Page 19 of Cuffed (Everyday Heroes 1)
And fighting is what I’m doing.
The sirens come out of nowhere. Blue and red lights flash to tell me my fun—my reprieve—has been compromised and is about to be shut down.
“Shit.” I pound a fist against the wheel, knowing this will be my second ticket in six months. The monetary fine. Points on my driving record. The increase in my insurance. All the consequences ghost through my mind as I pull to a stop and wait for Officer Asshole to walk up to the driver side and read me the riot act. I may even pull up the hem of my shorts some so when he’s met with an eyeful of tanned and toned thighs, he might be distracted.
It’s worth a shot.
“License and registration, please.”
I look up to the gravelly voice standing outside my window and am met with my own reflection in his mirrored lenses. “Hi, Officer. How is your day going?” I’ll try sweet-talking. I’m not good at it, but at least I’m not going down without a fight.
“License and registration, please, ma’am.”
“What seems to be the problem?”
“How about going ninety in a fifty mile an hour zone.”
“Oh. Was I really going that fast?” I feign innocence.
“Are you in a hurry?” I stare at him doe-eyed, unable to make my synapses fire so I can come up with some kind of brilliant excuse. “That’s considered reckless driving. Endangerment of others. Should I go on?”
With each offense my eyes are seeing dollar signs that my wallet doesn’t have.
The radio handset strapped to his shoulder sparks to life, and he responds in some kind of code that sounds like a foreign language. “No, Officer. The thing is I left my house in a hurry—”
“I think we’ve established that fact.”
I look in my rearview mirror as another police car pulls up behind his, and my palms grow sweaty. Am I that dangerous that they need two units to handle this call?
“Anyway, like I was saying, I left in such a hurry that I didn’t grab my wallet. I don’t have my license.”
He angles his head, and even though I can’t see his eyes behind the lenses, I can feel them dressing me down. “Then your registration?”
“This isn’t exactly my car.” I hear the door of the second unit shut behind us.
And the award for Flake of the Year, ladies and gentlemen, goes to Emerson Reeves.
“Whose car is it then?”
“Blue Skies—the company I work for.”
“Do you need any help, Off—Emerson?”
That voice. His voice has my whole body wanting to seize up and melt at the same time.
“You know this woman?” Officer Asshole says as I look to where Grant stands in his dark blue uniform with the setting sun at his back.
“I do.”
“You want to handle this call?”
“Sure,” Grant says, and after how things went between us the last time I saw him, I’m not sure if I’m relieved or worried.
“Thanks. You’ll be saving me from John’s wrath, coming home late from shift again.”
“Husbands,” Grant plays along and shrugs.
“Exactly.” He lifts his chin toward the back of the car, and the two men step back there for a few minutes. They speak in hushed tones, before Grant steps toward me and the other officer climbs into his car.
