Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
"You already rescued me."
"Yeah, but they don't know that." His eyes glint with humor. "All you gotta do is lock that door again and waltz your ass over to my place. They'll never know the difference."
"Detective Noah Kirk, are you suggesting that I lie to my coworkers?" I pretend to be horrified, but I can't hide the smile stretching across my face.
"Uh, fuck yeah. No one should have to spend a Friday night talking about work."
I tap my bottom lip, pretending to think about it, and then reach for the lock on the door, flipping it. I step out onto the porch with Noah, closing the door behind me.
"Uh…did you get your keys again, sweetness?"
"Nope." I grin at him. "Now it won't be a lie. You have to rescue me again."
"Shit." The look on his face does not bode well.
"What?"
"I locked the window."
"You didn't!" But even as I say it…I already know he did. I see it written all over his face.
"I did."
"Noah!" I cry, staring at him in shock. "Now I'm really locked out."
"You did it to yourself, Dimples," he reminds me, like that helps.
Spoiler Alert: It doesn't.
"Oh my god." I press my palms to my cheeks, staring at him with wide eyes.
He just throws his head back and laughs. And dammit all, but I can't help but laugh with him. Of course I locked myself out for real again. Of course I did.
Chapter Four
Noah
"What's your favorite thing about Chicago?" Elsie asks, her feet tucked up underneath her on my sofa while she pokes through her bowl of stir-fry, looking for any mushrooms she left behind. The bottom of her dress is pulled up so high on her thighs I can damn near see her panties.
I'm not telling her that I can see them, though. Fuck that noise. If she wants to flash them at me, I'm not going to complain. I'm dying to know what she's wearing beneath that pretty black dress.
I was jealous as hell when she told me she had plans tonight. I've spent the last week and a half obsessing over her…mad as hell that Jackson and I were chasing a homicide suspect through Chicago when I'd have rather been right here, getting to know every little thing about her. There's no way I was letting her go out tonight. Thank God I didn't have to resort to drastic measures like handcuffing myself to her.
I was seriously considering the option until she admitted she didn't even want to go. The problem solved itself at that point. She's been stuck here for the last hour and a half, waiting on a locksmith.
"Easy. The answer is obviously sports," I murmur. "We have hockey. We have basketball. We have football. What's not to love?"
Elsie grins at me. "So what you're saying is you like sportsball."
"Dimples, there isn't a man in this city who doesn't like sportsball." I chuckle. "What's your favorite thing about Texas?"
"The people," she says, her voice soft. "They can be stubborn as hell and set in their ways. Neighbors may not even like each other most of the time, but when it counts, they show up for one another."
"You sound like you speak from experience," I observe.
"Maybe a little. My dad got sick when I was in fifth grade. Cancer," she whispers. "The whole community pitched in to help make sure we didn't lose the house and had meals while he was getting treatment. He died when I was in the sixth grade. My mom was able to take the last few months off to be there…" She trails off, swallowing. "Well, she got to spend every minute with him right up until the end."
"Damn, Dimples," I whisper, my heart aching for her. "I'm sorry you lost him."
"Me too," she says simply, and then a sweet smile twists at her lips. "He was an amazing dad. My mom got remarried when I was fourteen. My stepdad is pretty great, too."
"Do you have siblings?"
"I'm an only. You?"
"One brother."
"Is he a cop too?"
"He plays hockey, actually."
"Ah." Her face lights up. "No wonder you like sports!"
I chuckle quietly. "We both played through college, but it was just a hobby for me. He was really fucking good, though. No one was surprised when he was drafted."
"Where does he play?"
"Right here in Chicago."
"I bet you love that."
"It doesn't suck," I agree, setting my empty bowl on the table to grab my beer. "Especially when I need a favor at work. All it takes is a couple of tickets, and I'm golden."
Her bright laughter spills across the living room, turning my cock to steel again. Christ Almighty, that sound is like a fucking choir of angels.
"How was your first week of work? Are the kids little assholes?"
"No!" she protests, and then those dimples pop out again, mischief dancing in her eyes. "Maybe a little. They're very opinionated, and they speak a language I do not understand. I need a translator just to make sense of half the shit they say." She looks at me with wide eyes. "I never considered myself old until some kid told me that my outfit was giving mid vibes yesterday, and the class had to explain what that even meant. And now, I'm apparently cheugy."