Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
"Unit 232 to dispatch," I say, keying up my mic.
"Go ahead," she sighs.
"Show me out at 2475 Broadway doing a property check." I swipe my badge and slip through the door before she can respond, only to stop midstep, staring in shock. She's standing at her console, a shirt in her hands, her luscious tits practically spilling out of the cups of her bra, as she frantically tries to pull the shirt on over her head.
"Oh my god!" she cries, spinning away from me, her cheeks blazing red. "Don't look!"
"Don't look? Baby, there isn't a chance in hell that I'm missing this show," I growl, my dick pressing against my zipper so hard I already know I'm going to have permanent imprints from the fucking thing. "Jesus Christ, princess. Why are you naked in dispatch?"
"I'm not naked," she growls, frantically shoving her arms through the sleeves, only to have to yank one out and try again. "I'm half naked. Will you please stop staring?"
"Uh, fuck no." I grin, palming my cock. "You took those pretty tits out. I'm looking. Sue me."
"You weren't here when I took my shirt off, Easton." She finally manages to get it on again and slaps her hair out of her face, spinning to scowl at me. "Why are you here?"
"Why are you half-naked?"
"I spilled coffee," she mumbles.
I stroke my chin, hiding a smile. Of course she spilled her coffee again. Every damn time I come in here, she's spilled it somewhere. I need to get her an adult sippy cup.
"I came to see you," I murmur, striding forward so the door swings closed behind me. "Didn't realize I was getting a whole goddamn show, but you won't see me complaining."
"Easton." She pinches the bridge of her nose, dropping back down into her chair. "Don't make me murder you. Dillon's too old to help me hide your body."
I grin, pulling up a chair beside her. "You know he's paying for our wedding, right?"
She whips around to face me so fast I'm surprised she doesn't injure herself. "What?"
"He said if you agree to marry me, he's paying. I think we should invite the whole goddamn town." I reach out, running my fingertips down her arm. She yanks it away, but not before I see her shiver. "Make him think twice about doubting us next time, princess."
"He doesn't doubt me. He loves me. He doubts you." She bats her lashes at me, pretending she's innocent. "I wonder why."
"Because you're merciless," I murmur, not even kidding. Apparently, it's the right thing to say because she smiles at me, amusement glinting in her eyes. "You've got me acting like a goddamn teenager, willing to go to any length to convince the head cheerleader to go to prom with him."
"Now I know you're full of it." She rolls her eyes. "You probably dated the head cheerleader. I never ever made the squad."
"You tried out?" My lips twitch. She's gorgeous enough, but I don't think she has the coordination to cheerlead. She can't even hang onto a damn coffee mug an entire shift.
"Maybe once," she grumbles. "Apparently, you have to be the exact opposite of me to cheer at football games."
My eyes narrow, something…protective…shifting through me. "The exact opposite of you? What the hell does that mean?"
"Skinny, peppy, and coordinated," she says, ticking each item off on her fingers. "I'm none of those things."
"Uh, hold the fuck on. What's wrong with your body?" I look her up and down, not seeing a goddamn thing wrong with it. She's soft everywhere, but strong, too. Her thick thighs and little belly are sexy as hell. Quite frankly, I've jerked my cock raw thinking about both. And now that I've seen said belly up close and personal, my hand will be doing double duty, imagining my cum all over said belly.
"We're not talking about my body, Easton," she says softly, and then pauses when Michaelson keys up on the radio and mine immediately squeals.
"Shit. Sorry." I flip the button to shut mine off, killing the feedback as he gives her a whole fucking dissertation instead of just checking busy for the remainder of his shift. I swear to God, he loves to hear himself on the radio.
"That man loves to hear himself talk," she mumbles once she marks him busy for the rest of his shift. "Every time he keys up, he gives me an entire freaking book."
I smile, amused. "Cute, but changing the subject isn't going to work. We're not talking about Michaelson. We're talking about you."
"I already told you that we aren't talking about my body."
"No, we're talking about why you think your body is a problem." I hook my foot around the bottom of her chair, spinning it to face me. Her knee bumps mine and she scowls. But not before I see her pupils dilate. "Talk, princess."