I'd Rather Not (KPD Motorcycle Patrol 3)

I felt my heart constrict at the sincerity in his tone.

“Do you ever wear shorts?” I wondered, smoothing my hand up and down the length of his thigh.

Through the uniform pants that he had on, I couldn’t feel much of anything. They were too stiff and tight, leaving me unable to feel any of his imperfections.

If he had any imperfections at all, that was.

Oftentimes, we were always the hardest on ourselves.

For instance, I looked in the mirror and saw a sallow, gaunt girl that could use some vitamin D and a cookie.

But it never failed that someone would call me beautiful that day—though it mostly always was my mom.

Maybe I should take that with a grain of salt.

“Yeah,” he said. “I have no problem showing my body. I just haven’t had a woman close enough to inspect it yet…or touch me.”

I laid my head against his shoulder in silence and contemplated what he’d just said.

If I was the first woman to touch him like that, did that mean that he hadn’t done other things—more intimate things—either?

Two minutes later, when our salads arrived, I was sad. I didn’t want to move off of him, and I didn’t want him to drop his arm from around my body.

It was good…but leaning my head against Pace’s muscular bicep was better.

Reluctantly, I moved away and went to my salad that I didn’t even want any longer.

I picked up the fork and began eating little nibbles of it when a laugh from the table two over from us caught my attention.

That was when I looked over and saw Sergeant Jackson, the asshole who’d once been Pace’s superior, sitting at the table with his wife.

His wife that was clearly not as entertained by something Jackson had just said as he was.

She also looked like a scared little mouse. One that would rather be anywhere than where she was.

“She looks freaked,” I whispered so that only Pace could hear.

“I’ve heard a lot of talk about Jackson’s wife,” he murmured back. “That he treats her like a precious jewel. Hides her away and brings her out only for special occasions. I’ve seen her one other time before today, she looked ten times better. Though, the time that I saw her was without him. She was hustling out of the police station, looking around as if she was trying to escape without being seen. We ran into each other on the steps. I lost my balance and went ass over tea kettle down the stairs. She freaked out and started crying. I ended up hugging her to tell her that everything was okay, to try to get her to stop crying. That was when Jackson showed and flipped his lid.”

I made a worried sound in my throat.

“Do you think he’s abusive?” I whispered.

That was when Jackson looked over and spied us both staring.

“Shit,” Pace said as he turned back to his salad. “Goddammit.”

I felt my belly clench when Jackson noisily pushed his chair back and stalked toward us.

“What are you looking at?” Jackson snarled.

“Nothing,” Pace answered slightly distractedly, pretending to be completely enraptured with his salad.

I took his lead and continued to eat as well, trying not to make it seem like my heart was hammering out of my chest at Jackson’s closeness.

Or the forceful boom of his voice as he demanded to know what it was that we were staring at.

“Didn’t look like nothing,” Jackson snapped. “It looked like you were watching my wife.”

“I wasn’t watching your wife,” Pace said between bites. “I was looking over because you have a really loud laugh. I have a very beautiful woman in the seat next to me. Why would I look at your wife?”

This time, hearing someone besides my mother say that I was beautiful really made me feel a whole hell of a lot different. Pure bliss rolled through me at hearing his words.

“How’s your new department, Vineyard? Like it better yet?” he asked.

“Yep,” he agreed. “Lots less stressful.”

I would’ve laughed had Jackson not been standing there.

Pace hadn’t even officially started yet.

He’d be doing that Monday. Yet, I guess technically, this new job couldn’t be anything but less stressful. Hell, even having Jackson standing there looking at us was giving me heart palpitations.

“Errrrm,” our waitress said from directly behind Jackson. “Excuse me.”

That was when Jackson whirled around.

I saw the intent in his eyes before it’d even happened.

He deliberately took a step toward the woman, knocking the tray she was holding with his shoulder.

Our food teetered for a few long seconds, and then went down in a mess of food and broken plates.

“Oh, shoot.” Jackson shot us a glare. “I’m sorry about that.”

The waitress looked flustered but waved him off. “It’s okay. I’ll just get this cleaned up.”

Jackson returned his attention to us for a few long seconds. “Enjoy your meal.”