Page 7 of Mistletoe Masquerade
The realization and his candid appreciation of me gives me a wealth of confidence. I feel desirable and bold and effervescent. Eyes follow us as we sway together from one song into the next, talking quietly about everything and nothing. We’re discussing the optimal height of the perfect snowman when a voice lances through our conversation.
“Malone! I thought you said you came alone.” A young guy in his early twenties stops beside us, interrupting our moment with an impressive degree of cluelessness. If “wet behind the ears” was literal, he’d have puddles at his feet from being so earnestly naive.
“Eckerman.” Dean nods curtly, keeping his hand at my lower back. It’s a tad possessive, considering we hardly know one another, but I’m not mad about it. His comforting strength feels too good to resent. “This is Sachi. Sachi, our newest officer, Ralph Eckerman.”
The unmasked man grins proudly and extends his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.” His grip is firm, though the shake lasts a smidge longer than is customary. It’s purely unintentional. He’s just so dang enthusiastic that I have to laugh.
“Good to meet you, too.”
“Speaking of dates, Eck, where’s your wife?” Dean asks abruptly. He doesn’t seem nearly as entertained by the momentary interruption.
Ralph motions over his shoulder. “Bathroom.”
Dean lifts his chin. “You should probably get back to her. Wouldn’t want to get separated in this crowd.”
“Oh yeah. Right.” The recruit winks with a grin. “You two enjoy your evening.” He disappears with a wave.
“He’s kind of adorable in a golden retriever sort of way,” I muse aloud.
Dean narrows his eyes and pulls me back into our dance hold. “I suppose, if you like that sort of thing.” His huffy response is endearing because it bears a hint of humor that softens the jealousy.
“You work together?”
“Not exactly. I’m a detective, and he’s a beat cop, but he’s sort of latched onto me.” His wry tone has a humorous undercurrent, like he wants to be grumpy, but he’s just too decent to let it fully take hold.
I bite back a smile. “I thought this event was for higher-ups.”
“His father’s a captain at another precinct.”
“Ah.”
He makes a rumbling noise in agreement that causes a flutter deep in my chest.
“He gets preferential treatment,” I observe, curious about Dean’s thoughts on the matter.
“Maybe some, but he’s actually a decent cop, just green.”
“And you? What kind of detective are you?”
The musicians launch into a lively instrumental of “Rocking Around the Christmas Tree,” though the upbeatmusic barely registers in my ears. I’m too intent on hearing Dean’s reply. He’s intriguing in a way I can’t define but has me hanging on every word he says.
“I’m the persistent kind of detective.”
I appreciate his choice of descriptors. He didn’t say something generic like “I’m a good detective” or “veteran detective” or list the awards he’s received. He chose to share what he sees as admirable, and to him, that’s persistence—something I imagine is rather crucial in solving crime.
He’s persistent and perceptive and generous and deliciously self-assured—all qualities that would serve him well as a detective. They also have the potential to make him an incredible lover. What I wouldn’t give to test that theory…
Holy hell, am I really considering that?
Am I willing to have sex with a man I hardly know?
I’ve never had a one-night stand. It always seemed a little risky to be so vulnerable with a man I don’t know. Being quirky and impulsive about my wardrobe or hobbies is one thing. Having sex with a stranger is a whole other level of courage.
But this guy’s a cop—one my friends seem to think is a decent guy.
Maybe this is my chance to have my cake and eat it, too.
Man-dy cane cake.
