BEAUTY AND THE BADGE Read online

  “Come on, Boo,” Tyler groans. “I didn’t hear Ashley ask for a big pile of fluff to set up camp in her lap.”

  Boo looks over at her dad and yawns dramatically before she turns and snuggles into me.

  “It’s okay,” I assure him. “She’s no bother.”

  That makes him laugh. “She’s a thirty-eight-pound hairball. Let me know when either your legs fall asleep or you start to roast from being covered by thick-ass fur.”

  “I’m sure I’ll survive,” I tease.

  He goes silent while he watches his dog cuddle against me. “Lucky dog,” he murmurs.

  I don’t know what it is about this man that gets to me the way he does, but when he says certain things, my pulse skyrockets. Like earlier today, when he came to my desk and asked if I was coming. I’d stared at him like a wide-eyed idiot for at least two seconds before he repeated himself and I realized I missed the words to the break room.

  “Well, it’s time for me to make Abe’s dessert, so I’m going to skedaddle,” Millie announces as she pushes up from her chair.

  Frowning, I look from the nearly full wine cooler in her hand to the horizon, where the sun is not yet beginning to set. “I thought you wanted to watch—”

  I stop talking when she gives me the look. The one all women do when they’re silently telling one of their friends to shut their mouth. I never thought I’d see the day when Millie Andover would use said look, much less on me, but that’s absolutely what she’s doing.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, dear. Have a good night, children.”

  “Do you want to take your wine coolers back with you?” I call to her retreating back.

  “Oh, no, you go ahead and drink them. Chief, try a fuzzy navel cooler,” she calls over her shoulder. “They’re delicious.”

  Our yards aren’t huge, so she’s crossed onto her property in less than thirty seconds. Arriving at her rear slider, she steps inside and closes the door after her. Leaving me alone. In my yard. At sundown. With my boss. Who just happens to be the hottest guy I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ____________________________________

  TYLER

  I SPENT THE morning looking through the department handbook to see the policy on co-workers dating. At first, I was surprised, because I couldn’t find a policy at all. After a lot of searching and a fuckload of head scratching, a light bulb finally went on over my head. Flipping back to the first page where the title and the date of creation were, I confirmed what I’d already guessed. The handbook was put together in 1979, back when all the cops were male.

  The woman who was in charge of the office, Felicity Falls, would’ve already been married and in her thirties at the time. It makes sense that Chief Perry hadn’t even considered setting some parameters. I won’t lie—I’m not unhappy that dating isn’t mentioned even once. Still, I’m well aware that I need to be cautious. I’m not a horny teenager with a crush. I’m the chief of the Charlotte’s Cove Police Department, and I want to keep it that way. I can’t put our work environment in jeopardy purely based on physical attraction. I know I want her, but I can’t go off half-cocked. I need to look deeper. Fuck knows I’ve learned that lesson the hard way. Hell, I’m still learning it.

  If I’d known what she looked like going in… well, I’m not sure. Before I met Ashley in person this morning, I only knew the basics from her resume. She’s twenty-five and has an Associate’s Degree in Business Administration from a junior college in Los Angeles. For the last year, she was an administrative assistant to a lifestyle influencer—whatever the hell that is.

  I felt I knew all I needed to make the decision to hire her. Plus, Felicity and Millie essentially tag-teamed me about how perfect she was for the job. They were right; she is. It’s funny that neither of them ever saw fit to mention she’s gorgeous, though. And when I say funny, I don’t mean it like ha-ha. I mean it like, I think they purposely neglected to mention it.

  Maybe that was smart on their parts. I mean, I hired her sight unseen based on her resume, skill set, and their recommendation. Would I have hesitated if they’d clued me into the fact that she looks like she could be a model if she were so inclined? Probably. There’s a better-than-good chance I’d have pushed her resume to the side. I know that’s shitty, but it’s honest. I’ve got enough trouble without adding anything else to the list. And yet… here and now, looking at this beautiful woman cuddling with my suddenly serene pup, I’m glad I had no idea.

  “I’m sure you have somewhere else to be,” Ashley says. “Don’t feel like you have to stay.”

