Page 20 of Beauty and the Cop
I don't want to apologize. I want to drag her into my arms, yank her skirt up, and plow into her until she's screaming my name so loud the entire fucking neighborhood hears her.
"You can't keep showing up late when they're depending on you to be there. What kind of example are you setting for the kids if you're late all the time?"
She flinches, and I feel like the biggest asshole because that isn't what I wanted to say. It isn't even what I mean. She's anamazing role model, and I fucking know she is. She's not even late that often. And it's not her fault that she hasn't figured out how to navigate traffic yet. She's from the middle of nowhere, for fuck's sake. I'm sure the only traffic her town ever had was a funeral procession.
"Right," she says, reaching into her bag. "I just wanted to give you this while you were home since I wasn't sure when I'd see you again."
"We've been working the case."
When aren't we working a fucking case? Crime never sleeps in a city this size. Our call this time was another homicide—some nineteen-year-old kid shot and killed his eighteen-year-old girlfriend's father after he beat on her again.
I don't even fucking blame him for doing it. The man had been beating her for years. But now, the kid is probably going to prison for murder because he chose to drive to his house and shoot him instead of calling for help.
It's just fucking senseless.
Elsie doesn't say anything. She doesn't really look at me, either. Her feelings are clearly hurt.
I'm honestly expecting her to pull something ridiculous out of her bag, like another pack of rolling papers. Last week, she gave me some she'd confiscated from a student.
The last thing I expect her to pull out of her bag is a challenge coin.
"It's one your brother's team commissioned the year he was drafted to honor the police department," she says quietly. "I didn't see it in your collection and thought you might like it."
I take it from her, turning it over in my palm. My heart pounds against my ribcage as I stare at it, and I know without a doubt that I'll never be good enough for her. But goddamn, I want to be.
"That's—"
"See you later," she says, turning on her heel and practically rushing down the steps before I can thank her or apologize.
"Elsie!" I call after her, feeling like the biggest dick on the planet. She actually searched out a challenge coin from the year my brother was drafted, bought it, and brought it to me just because she thought I might like to have it in my collection. She deserves to be worshipped. Instead, I was rude to her.
"I gotta go before I set a bad example!" she shouts over her shoulder, running like she'd rather be anywhere other than standing on my porch with me right now.
"Fuck," I growl, bouncing my head against the door. I'm such a fucking asshole.
"What the fuck iswrong with you?" Jackson asks half an hour later, his voice a deep growl of annoyance. "You're in your feelings, so you take it out on her?"
"I fucked up."
"No shit," he grunts. "I hope she tells you to get fucked and stay fucked when you show up at her door with your tail between your legs to beg for her forgiveness, you asshole."
I sigh heavily, flopping onto my back on the bed to stare up at the ceiling. "You think she will?"
"Probably."
"Fuck."
"It's what I'd do."
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying not to panic at the thought of her telling me to get fucked. He's right, though. It is what I deserve.
"You know what your problem is?" he asks. "You're a pussy."
"What the fuck?" I drop my hand hard enough to smack myself in the chest. "How did we get from 'I fucked up' to 'I'm a pussy'?"
"You pissed me off, so now I get to insult you."
"I didn't even say anything rude to you," I remind him.
