Page 9 of Beauty and the Cop
"Hey. Don't judge my addiction to strange documentaries until you've watched a few yourself. They're good reminders that we can build a community from any interest and find a sense of belonging anywhere if we're determined enough." I pause. "Or argue over anything."
"That…" He eyes me sideways. "That's actually not a bad observation."
I grin at him as he pops his bite into his mouth.
"Fuck," he grunts, his eyes widening slightly. "That's good."
"Thanks. I made it myself."
"It's damn good," he mutters, taking another big bite.
I realize that I'm staring at him and quickly glance down at my plate before shoveling a bite into my mouth. For long moments, we eat in silence before the show comes on.
"Explain this shit to me again," he murmurs when the first performance starts.
"After the performance, the judges will try to guess which celebrity is under the costume. The audience and judges also vote, and each week, the contestant with the least number of votes is eliminated, at which point they take off their mask and reveal their identity. The last one standing wins."
"What do they win?"
"A trophy."
He blinks at the TV. "That's it?"
"Yep."
"Yeah, fuck that. There's no way I'd die in a costume that big every week for a trophy."
"Uh, don't you literally chase people with like fifty pounds of stuff around your waist?" I arch a brow at him.
"That's different."
"How so?"
"I'm not dressed as a giant goddamn lizard man, for one," he retorts. "And for two, I can't breathe when I'm chasing a suspect, let alone sing for the masses."
I laugh despite myself. "You should probably get that looked at. I'm pretty sure you should be breathing if you're running."
"Who are you telling?" He cocks a brow at me. "These motherfuckers have me out here dying every night while they're running like goddamn Olympians. If I could throw a fucking truck at them, I would, just on principle."
"Settle down there, Hulk," I say through peals of laughter.
"Hulk has nothing on me." He winks, and I'm instantly thrown back to our conversation about Hulk on his porch earlier. Mytraitorous gaze even drifts toward his lap before I realize it. There's no mistaking the bulge in his jeans. It's obvious. And definitely proportionate. Jesus Christ. He's got a coke can cock.
Alice is going to die when I tell her. Wait. What am I thinking? I can't tell her about his dick. I'll never hear the end of it if I tell her that I was looking at his dick. It is impressive, though.
Noah clears his throat, and I rip my gaze away.
He just caught me looking at his dick. Oh my god.
Why did I keep unpacking after he brought me cookies? Now I really have to move, and most of my stuff is already unpacked.
Alice is going to love this.
"Um, I…um…"
A loud knock on the door saves me from having to come up with some excuse that won't materialize.
"I'll get it!" I practically bolt to my feet, barely managing to catch my plate before I dump lasagna all over the floor.