  To hell with that. I plan to get to know her better, which means leaving isn’t on the agenda unless she wants me to go. Dropping into the chair Millie vacated, I reach down and take one of the two remaining wine coolers from the four-pack carton between our seats.

  “I’d love to stay and watch the sunset with you, unless you’re trying to hoard these bad boys for yourself,” I tease as I hold up the wine cooler.

  The blush that spreads out over her cheeks is ridiculously hot. I’ve seen women blush before, but it’s never made my dick throb. I can’t even say I’m surprised by my reaction. Earlier today, when she licked her finger to turn the page on notes Felicity left her, I had to retreat to my office so she wouldn’t see I’d started to get hard. I had to visualize the Queen of England naked to get myself under control. I’ll probably have nightmares tonight, but at least it worked.

  “I’m not trying to hoard the wine coolers,” she answers. Her soft, almost musical chuckle is something to be added to the list of things I find sexy about her.

  “Not a fan?” I ask.

  “I mean, they’re kind of drinkable, just overly sweet. At least in my opinion.”

  For a few seconds, I get a little lost, because she’s sitting here petting Boo and I have this flash of us hanging out like this a lot. My inner voice isn’t having it.

  Don’t put the cart before the horse, fuckhead.

  Yeah. I get that. I need to tread carefully.

  Focusing on Ashley, I cross my legs out in front of me, lean back into the chair, and twist the cap off the cooler. “I’ve never had one before,” I tell her as I bring the bottle to my lips.

  Taking a sip, I force myself not to gag. This shit is fucking terrible. Looking at Ashley, I grimace and then wrinkle my nose. “Is there any alcohol in this crap or is it just orange and a little bit of peach?”

  Her eyes are full of humor as she answers, “It’s a hair above three percent.”

  I make a noise of disgust. “Which means a person looking for a buzz would have to drink five or more of these. Honestly, it’d be better without the alcohol.”

  “Stop.” She laughs. “They’re not that bad. It’s like fruit punch. And just like fruit punch, I can only drink one. Anything more than that feels like I’m drinking sugar water. Honestly, for me, that’s saying something, because I love sweet things. On the other hand, the stuff I gravitate toward is always chocolate-based. If they ever figure out how to make chocolate wine coolers, I’m in.”

  I pretend to gag even as I make a mental note to order more chocolaty stuff for our vending machine. Right now, it’s pretty full of crackers, chips, and non-chocolate candy. Surely it’s okay to take her likes into consideration. It’s not like I’m going all-in on wooing her… yet. Maybe if I tell myself that eight hundred fucking more times, my brain and my dick will get the message.

  “What’s your favorite kind of chocolate?” I ask.

  “Peanut butter cups,” she answers without a lick of hesitation. “My grandfather always said I was a full-blown addict, and I have to admit he was onto something. If they ever go out of production, I’m in big trouble.”

  This girl. She’s so fucking sweet I want to eat her up. I’ll buy a truckload of peanut butter cups if it makes her happy. How fucked up is that? I’ve known her for less than twelve hours, and I’m sitting over here like a love-struck douche thinking of ways to make her happy. Wha
t’s next, poetry?

  Fuck.

  I damn sure hope not, because that’s never fucking happening. Ever.

  “Do you read?” I ask, hoping her answer isn’t going to reveal a love of sonnets or some shit.

  “Of course I can read, Tyler,” she says, a hint of sass in her voice.

  I can’t contain my laugh, which causes her to narrow her eyes at me and stare me down like I’m a giant dick. “No, babe, I asked if you read. Fiction or nonfiction. I already know you can read; you spent half the day reading shit on the computer.”

  Again with the blushing. Looking away from me, she runs two fingers down the bridge of Boo’s snout. My dog is soaking it up. “Oops. Sorry. Yes, I read. Looks like I don’t listen too well though. I’m going to blame it on the five sips of wine cooler I’ve had. It’s obviously going right to my head,” she says with a self-deprecating laugh.

  I like that she’s not an overly dramatic, self-involved nightmare. I’ve known too many women who would be pouting and demanding attention right about now.

  “What do you read?”

  I’ll consider it a sign that she’s way the fuck off-limits if she says poetry, because romantic shit is not in my repertoire. The interest I have in her is a hell of a lot more extreme than anything I’ve experienced before, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to turn into a love-letter-writing idiot.

