Page 159 of Not Over You

Detective Reynolds hands me a paper cup of coffee. He motions for us to walk down the hallway to the meeting room. “Forty-five hundred dollars? Damn.”

“I know. And I wasn’t even the highest priced bachelor. There are some crazy women out there.”

“Yes, there are. So, who won you?”

“I have no clue. She was gone before the auction ended. Apparently, she got my number and is supposed to text me today to set things up.”

He grins at me. “Are you worried or stoked?”

I shrug, “Indifferent, I guess.”

“Not that a guy like you has trouble getting dates.”

I grin, “That’s not a problem, but I really don’t date much anymore. I have other priorities.”

He pushes open the door that leads to the wing where the meeting room just outside the evidence room is under heavy security. The rest of the task force is waiting for us when we walk in. The detective leads us to a small meeting room. “Take a seat, ladies and gentlemen. Don’t worry, we won’t spend too much time in the dungeon. I just need to go over a few things with you here.”

I pull out a chair and sit down. A petite brunette female officer glances at me, then does a double take. A sly grin creeps onto her face.

I lean back in the chair. “What?”

She raises a brow as she mumbles, “Bachelor Number Two.”

The detective glances up from the papers in front of him. “Did you buy Detective Roman, Wendi?”

She snorts and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, no.”

Everyone laughs. But soon we’re hard at work and not another word about the auction is mentioned for the rest of the morning.

We break for lunch and I pull out my phone. There’s a text from an unknown number. I bought you.

Hm. Not one for small talk. I reply, If you say so, and add a winking emoji.

I walk toward a food truck on the corner of the block. As I order my food, a second text comes in from the mystery woman.

I’m eager. Tonight?

I chuckle, wow. No chit chat from this one. Sure. Just tell me when and where.

The little dots blink on my screen as she types her reply. Eight p.m. Lifeguard Tower 3. Lynn’s Cove Beach.

“Sir, your order’s ready.”

I pick up the tray of street tacos. “Thanks.”

A beach date? Sounds intriguing. Should I bring a swimsuit?

I find a shaded bench for eating lunch. I figured a forty-five hundred dollar date would involve an upscale restaurant and applying some of my rusty table manners.

I laugh when she replies, Naked is better.

Well, shit. Guess I better get some condoms.

I reply, You’re trouble.

She replies, You have no idea...

I’m wearing a shit-eating grin as I eat my tacos. Then, it hits me—is it legal to have sex with someone who paid for your date?

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