What If

I take a breath and look back down at the words on the pages, but they no longer make any sense.

It’s more than how she’s making me hard. There’s an energy surrounding her. My gut doesn’t lie, and she’s more than what meets the eye. There’s a depth to her that I want to spend the rest of my days swimming to find the bottom.

When I blink, I still see her like when you look at the sun. There’s a halo of golden curls, full pink cupid’s cheeks, and turquoise blue eyes shimmer and glow.

When I looked up, she was staring at me and it felt like I knew her.

As quickly as our eyes connected, the douche bag who’s been sitting in the corner on his phone for a half hour came out of the hall where the shitters are and waved her over. He’s already on his fourth drink and hell if she looks like she belongs with a twink like him.

She doesn’t. She belongs with me.

A flash of what I hope is disappointment crossed her face as she turned to step in his direction.

The bar has been attracting new customers lately, due to a big mortgage company investing in the area. They moved their suburban offices to a building just around the corner and although I’m happy the area is getting an influx of investment; this bar is mainly where cops like to come and be with their own without the worry of dealing with more of the same as we do on the job. It’s a sanctuary, if only for a few hours.

For the next thirty minutes, it’s all I can do to stay in my seat. The guy she’s with orders another round of drinks, two for him and what looks like a Shirley Temple for her.

Her body language tells me she is not relaxing into the moment and I want to go drag her from the table and into the back room. As I sit and watch, she has pressed her fingers to her forehead and rubbed three times already.

I steal looks as the barbaric thoughts of what I’d like to do to her play over and over in my head. She looks so uncomfortable and it’s beginning to irrationally piss me off. The fuck she’s with is looking at his phone while she’s talking. Occasionally, he looks up and leans back in his chair, smiling at her like she’s there for his amusement.

Fuck if she is. She deserves better.

Another fifteen painful minutes later, she reaches into her purse and pulls out her ringing phone, excusing herself from the table and stepping into the back hallway toward the restrooms.

The muscles in my back tighten at having her out of my sight for even a minute. I watch the douche toss back two more shots and shift his chair around the table closer to hers.

Rage swells in my belly, imagining him even thinking of touching her.

“Hey.” A gruff voice over my left shoulder spins me around. “Sorry I’m late. Paperwork.”

Gerald Denton, another detective in my precinct, pulls out a chair and plops down.

“It’s okay,” I mutter back, spinning my body back around to glare at the hallway where she has yet to re-emerge.

“You get that Reynold’s case closed up?” Gerald waves for Sandra, the bartender, who is already walking our way with his Crown and Coke.

“Yup,” I answer, distracted, barely acknowledging my buddy.

“You need anything?” Sandra leans over farther than necessary on my side of the table, showing me her surgically enhanced cleavage. “Anything at all?”

I shake my head and strain to look around her. “I’m good.”

“How come you never ask me that, Sandy?” Gerald leans back in his chair, taking a sip of the caramel colored liquid and unbuttoning his suit jacket as he gives Sandra a good-natured smile.

“Just not lucky, I guess.”

She shifts around to stand right in front of me, blocking my view, and I push my chair back, trying to make sure I can see the hallway back to the restrooms as well as keep an eye on the fuck at the table. I’ve never had anything going with Sandra, but she takes every opportunity to let me know she’s available if I change my mind.

I wasn’t interested before, but now? After seeing what just walked through that door and into my heart, there’s no one that could compete with what I’m feeling right now.

I can’t stay still; I feel like I need to be up and ready. My skin prickles and there’s a tug deep in my gut toward the back hall.

She needs me.

I can feel it.

“What’s up, man?” Gerald picks up on my intense stare as Sandra takes the hint and on a huff heads back behind the bar. Putting down his drink, he sets his chair back on all four legs, looking around, trying to see what it is that has me hinky.