  Shit, who am I kidding? I’d probably try if it would make her smile. Maybe she’d laugh at me being so inept that I’d probably rhyme cock with rock.

  Fuck. I doubt it. Please don’t fuckin’ say poetry, I think as I wait on her answer.

  “Well, right now, I’m mostly in a spiritual phase,” she says.

  It’s good that poetry isn’t going to be an issue, but a spiritual phase sounds like some hippy-dippy California shit.

  “What’s that mean?” I ask, wondering if she’s about to reveal some crazy. Maybe that’d be for the best though.

  Even my dick doesn’t believe that. Maybe there actually are certain kinds of crazy worth putting up with.

  I cringe even thinking it. Making decisions based on what my dick thinks is a disaster that leads directly to a slippery slope down to hell. I stop thinking about any of that when Ashley lets out a soft giggle. “I’m open to whatever people believe, but I’m not one for chanting or powering up my healing crystals in the desert. I’m talking about manifestation books along the lines of The Secret. You must have heard of it, right?”

  Thank fuck, she’s not nuts. This kind of thing isn’t crazy at all. “Yeah, babe. I’ve heard of it. In fact, my mom is a big believer. She makes a new vision board every New Year’s Day. She calls it part of her visualization process though.”

  “Some people call it that,” Ashley answers. “But other people—like Oprah—refer to it as manifesting. I saw something on YouTube where she talked about manifesting, and I fell down a rabbit hole. If it’s good enough for O, then it’s good enough for me.”

  “Ah, yes, the mighty O.” I chuckle. “My mom used to record every episode of her show and watch it right after dinner. I feel like I grew up with Oprah in my house.”

  Ashley throws back her head and laughs. “Same! For me, it was my grandmother. I used to do my homework on a tray table in the living room while she watched. Every time Oprah made one of her book club recommendations, my grandmother and I would go to Barnes & Noble. I used to love those days the most, because it meant I could get some new books too. The bookstore was always my jam. What about you?” she asks. “Are you a reader?”

  “Oh yeah. Reading was a big deal in my house. One of the main reasons my parents bought their forever home was because of the library. My mom’s bookcases are stuffed with romances, and my dad’s are an even split of books about World War II, autobiographies, and true crime. As for me, I’m a big mystery/thriller fan. David Baldacci and Lee Child are my go-tos.”

  She nods approvingly. “I’m glad you read. Too many people proudly say they don’t these days.”

  As she says that, Boo climbs off Ashley’s lap and bounces her way over to me. I swear my dog is half kangaroo. Stopping in front of me, she sits down and makes one of her howly talking noises. When she nudges my knee, I know she’s asking for me to throw her ball. Reaching behind me, I grab the ball I set on the ground next to me when I sat down and toss it toward the water, since Boo loves to run right to the edge so she can get her paws wet.

  “She’s adorable,” Ashley comments.

  We both laugh when Boo comes back with the ball and stops in front of me expectantly. Taking it from her mouth, I toss it again. “She is. My sister, Eve, works for an animal rescue in Seattle, and someone found an abandoned dog that was pregnant. After the dog birthed her pups, Eve started sending pics with little messages about how saving a dog would make her love me forever. Next thing I knew, I was picking up Boo. One of the shelter workers named the pups after Monsters, Inc. characters. I could’ve changed it, but the name suits her.”

  “I love her name. She’s so darn cute I can barely stand it. I want to get a dog. Not quite yet—I’ll need to settle in and get used to my schedule and stuff—but when I do, I want to adopt. Maybe I can find a dog through your sister’s place. Seattle isn’t a far drive at all. Once I’m ready, I can go pretty much any day after work.”

  “I’ll take you,” I say.

  “Really?”

  “Consider it a plan.”

  Once again, the sight of the blush on her cheeks affects me. Jesus, when did I become a sucker for blushing? Apparently, today.

  This time when Boo returns with the ball, she stops in front of Ashley, who takes it from her without hesitation. Copying what I did, she throws it toward the edge of the water.

