Page 30 of Cuffed By Your Love
“Keep holding it down, Deputy Gorgeous.”
“You too, Detective.”
He stepped back, gave the inmate a slight tug, and nodded at me as if we had shared an unspoken conversation in those two seconds. As he walked out, I stared at the back of his head like he owed me child support.
I didn’t smile. I didn’t melt. But I did unlock my phone and stare at his name for a moment too long: Detective Fine Shyt, complete with a policeman emoji.
Lord, what was this man doing to my nervous system?
I was sitting in the break room, trying to keep it together as I was low-key spiraling. I sipped on a room-temperature Sprite, hoping it would somehow wash away the heat still simmering in my chest from that man’s voice. I attempted to concentrate on my snack—a honey bun I didn’t even want.
But Detective Fine Shyt had turned my nervous system into wet laundry, and the spin cycle was stuck on “flustered.”
“Keep holding it down, Deputy Gorgeous.”
That was what he said, out loud, in front of God, the inmate, the surveillance cameras, and my confused hormones. That man had the audacity to bless my whole government title with a compliment so smooth it exfoliated my trauma.
Now I was sitting here blinking slowly, as if my body didn’t know how to recover from a respectful man speaking life into my badge with a cute little nickname.
Jonell kicked the door open as if she owned the moment.
“Okay now, Deputy Blushing Boots,” she said, already grinning. “Who had your skin all flushed in front of booking like it was a high school crush walking past your damn locker?”
I rolled my eyes and chose not to respond, but that only made her worse.
She slid into the seat across from me, pulling out a granola bar as if it were popcorn. “Don’t play coy with me, Deputy ‘O-I-Think-He-Likes-Me.’ I saw that walk-off. You were looking at that man as if he invented the damn Rose.”
“Nelly…”
“Don’t Nelly me, ho.” She cackled. “I heard him call you Deputy Gorgeous. With chest. With bass. With intention. You should be pregnant by now.”
I choked on my soda.
“Get the fuck on, sis.” I coughed. “Respectfully.”
She leaned across the table, elbows up as if trying to whisper holy gossip.
“You know what I saw?”
I sighed. “I’m scared, but go ahead.”
“I saw you, a normally emotionally paralyzed and trauma-coated little Scorpio, look at that man as if he could hold your hair while you threw up after too much tequila.”
I blinked. “That’s oddly fucking specific.”
“Because it’s real love.”
I dropped my head into my hands, trying not to laugh because she was a damn fool, and I couldn’t take her seriously. Unfortunately, she was serious as hell.
“He’s fine as hell, okay? I said it. He’s patient, quiet, and makes eye contact as if he’s trying to apologize for every man who ever lied to me.”
“Oop!”
“But that doesn’t mean I’m ready for all that.”
She leaned back and opened the granola bar wrapper. “Who said you had to be ready? Just stop acting like every soft thing will end in a sucker punch, Twinnie Pooh.”
I didn’t say anything. She was right again, and I was tired of it.
