“Argh!” she groans and quickly leans away from me. “I did not!”
“Um, you yelling out for me to do it harder last night begs to differ. Especially when I started to put my thumb in your—" I try to say, but she raises the glass of orange juice at me.
“I’ll break this and cut your throat if you finish that sentence, James,” she says quietly.
It’s the quiet way she says those words that lets me know I should back down for now.
But she really did like having her backdoor played with. Almost as much as she liked it when I swatted those asscheeks to watch them jiggle.
“Anyway, Tylenol is safe for you,” I say and move over to the cabinet above the kitchen sink.
“Just give me the pills and let me drink my coffee,” she grumbles, and yet again her cheeks are blushing.
Is it because of the reminder of last night? Or because she knows deep down she’s fucking knocked up?
Giving her two tablets, I refocus on the omelets and bacon. “Do you want toast?”
“No, just coffee,” she says.
“Not going to happen, you need to eat. You’ve gone too many days without eating,” I say and continue to work at the stove.
Sophia slams the coffee cup she’s been holding down. “You can’t fucking control me like this, James.”
“Beth,” I say with a chuckle.
“What?” she snaps.
“I’ll tell Beth,” I say with a small shrug of my shoulders.
If she wants to be a brat, I’ll tell on her.
“Fucking tattletale,” I hear her murmur.
“For your benefit, yes. Otherwise I keep everything between us,” I say.
Mincing the garlic, chopping the tomatoes and small flecks of onions, I grin at how good this is going to taste. Bacon will be the perfect side, especially with some fresh fruit.
My world slowly dissolves into creating a breakfast for Sophia that I know will cement her even further to my side. Like I said, if I can’t fuck her into loving me, I’ll feed her into it.
Handing her the plates as I finish them, I make sure to hand it over in an order that I think will be most pleasing to the palette. Omelet first, bacon right in the middle of it, then the fruit as a refreshing desert.
Savory, salty, sweet.
Just like sex.
13
James
Sitting on the couch in the living room with Sophia beside me watching some show on TV, I lean back from the laptop I’ve been plugging at for the last three hours. My eyes are starting to blur and my head feels tight, like it’s got too much information to separate.
“Sophia?” I ask during a commercial break.
“Hmm? And no, blow jobs are not on the table either,” she says, distracted as she strokes Mitzy’s head.
Ignoring her rebuff of any type of sex, I ask, “When a TO requests for their training cadet to be removed, does that cadet get drum rolled out of the police program? Or is there a way for the cadet to move to a different TO?”
“They usually move them to a different TO if possible. Or put them in a holding pattern, unless it’s for disciplinary reasons… Wait, why do you ask?”
“How well do you know TO Dickers?” I ask.
Her attention is fully on me now.
Moving Fluffers and Mitzy from her lap, there’s a strange look on her face. “My dad didn’t like him at all.”
“Why?”
“Because he was always on the wrong side of an argument. I don’t really know how to describe it, but he’s… Dad didn’t like him. Something about him always rubbed him the wrong way. But since Dickers had connections above Dad, he couldn’t do anything,” she says then looks to my lap and the laptop I have sitting on it. “What are you doing?”
“Looking at Dickers’s records and his evaluations on some of his trainees,” I say and turn the laptop so that she can see what I’m looking at.
“How in the world did… I don’t even… Why are you looking into him?” she asks, and I can see in her eyes those wheels are turning.
“Because he’s got a hard-on for me and you right now, and honestly he shouldn’t. Something about him and doucheboy are bothering me,” I say and pull up the file I was just looking at.
“Look at this guy, Patrolman Davis. He was assigned to Dickers and within three weeks of working with the guy, Dickers filed three different conduct reports. Each one was specifying a lack of discipline or inability to take directions,” I say.
Pulling up another file, I show her other reviews of the Patrolman. “But his academy files show this guy was top of his class. He had the makings of moving upwards in the bureaucracy and he had very high psychological evaluations.”
“That’s not always trustworthy though. Dad always said you never know who’ll make a good cop until they come face to face with the real world,” she explains. “But what happened to this guy?”