Page 8 of Handcuffed Hussy
4
Past - Jack
I've seen a lot of fucked up shit in my time with the HBPD. You name it, I've seen it, arrested it, or interrogated it. But the cases I hated the most were when innocent women are battered, abused, or raped, simply because they're weaker physically. A real fucking man would never touch a woman in anger or lay a hand on her. Unfortunately, there weren't too many real men out there anymore.
I'd just gotten home from arresting a serial rapist I'd been chasing for several months. He'd gotten to six women before I'd hunted him down. All six haunted me, their photos showing bloodied faces and torn clothing on a constant slideshow in my head.
I got the bastard behind bars. Now I needed to let him and the case go from my brain.
My house was dark, no lights or activity to welcome me home. Just dark rooms with minimal furniture. Not even a goddamn dog to breathe life into the place. While everyone else was out enjoying the last few days of summer, I was inside working on cases, only leaving in time to see the sun had already set. Not for the first time did I wonder if this was how my life was supposed to be lived.
It was nights like these where I craved a woman to fall into and lose myself in. A woman who wrapped me in her arms and blotted out the nightmare of my job. Someone I could talk to about anything, knowing she'd listen and nod her head and then take me to bed to fill my nights with bliss.
Was it too much to ask for a pleasant, agreeable woman to desire me? So far, it seemed it was. I'd dated plenty, finding no shortage of women to fill my bed, but completely lacking in all the other ways. There were the game players, the clingers, the needy ones, the ones with baggage, the loud obnoxious ones. So far? No pleasant ones that could also satisfy me in bed.
Speaking of bed, my mind went to visions of Bailey. In her silky robe, breasts free, nipples hard. In her work attire, dressed like a social elite with all the confidence in the world. In her tight workout pants, kicking some asshole's ass in a parking garage like a total boss woman.
I desired her that's for damn sure. I would even take it further and say I had a soft spot for her that shouldn't be there. Like a sick bastard, I'd enjoyed holding her in my arms when I should have been focused on arresting Esa's attacker.
The problem lay with her personality. She was loud, she was prickly. Funny as hell, but obnoxious. She wouldn't put up with any shit and she surely wouldn't let me run right over her. She'd hold her own and hold my feet to the fire if I didn't pay her enough attention or looked at her wrong. I couldn't see her cooking me dinner or listening patiently while I told her about my day. She'd want to be taken out to dinner and shown a good time. I didn't mind that occasionally, but with my job, that wouldn't happen on the regular.
Plain and simple: she wasn't for me.
I nuked a frozen dinner and sat in front of my television eating the cardboard-like food. I took a swig of my beer and tried to lose myself in yet another reality show with idiots and narcissistic attention seekers.
My phone chirped from somewhere in the cushions. I prayed it wasn't a work case while I dug around to find the phone. I pulled up the text to see it was from Bailey. It was like she had a direct line to my thoughts. How'd she know I was thinking about her?
Bailey: What's with the silent treatment, Detective?
Me:What do you mean?
Bailey: You haven't texted me in weeks...found someone else to put your cuffs on?
She was right. I was totally ignoring her. On purpose. After touching her in the parking garage, I knew I needed to back off. All the not-so-innocent flirting was causing me to care about her. I needed to be the bigger person and put a stop to it. But now that she'd texted me first, I couldn't ignore her. I'd text her tonight and go back to ignoring her tomorrow.
Me: Just been busy. My cuffs only have your name on them.
Bailey: Then what's the hold up, sexy man? Get it? Hold up?
Me: That was a terrible cop joke.
Bailey: The Jack Daniels made me do it.
Me: Are you drunk?
Bailey: Maybe
Me: Are you out somewhere or home?
Bailey: Home. Allll by myself...
Jesus, this woman was killing me. At least she wasn't out at some bar with asshole men around her, waiting to pounce and take advantage of her. I willed myself to put my phone down. I was not going over there. I would not flirt with her. She meant nothing to me.
I took another swig of beer and focused on the argument between two women on the television. Something about one girl sleeping with a guy and the other girl saying they'd slept together first. Trash, total trash.
Bailey: And...the silent treatment begins again...
I looked up, perhaps thinking the ceiling would have the answer for me on what to do with this girl. I wanted her, but I couldn't have her. How did I get her to understand that we'd make each other miserable?
