Fireball (Cheap Thrills 1)

“Hey,” the sheriff called over my shoulder getting her attention. “Watch your brother. I already told you, and I won’t tell you again. Eyes on him because his safety is your responsibility while your mom’s in the bathroom.”

We both walked out with the sound of the boy’s laughter following us. “Oh, you got told. I like him. I’m gonna be a sheriff when I grow up, one with tattoos.”

Glancing at his arms again, I lamented the fact he didn’t have any once more. As we reached the elevators, he leaned over to press the button and then revealed that he had a superpower. A scary superpower. “I’ve got tattoos, I just don’t have any on my forearms. When I joined, we weren’t allowed any visible ones, so all mine stop where my shirt sleeves do.”

I dare any woman to say they wouldn’t have automatically tried to see through the material. If they said they wouldn’t have, they’d be lying. Just like they’d be lying if they said they hadn’t already done the discrete eye skim over the crotch bulge in his pants to see if they could figure out a measurement. Just saying, I’d done it on many occasions, and I’d also searched to see if there was a rule of thumb that said what a guy’s erect length would be if their soft one was what his was. Sadly, we either hadn’t done that study, or men were being bashful and didn’t want to scare women off by divulging the answers. I guess we’d either be disappointed, scared, or ecstatic.

Taking my mind off his dick because I’d done the quick dick check too many times for it to stay unnoticed by that point, I asked, “What have you got tattooed?”

The doors opened, and we both stepped in at the same time. “A piece of Japanese art that my grandad brought back with him after he was stationed there with roses either side.” His lips twitched as he said the last bit, and I rolled my eyes understanding why. “Yeah, we have that in common. Mine are black and gray too.”

“It looks better, you can see the details on the petals more.”

“Agreed. I also have a Latin word down here,” he pointed from his collarbone to his pec. “Resurgam.”

I’d heard a lot of the more common Latin phrases, and I’d come across quite a few in the art I’d studied, but this one was new to me. “What does it mean?”

“I will rise again.”

He didn’t give me any more than that, and I was stopped from asking him more questions about it when the doors opened and we came face to face with a guy who was standing on the other side, tattooed arms crossed over his chest.

“There you are. Where’d you go?” he asked, making me look behind us to see if he was talking to someone else.

“Tabby hurt her hand while her sister was having the baby, so she was in the ER getting it checked,” the sheriff told him. “Did you follow me here?”

A big grin split over the man’s face making me draw in a sharp breath. Dude was hot. Not as hot as the big bad po-po man beside me, but not far from it. “Of course.” Tilting his head slightly and focusing the full force of that beam on me, he held out a hand. “Ellis Beauregard,” he introduced, “and you must be Tabitha.”

“Other hand, dick wad,” the sheriff snapped as we walked down the hallway. “Just told you she fucked her hand up.”

“Oops,” he murmured, giving me a small smile and twisting so that he was now walking backwards in front of me. This move gave him space to hold his left hand out to shake mine without us twisting our hands across our bodies.

Shaking it was awkward with the wrong hand, but I managed it. “That’s right. And we’re on my way to see my sister Jose, and my new little… wait, what did she have?”

I was the worst. I didn’t even know if she’d had a girl or boy because of my crushed hand. Granted that wasn’t my fault, but I probably should have texted Jose, or even asked the big bad sheriff.

“I’m not allowed to tell you,” he told me, stopping at a door and holding his hand out for me to walk in ahead of him. “She swore me to secrecy.”

I was distracted from answering him back as I walked in when I saw Jose lying on the bed with a tiny little bundle in her arms. For a second I was impressed by how pretty she looked, and not at all like the woman who’d almost broken my hand hours earlier as she squeezed a baby out of her vagina. But then the little bundle made a squeaky noise, and that was it for me.