  We stay outside, shooting the shit and playing with Boo until the sun goes all the way down. I’m all but oblivious to the beauty of the setting sun, because I’m far more fascinated with the beauty of the woman next to me.

  Eventually, I force myself to leave.

  I miss her before I’m even one house away.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ____________________________________

  ASHLEY

  AT MILLIE’S INSISTENCE, I slowly spin so that she can critique my outfit from her spot on my sofa. “You look stunning, but I think you should wear your hair down instead of pulled back,” she declares.

  Turning to the mirror that hangs over the entry table by the door, I look myself over critically. “You think? I thought about it, but I’ve been wearing my hair in a soft bun at work, and this is my first night out on the town here. I don’t want everyone thinking I look… I don’t know, desperate? Or like I’m trying too hard.”

  Millie snickers. “How silly. Wearing your hair down is hardly something anyone would question. Unless you’re showing off your pointer sisters or flashing your nethers, I can’t understand how trying too hard is even really a thing.”

  “Pointer sisters? I’ve never heard them called that,” I get out through a giggle.

  “Well,” she begins with a haughty sniff, “that’s because most of your generation lack class and tact. It’s one thing for me to use the word nipples with Abe when we’re alone, but quite another to be out and about using the word in front of other people. My pointer sisters situation is no one’s business but my husband’s. And don’t get me started on that horrible, wretched P-word,” she hisses. “Again, what you refer to it as in the privacy of your bedroom is up to you, but calling it that in public is just appalling.”

  I may need a little brain bleach. The idea of Millie and Abraham Andover using dirty words in the bedroom is something I never want to think of again.

  “So, hair down?” I ask, steering the subject back to safety.

  She studies me silently as she takes a sip of her wine cooler. After she swallows, she nods. “I suspect Tyler will enjoy seeing you with your hair down.”

  I one hundred and ten percent know my face is turning a flaming tomato-red.

  “Millie! He’s my bo
ss.”

  “He’s your very attractive boss,” she answers. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the way you two were looking at each other the other night. There’s chemistry there.”

  “I repeat, he’s my boss.”

  “And I’m your neighbor. Try telling me something I don’t already know, child.”

  “Well—”

  “Long-winded speeches about things you don’t think are appropriate will just have to wait,” she scolds. “He’ll be here any second. Go fix your hair.”

  Looking at the clock, I see she’s right. “You win this time, but we’re going to talk about this and soon. You can’t play matchmaker between us.”

  She raises her bottle in acknowledgement but stays silent, so I turn and head down the hall to the bathroom. I don’t even know why I follow her advice on the hair front, but I do. I work quickly to take out the six bobby pins that are holding my half-up style in place. Once I’ve set them all back in the medicine cabinet behind the mirror, I brush my hair until it hangs below my shoulders just right, like a shiny, raven waterfall. Giving myself a quick onceover in the mirror, I nod at my reflection. I’m a little flushed, but I’m going to pretend that’s because I’m in a rush. Not because my hotter-than-sin boss is coming to get me.

  When I hear a firm knock on the front door, I let out a nervous squeak. Giving myself a stern look in the mirror, I set my hand on my stomach and take a deep breath. It’s not like he’s here to take me to prom, for God’s sake. I shouldn’t be so keyed up. I see him every day, both at work and at home, when he stops for a chat each night when he’s out walking Boo. I need to chill out and remember tonight is about new friends going to a bar to have dollar drafts. I repeat the same thing to myself through three more deep, cleansing breaths before I square my shoulders, turn, and leave the bathroom.

  He’s just inside the door in the living room, talking to Millie. Tonight, he’s in black jeans and a black T-shirt, and he’s not shaved the five o’clock shadow he starts to get at the end of each day. When he hears me coming, he turns my way. I had a mental debate about what to wear tonight, and in the end, the knowledge that I’m going out with my co-workers trumped any desire I had to wear something a little dressier. Thus, I’m dressed relatively simply in a pair of black jeans that are tight but not “oh my God, why is that girl showing us her business?” tight, a pale-pink off-the-shoulder top that tucks into the jeans, and my new favorite pair of black wedges. So, stylish, but not club. The way Tyler’s eyes sweep over me from head to toe has me pretty sure that in his opinion I look good.