Page 32 of Just Friends

Too pretty? They were boring, plain, sensible underpants, and not something she would pick to wear to sleep with a guy for the first time. Rebecca should have considered this more, except that she’d been thinking about this for longer than she cared to admit. And now, flat on her back, in the middle of his bed, he was pulling those practical panties down with his teeth. She giggled in surprise and anticipation. He deposited her underwear off the side and pushed her knees up as he crawled between them. Then, kissing each inner thigh several times, he worked his way up until arriving at his destination.

Her breath caught in her chest. Oh boy.

The sensations drove her out of her mind; she gripped a handful of the blanket on both sides. Weasel took his time and pushed her over the edge. She’d lost control and cried out. Never the type for loud sexual displays, this came as a shock. He leisurely moved his way up her body as she tried to remember her own name. One hand scooped between her shoulder blades and lifted, pulling the blankets down with the other; she realized he was nudging her under the bedcovers. Curled under the comfort of the sheets; her hands wandered over him sliding from the chest and lower to his belly and south. Now he gasped when she slipped her hand around him. A deep primal noise rumbled from him, and he stilled her movements. Then, he twisted away and rummaged through a drawer in the bedside table; he shifted back with a condom in hand.

???

Boneless and sated, she lay, leg draped over his. He was half on top of her, his face buried in her neck, his heart pounding against her. She was sure hers wasn’t any slower. A soft, satisfied moan escaped from him, as his breath hitting her skin slowed to a normal rhythm. They remained in that state for a long while until she wondered if he’d fallen asleep. But unsure if her legs could move either, there was no need to disturb him. At some point, he kissed the spot under her ear lobe and rolled out of bed.

Rebecca retrieved her underpants from the floor and slid them on. Too bad the most generous man in bed was a one-night deal. She’d never done the one-time thing before, and she stood next to the bed wondering if she should leave? Weasel, still nude, strolled in and turned the light off, plunging them into darkness. He crawled into bed, then reached, grabbing her wrist, and gave a little tug. He pulled her to him, covering her with the blanket, an arm wrapped over her. Rain splattered against the window, and why drive home in the black and frigid conditions when she didn’t have to? She snuggled in against him, feeling warm and comfortable.

She drifted to sleep.

She woke to movement. The room was dark. The distinct clanking sound of a metal door. And the covers were different, because it was Weasel’s bed. She sat up to discover a shadow moving.

The gun safe closed and he turned. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“What are you doing?”

He was beside her. “I gotta go in for work.”

In the middle of the night… oh yeah, he’s a detective. “Should I take off?”

“Hell, no,” he replied. “There’s mixed precipitation out there. Stay here, I need you safe. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Help yourself to food in the kitchen.”

He bent and covered her mouth with his. She returned the kiss reaching to touch him, but met with a hard, unyielding surface. Her heart dropped. She broke the kiss, “Bulletproof…”

He took her hand from the Kevlar vest and held it. “Just a precaution,” he assured her.

That didn’t make her feel any better. Weasel bent to her again, and she slid her hand around the nape of his neck. They kissed. He started to pull away. “Be safe,” she whispered.

“Always,” he replied, and then was gone.

Eleven

Mother Nature must have decided to forgo the season of autumn all together this year. An early November night had brought a flurry of freezing rain and wet snow. Weasel and the team of six uniformed police rolled up in stealth mode to the two-mile gravel drive that led to the mobile home of Peggy Lou McGivney. They had a warrant for the arrest of her son, Toby, who was wanted on narcotics charges. The dipshit had gone missing three months ago. Tonight, someone had called in a tip that one Toby McGivney was visiting his mama. They parked, blocking off the road and the driveway.

The trailer sat in a small clearing surrounded by woods. They cut all lights and moved through the wooded areas until they were in place around the McGivney home. With everyone hidden in the perimeter outside, two uniforms knocked to serve the warrant in peace.He wasn’t sure of Peggy Lou’s willingness to cooperate. And when she answered the door in her bathrobe and hair curlers yelling at the two officers on her porch, he had a bad feeling.

“Why the fuck are you botherin’ me in the middle of the night,” her voice echoed through the air. “I ain’t done nothin’ wrong. Toby ain’t done nothin’ either, so you can take your warrant and shove it up your ass. We’re law-abiding citizens and my tax dollars pay your salary.”

Weasel knew a diversion technique when he saw one and Peggy Lou’s fake outrage was a distraction. He moved in the trailer’s shadow from the front corner to the end and found old Toby, shirtless, racing across the back yard toward the woodland area. Who was supposed to be watching the rear? There was no chance to ponder it, or he’d lose Toby.

He pulled his radio, “Pursuing suspect into the woods on the south part of the property.” Weasel went off after Toby. He closed the gap before Toby realized he was being pursued and jumped off the path and zigzagged through the trees with Weasel on his heels. He had to leave the woman of his dreams half-naked in his bed. And here he was running through a thicket, pelted by sleet, when he could be there, curled up with her, getting another round as the sun broke, and then have breakfast. She’d mentioned it was a one-time thing. Did she think that’s what it was to him? He’d have to set that record straight and show her he didn’t mean just one night.

The suspect turned and darted behind a tree and Weasel followed him when the individual doubled back and tackled him; on the slick fallen leaves, they struck the forest floor with a thud. He wasn’t as big as Weasel, but people working to avoid jail could be remarkably robust. Toby got in a couple of cheap shots to his torso, but only contacted his vest before Weasel shifted and tossed him off; they rolled over each other and foliage a few times jabbing and swearing the entire way. At some point, they were rolling down a hill. Weasel hoped it wasn’t off of the plateau as he bounced off a rock. But the other guy still had a grip on his body armor, and they continued to punch each other, groan, and swear as they slammed into rocks and bushes. Thankfully, they came to a rest with a grunt as they hit bottom, but Toby landed on top of him. Weasel’s arm crossed over his face; he felt a tugging at his belt. The motherfucker was trying to unholster his gun.

Oh hell, no.

He brought his elbow into the side of the suspects head; heard the satisfying crunch of a jaw breaking. Instantly the tugging on his belt stopped as Toby let out a cry and toppled over; Weasel kept the upper hand by flipping him over onto the ground and slapping on the cuffs. With his foot pressed to the base of the guys’ neck, he took a moment to catch his breath and his bearings.

Where the hell am I?

???

Rebecca woke alone in the middle of Weasel’s bed just after sunrise in only her underwear. She’d mentioned it was a one-time thing; then he kissed her before he left for work. People in relationships do that. And while wearing a bulletproof vest. Why had that bothered her so much? It was normal for him to carry a weapon, so it never occurred to her what that meant. He’d gone out into danger.

She sat and observed her surroundings. Weasel’s AC/DC shirt she had borrowed was laying across the foot of the bed. The last time she’d seen it was when she dropped it at his bedroom door. She couldn’t believe she did that. Completely out of character for her. But it’d been fun being flirty and playful.

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