Page 22 of The Proposal Pact
I squeeze my eyes shut and rub my face hard. “I need this day to be over, like now.”
“Would you like a beer?” I open my eyes to see her hand outstretched with a new bottle.
“Just how many do you have in there?” I gesture to her jersey, and she rolls her eyes at me.
“Just these two. What? I never leave the house unprepared.”
“When did you even have the time? You were out in literally thirty seconds.”
“I’m happy to demonstrate my skills to you when we get back.” Sophie bats her eyelashes at me, and just like that, my dick stiffens, thinking about a whole other set of skills.
No! Hell no. There is nothing to get hard over. We don’t like criminals.Or little menaces in bright pink panties.
“Let’s just go.” I sigh, grabbing my keys once again. “Marsha, I’m out for the night but—”
“I know, I know, call you if anything comes up. You got it, Sheriff Hot Stuff.” She salutes me.
I groan, shooting a look to Sophie who already has that gleam in her eyes from hearing Marsha’s nickname for me. But upon seeing what must be bloody murder written over my face, she pretends to zip her mouth with her fingers and strides out of the station, calling, “Bye, Marsha. Let’s go out for drinks sometime!”
“I like that idea. See you soon, kiddo.”
“If only wearing handcuffs,” I mutter.
“Let’s turn on some music,” she says as soon as her butt touches the seat, and without waiting for my response she starts going through every station.
“Sure, make yourself comfortable,” I grumble and start the car, but I guess I’d rather listen to some pop instead of talking, so whatever. I’m officially over this day, this week, month, and overall, life.
With Sophie humming and dancing to the two songs we were able to listen to on the way—because clearly the woman is incapable of peace and quiet—we finally park in front of the building.
I may not like her, but fuck, this tiny thing has an ass on her and for some ridiculous reason I decided to walk behind her as we ascend, making this already horrible situation, far worse.
I may not like her, but I am still a man with eyes and a dick.
“Well, I didn’t take you for a gentleman, walking me all the way to my door,” she says when we come up to her door.
“I’m not.” I push the unlocked, broken door open, stepping through it into her place.
Speaking of which…I’m one hundred percent sure she’s new to the town, so how come she was able to snatch a rental when I’ve been having such shit luck this whole time?
“What are you doing?” Sophie eyes me suspiciously as I take off my shoes and walk over to her couch.
“Spending the night.”
“I’m sorry, what?” she shrieks.
“Relax.” I roll my eyes. “Not like that, but your door is broken and I won’t be able to get it fixed till the morning, so I’ll stay on your couch to make sure no one tries anything stupid.”
“I can take care of myself,” Sophie huffs with indignation.
“Trust me, I have no doubts about that. Just your crazy hair alone could scare any burglar away. Not to mention, you’d probably talk them to death.”
“Wow, and they say the romance is dead.” It’s her turn to roll those eyes, so brown and rich like melted chocolate, as she walks into the kitchen.
Some long-since-dead part of me wants to laugh at that statement. I want to tell her about the days when I could spew romance out of my ass. When I used to rip out my mother’s flower beds because I needed to impress a new girl in school or get out of trouble with another. For some reason, this girl I don’t even fucking know is getting under my skin and I don’t like it.
There is a reason the Callum of those days is gone. He died alongside the two people he cared about, and I’d like to keep it that way.
“There’s no romance here, I’m just doing my job.”
