Page 23 of Beauty and the Cop
"He was weird this morning," I mutter. "I took him that coin I bought him, and he was cranky. He said I was going to set a bad example for my students if I kept showing up to work late."
"What the fuck?"
"It was weird," I grumble. "He sent me an apology text and said he didn't mean it, but I don't know. What if he does?"
"He doesn't mean it," Alice says firmly. "No one who knows you could ever possibly think you're a bad example." She pauses. "Except for that time we did that thing. You were definitely a bad example then."
"We swore never to speak of that again."
"I know. I'm just say—"
A loud knock thumps the door on its hinges, and I nearly drop the phone.
"Crap," I whisper.
"What?"
"I think he's here." That's a lie. I know he's here. He's the only one who ever knocks on my door, and he knocks precisely like a cop, so it's not like it's a mystery who is out there now.
"Good," Alice says, a little growl in her voice. "Let him in. Talk to him. Verbally kick his ass. And then jump his bones."
"Alice," I groan. "We're just friends."
"Right. That's what you call it when you want someone to kiss you and then bang you into next century. Also, if you're just friends much longer, you're going to have to buy stock in Duracell because we both know you're going through enough batteries to rival the carbon footprint of a billionaire with a private jet."
Dammit. She isn't wrong. If I keep it up, I may break my vagina.
"We're just friends," I say anyway, just for good measure.
"Well, I'm hanging up, so you can either open that door and talk to him, or you can eat your frosting all by yourself. But I bet it'd taste better on him."
"Alice!"
She cackles before hanging up on me.
I groan again when Noah knocks one more time.
I guess it would be cowardly to pretend I don't hear him, wouldn't it?
I grumble to myself and haul myself to my feet to answer the door.
I know I look like shit. My face is probably splotchy. My eyes are red. I probably even have mascara trails. I quickly try to wipe them away and then straighten my clothes and hair before pulling open the door.
Noah looks like a God, like usual. Who knew a T-shirt could mold to muscles so perfectly? He also looks tired.
"Shit." His expression turning thunderous when he sees my face. He doesn't wait for an invitation before he stomps inside, looking like he wants to break something.
"What do you want, Noah?"
"I made you cry."
"Funny how that happens when you insult people who thought you were friends."
"We are friends," he growls.
"Friends don't insult each other."
"I know, Dimples. I know. I just…I was an asshole, and I'm fucking sorry. I didn't mean it."
