close we were. How I was crouched in front of him, his legs spread. The wind shifted, carrying Benji’s scent toward me—something woodsy, sharp, a little intoxicating.

I huffed a laugh, standing up and dusting my jeans off. “Then I’d say you’re playing dirty, Detective.”

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