Page 5 of Wicked Games We Play

“Thanks, Mrs. Landry, maybe I’ll give it a shot and see what I can accomplish on the weekends I don’t have Jordan.” A bucket list wasn’t exactly the top of my priority list, but I shelved the idea for later. “Mrs. Landry… Thanks for coming to Jordan’s party. It means a lot to all of us to have you here.”

“Of course, my girl, wouldn’t miss it. Watching him grow has been a joy. I look forward to being at many more birthdays.”

* * *

Four long,exhausting hours later, my house was clean, the party was long since over, and my house was painfully quiet. Tears had streamed down my face twice during my after-party cleanup, devastation running through my veins with the realization that, for the first time in eleven years, my baby wouldn’t be at home on his birthday night. Ryder had agreed to let him spend last night with me so he’d wake up at home on his birthday, but I couldn’t bring myself to beg him to let Jordan stay tonight too.

Instead, I had an after-party pity-party for one.

Settling into bed around ten-thirty, I grabbed a notebook and a pen, and titled a page “Single Gal Bucket List.” Mrs. Landry’s suggestion had stuck with me throughout the night, so I had decided, why not? Even if I didn’t stick to it, at least I had made it. That was half the fun.

Okay, that wasn’t so hard after all. I could do this. One down, more to go. How many things do you put on a bucket list?

Writing about wanting to experience going out on a date with a stranger jogged my memory, and I realized I had failed to respond to Noah earlier. Reaching for my phone, I found my messages, pulled up Noah’s name and reread his earlier text.

Noah: When are you going to let me take you out on a date?

My mind and my heart were at war with each other. I knew that letting him take me out would derail my plans. I learned when I was young that Noah was a man I would bend all my rules for, and I simply couldn’t afford that right now. Sticking a pin into my heart, I typed out a response.

Me: I’m not ready for a date.

Setting my phone back down, I turned my attention back to my bucket list and kept writing.

A smile touched my lips as I read over my list one more time. It wasn’t your typical bucket list, but it was a good starting point for me. Satisfied, I closed the notebook and set it aside before I reached over and clicked the light off. Sliding down more into my covers and getting comfortable on my side, my eyes already were feeling heavy from the craziness of the day, and it wasn’t long before I fell asleep.

CHAPTERTHREE

“Put your hands on top of the vehicle,” I snapped to the piece of shit in front of me, irritated that I was stuck pulling people over again because the department was shorthanded. I’d paid my dues, yet there I was, writing tickets like a fucking rookie and searching vehicles that reeked of weed. With eyes that were red-rimmed and bloodshot, the kid looked like he was about to piss himself and wouldn’t stop begging me to not arrest him.

“Please man, I can’t go to jail. I’m still in college. My mom will literally kill me and kick me out. Or kick me out, then kill me. I dunno, but I really can’t get arrested, man.”

Rolling my eyes, I rifled through his glove box as my partner for-the-day, Aaron, stood behind the kid making sure he didn’t move or try to flee. Aaron was a big dude for being so young. Four years my junior, but easily double my size. If I had to guess, I would say he dabbled in some illegal steroid usage alongside of his intense gym routine.

He looked like a real fuckboy with his blond hair faded short on the sides but left longer on the top, and small diamond studs that pierced his ears. Our chief would definitely lose his shit if he saw them, but he would usually take them out for work. So far, Aaron was proving himself to be a good cop, and as far as I was concerned, that’s all that truly matters. If he had my back and the backs of the rest of the department, he was as good as family.

The beat-up red Honda Civic I was searching was disgusting, littered with fast food wrappers and cigarette butts, and what appeared to be his entire college career filling the backseat. Old term papers, textbooks, and random pens and pencils laid haphazardly on the cracked beige leather. Did this dude not have a bedroom?

Moving leisurely around the hood, I stopped when my chest bumped into his scrawny frame, crowding his space. I reached over and plucked his driver’s license from Aaron’s fingertips before scanning the information to learn his name.

A laugh roared past my lips. “Listen, Blaze. Fucking appropriate name, by the way. I could easily arrest you right now for driving under the influence and, honestly, I should. You’re a danger to others on the road.” I stopped, feeling my phone vibrate in my pocket. A smile tugged at my lips as I imagined what may be inside of the message I had just received. My fingers itched to pull my phone out and look, but the squirming man-child in front of me served as a reminder of why I couldn’t. “But, I have a feeling that the more appropriate punishment would be to call mommy dearest and have her come pick your ass up instead.”

Blaze groaned, “No man, please, don’t call her. She’s going to lose her shit.”

I threw a look at Aaron, silently asking him if this guy was for real. Whose mom had that much power over them at twenty years old? Apparently, this kids’.

In the mood to play bad cop, I leaned into him with all the weight of my chest, pinning his left side between his car and my body before whispering in his ear. “Hand me your phone,man.”

The kid gulped, he actually gulped, before reaching into his pocket to produce his phone. I eased up slightly for him to hand it to me after unlocking it, which he did obediently. Scrolling through his recent call log, I was unsurprised to find his mom as the second most recent call. A smirk pulled at my lips and I pressed her name, followed by the speakerphone button. The sounds of ringing filled the air.

“Blazey! What’s up, honey?” the woman singsonged when she answered on the second ring.

Oh, this should be fun. Anticipation trickled through my veins; I was so curious to see what mommy would say. Blaze’s face contorted into a mixture of irritation and sadness as I prepared to greet his mother.

“Hello, ma’am, my name is Detective Noah Whitlock, Ridgewood P.D. Before you panic, your son is okay.” I paused, giving the woman a moment to process before I continued. She blew out a breath, but I didn’t wait for her to respond. “Blaze was pulled over after my partner and I watched him swerve on the road for several miles. Upon pulling him over, we concluded that your son was driving under the influence due to the pungent smell of marijuana that radiated out of his vehicle when he rolled his window down, as well as the obvious signs of usage.”

She gasped, and I could picture the woman grasping her pearls. Whether literal or metaphorical, I was unsure. “Not my Blazey!”

“Yes ma’am. Now, it goes against my better judgement to not arrest him right now, but I decided to call you first. If you can come pick him up from our current location, we will let him off with a strong warning. If you cannot, we will have no choice but to take him down to the station with us and hold him until his… uh… high wears off.”

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