Page 30 of Snatched

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I pocket her badge.

Damien watches me walk toward the back like I’m violating ten different commandments.

“You’re not seriously?—”

“I’ll lock up on Saturday morning,” I say flatly. “Switch shifts with me if you need something to feel powerful.”

He scowls.

I don’t care.

I head to the locker room, peel off my shirt, splash water on my face.

My reflection looks back at me: hair messy, jaw tight, eyes energized in a way I haven’t seen in years.

I grab my backpack. What does a guy even wear to a date these days?

I check the clothes I have with me. I have one good button-down.

One pair of dark jeans.

The real coat that I bought with the last of my player salary.

Decent boots.

I’m not going to her date.

I tell myself that over and over.

Just dropping off her badge.

Doing a solid.

It’s professional courtesy.

Sure, buddy.

Whatever helps me sleep.

But the truth is buzzing in my chest like a flashing neon sign:

I want to see her again.

Just for a moment.

Just long enough to hand her the badge and hear her say my name.

I zip up my bag.

Vestry Bar at 7:30.

Professional? Well. I’m off the clock now, aren’t I? And not that I give a damn what Damien has to say, but Idoneed my job.

I shouldn’t be this excited to see her in a bar.

But God help me?

I am.

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