I'd Rather Not (KPD Motorcycle Patrol 3)

I loved the way her eyes were lit up as she listened to me explain the story.

I loved even more when she said, “Did you kick his ass?”

I grinned. “He and the other instructor had planned this. They wanted to show that it wasn’t ‘safe’ for us out there and to be always aware of our surroundings. So when I was busy thinking about the fucker that’d tackled me, his partner came up and sat on my chest, using his knee to cut off my air supply. And I got pissed.”

“Oh, no,” she said.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I managed to pull my prosthetics off, leaving the first instructor sitting there confused still holding onto my legs. The other one I hooked around the neck with my thigh and I yanked him off of me. Seconds later, I had the instructor’s duty weapon, him pinned underneath me, and I was aiming it at that fucker Sergeant Jackson while I cut off the oxygen supply to the second instructor.”

She burst out laughing. “And that’s why Sergeant Jackson hates you.”

I nodded. “That’s exactly why Sergeant Jackson hates me. He looks at me and sees the kid who bested him in a fight in front of about thirty other recruits. Needless to say, I’m not his favorite person.”

“What happened after that?” she asked.

“The second instructor’s name was Rob. He was just a teacher at the academy. Retired police officer. He was impressed with my ingenuity. Sergeant Jackson tried to get me fired—A, because I aimed a weapon at him. B, because I lied about my legs. Before I had to get my lawyers involved, though, the chief—Luke Roberts—took care of everything. Sadly for me, taking care of everything also put me right under Sergeant Jackson’s nose. I’m not sure if Luke was trying to get me to quit or what, but I’m sticking it out for better or for worse now. I have too much to prove,” I explained.

She was shaking her head. “I didn’t get the vibe that Luke Roberts disliked you. So more than likely, the department had an opening under Jackson’s command. Luke put you where he needed you.”

That was the vibe I got as well.

“Sergeant Jackson isn’t my favorite person. And I’m definitely not his,” I said as I stood up. “Do you want some of this lasagna now? You’re looking better.”

I looked to the empty Sprite glass next to her and gestured to that as well with a raised eyebrow.

She picked up the glass and handed it to me. “Anything but Sprite this time, please. It reminds me of the hospital.”

I laughed. “And the lasagna?”

She nodded her head. “It smelled pretty good until my mother’s driving caused me to nearly throw up.”

Grinning, I went to the kitchen and scooped us both up a piece of lasagna, mine about twice the size of hers.

I came back with two bottles of Dr. Pepper.

“I don’t usually eat this bad,” I said. “Or drink carbonated beverages. But I’ve been having a hard time telling myself no when I feel like shit.”

She frowned when she looked at me. “You don’t look like you feel like shit. I’m sorr—”

I held up my hand and stilled her apology. “Don’t apologize. I’m not that bad. I just like to have any and every excuse I can find to eat bad. I’m a closet junk food junky.”

She smiled.

“You don’t look like it,” she observed.

I patted my belly, right above my new scar.

“Give it a few months of eating like this,” I said. “And I won’t even have a hint of a six-pack.”

She rolled her eyes. “Give you a month and a half and you’ll be back to running eight miles and doing three hundred push-ups.”

My brows rose. “How did you know that was something that I did?”

Oakley’s cheeks heated. “I asked around about you. I found out you’re that ‘guy that runs around without his shirt on and has all the tattoos.’”

I grinned. “Yeah, that’s me. Kilgore’s pretty small in runner’s terms. I hit the main road a lot since it’s easier than fighting school traffic, pedestrians, and multiple red lights.”

She smiled and took a large bite of the lasagna, moaning slightly.

I felt my dick harden.

Fuck.

I took a pillow off the couch and put it over my lap, then put my plate on top of it so she didn’t think anything about it.

Sadly, I was wearing a pair of sweatpants and they left very little to the imagination.

“When I’m better,” she said softly. “I’m going to start running. I’m going to start seriously eating right, and I’m going to try to be as healthy as I can be. I don’t want to risk this new kidney you gave me because I was too lazy to treat it right. My doctor said the healthier I can get, the healthier the kidney will be. Possibly the longer that it’ll last for me.”