Page 6 of Beauty and the Cop
"Oh no. Do you have a hide-a-key?"
"Afraid not."
"An unlocked window?" she asks hopefully. And Christ, I'm not sure if I'm losing my mind because she's so sweetly oblivious…or because it makes her a target.
"Never leave your windows unlocked, Elsie," I growl, locking eyes with her. "Promise me."
"I…" Her tongue flicks out, swiping across her pouty bottom lip before she nods. "Okay. I promise."
I breathe a sigh of relief. "Can I use your phone? My partner has a spare key."
"Your partner?"
"Yeah, Jackson. He lives a few miles from here with his fiancée."
"Oh, your partner!" she says as if just realizing what I mean. And I can't help but grin. Did she think I meant my girlfriend or something? Shit. I haven't had one of those since I was…hell, nineteen?
I mean, I've been on a few dates over the years. What thirty-nine-year-old bachelor hasn't been on a few dates? I'd be fucking weird if I hadn't. But I haven't bothered making time for a relationship when I've had other priorities—like becoming a detective. Falling into bed with a long line of badge bunnies never interested me when I had goals.
"Yeah, my partner. Can I borrow your phone?"
"Yes." She immediately bites her lip. "But I forgot it at home."
I stare at her for a minute and then laugh loudly. Of-fucking-course she did.
"You can come inwhile I grab it," she says, less than two minutes later, holding her front door open for me. "Just don't judge anything you see. I'm still unpacking."
"Noted," I murmur, following her over the threshold into a small foyer. Her place is set up exactly like mine, with the living room to the right, the dining room to the left, and then the kitchen behind it. A long hallway runs the length of the place, with bedrooms and bathrooms at the back.
The wooden floorboards are scuffed, but the walls have been freshly painted. Her living room is mostly in order, with furniture neatly arrayed. Like mine, it's worn and faded. A chaise tucked into a corner beside bookshelves looks like it's been through a paintball war. Bright, happy colors and boho fabrics dominate the space.
The dining room is filled with boxes in various stages of unpacking, although most appear to be empty. There are random household items scattered across the top of her table. Despite the chaos, it's organized. Neat. It already looks more lived in than my place, and I've been in mine for the last two years.
"You've gotten a lot done," I murmur as she hurries toward the coffee table to grab her cell.
"Thanks. Classes start on Monday, so I'm hoping to have it all done by then."
"Classes?" There's no goddamn way she's in college. She's young, but not that young.
"Yeah. I'm going to be teaching at Wiley J. Clifford for the rest of the school year. English." She beams at me as she sashays toward me with the phone in her hands.
"Nice. What grade?"
"Tenth."
"Impressive."
"Really? Why?"
"Uh, because I barely passed the tenth grade?" I chuckle at the look of horror on her face. "I'm serious. I skipped so many classes, my hockey coach threatened to start attending with me if I didn't get my head out of my ass."
"You didn't like school?"
"Fuck no. I liked hockey and finding ways to get out of school." I grin at her. "I was an inventive little asshole."
She laughs softly, holding the phone out to me. "I was a nerd. I loved school."
"There's nothing nerdy about you, Cameron."
