I'd Rather Not (KPD Motorcycle Patrol 3)

“Look how that works,” I said as I drove out of the parking lot and back toward where he’d left his motorcycle. “You just ignore him, and he can’t talk to you.”

Pace rolled his eyes.

“Man’s showing up fucking everywhere I’m at lately,” he said. “Subway. Sonic. I’m sure he’ll find a way to drive past our place a few times on the way home, too.”

I thought about telling him that I’d also seen him quite a few times as well, but I decided that maybe it would be better to keep that to myself. He already didn’t look happy to have Jackson following him. I knew he’d lose his shit if he realized that Jackson was following me, too.

“Maybe you should just try to ignore him,” I suggested. “Or lodge a complaint against him.”

“I’m not doing that,” he said as he eyed the motorcycle. “I’m hot as fuck, too. Does it feel hot to you?”

I had the top off on the Jeep, as well as the doors. It was hot, but at stoplights when there was no wind in my hair, I also had the air conditioning going full blast.

“Go back to work, Pace,” I teased. “I’ll cool you off in just a couple more hours.”

Pace’s eyes went hot. “Yeah?”

I grinned wickedly. “Oh, yeah.”

***

I walked up to the front door of Pace’s house with my eyes on the ground, and not on what was going on in front of me.

Had I looked up beforehand, I might’ve been able to leave without talking to the two women that were on Pace’s front porch.

But I didn’t notice them. Not until I was inserting the passcode into the lock and looked over to find them both standing there.

“Umm,” I said, thinking that they looked a little rough around the edges. “Can I help you?”

Who were they?

The older of the two women narrowed her eyes. “You tell me. You’re walking into my son’s house like you own the place. Who are you?”Chapter 16Dove chocolate tastes way better than their soap.

-Text from Oakley to Pace

Pace

I got off my bike and sat there for a long moment, head hung, wondering what in the hell that I was going to do about Jackson.

He’d made it a point to show up almost every place that I did today while on shift, then second-guessed almost every decision I made.

Hell, the last call that Justice and I had stopped at, he’d rolled to a stop behind our bikes and got out, walking up to us and staring over our shoulders as we’d conducted the traffic stop.

He’d even corrected me once when I was handing the ticket to the driver, saying that he wouldn’t have given a ticket for nine over on ‘this particular road.’

Thinking that I might need to lodge a complaint on him after all, I swung off the bike and frowned when I looked up to find the front door not only closed, but the shades pulled as well.

That was odd for Oakley.

Plus, normally she met me at the door.

Thinking something might be wrong, I began to hurry up my front walk, only to come to an abrupt halt when two lumps on the front porch came into view.

I didn’t need them to sit up from their sprawl in the sun to know who they were.

My mother and sister.

“What are y’all doing here?” I growled.

Now I was angry.

As if this day couldn’t be worse, now they had to show up? No wonder my blinds were pulled and Oakley hadn’t met me out here.

My mother, in her string bikini, sat up.

I tried not to let my gaze fall below her neck.

My mom didn’t care about propriety. She also didn’t care that she looked like an extra out of ‘People of Walmart.’ She only cared about herself and possibly my sister at times.

“We’re out here because your new girl wouldn’t allow us inside,” my mother snarked. “Even though we asked her politely.”

Thank God.

“Y’all should leave,” I suggested as I continued up the front walk.

My mother stood up, and I was forced to take her in fully.

She had on a pair of daisy duke shorts that were so short they looked indecent, and a string bikini top that did a piss poor job of holding her clearly aging boobs in check.

My sister hadn’t fared much better, which was something that I noticed when she stood up as well.

She’d gained weight since the last time I saw her, but she was still wearing the same sized clothes. Now, instead of her belly being contained in the pink baby doll t-shirt, it was bulging out. Her shirt was also about two inches too short.

They looked gross, and I was embarrassed that Oakley had seen them like that.

“We’re not going anywhere,” my mother declared boldly.

I was in a piss poor mood and decided that I didn’t really care.