by Dani Wyatt
Besides being a hangout for cops, Lucky Charlie’s only other claim to fame is the damn food. They don’t have a menu, but every day they have a full home cooked meal that tastes straight out of a southern kitchen. Two generations of Bertha Henry’s family have cooked here and for many of us, it’s the only good meal we get in a day. Today, it’s fried chicken with mashed potatoes, corn bread, black-eyed peas, fried okra and rhubarb cherry pie for dessert.
Besides that, the lighting is shitty, but the bathrooms are clean, and no one bothers me, so this is where I sit three to four evenings a week.
Today, everything feels different.
The girl who just walked through that door brought a light inside that has my dick instantly hard and my heart about to beat through my chest wall. Normally, I sit here after a shift, eat a damn good meal and read. I know it doesn’t fit the stereotype for a Detroit detective, but my mom was an author and her love of literature rubbed off on me. I’m working my way through all the classics she collected over a lifetime and it makes me feel like she’s still with me in a small way.
But right now, Daisy and Gatsby are all but forgotten on the table in front of me.
There’s an ache below my belt that is new. It’s as though my heart and my cock have finally come together in some sort of long sought-after merger.
I’ve seen lots of pretty girls in my life.
Dated some of them.
But this girl? I feel like I just got smacked with a two by four.
The light from the fixture hanging above her casts shadows over a figure that is a work of fucking art. She’s the definition of Rubenesque; curves and soft turns, plush hips and fucking tits that I could bury my face between and never come out.
I take a breath and look back down at the words on the pages, but they no longer make any sense.
It’s more than how she’s making me hard. There’s an energy surrounding her. My gut doesn’t lie, and she’s more than what meets the eye. There’s a depth to her that I want to spend the rest of my days swimming to find the bottom.
When I blink, I still see her like when you look at the sun. There’s a halo of golden curls, full pink cupid’s cheeks, and turquoise blue eyes shimmer and glow.
When I looked up, she was staring at me and it felt like I knew her.
As quickly as our eyes connected, the douche bag who’s been sitting in the corner on his phone for a half hour came out of the hall where the shitters are and waved her over. He’s already on his fourth drink and hell if she looks like she belongs with a twink like him.
She doesn’t. She belongs with me.
A flash of what I hope is disappointment crossed her face as she turned to step in his direction.
The bar has been attracting new customers lately, due to a big mortgage company investing in the area. They moved their suburban offices to a building just around the corner and although I’m happy the area is getting an influx of investment; this bar is mainly where cops like to come and be with their own without the worry of dealing with more of the same as we do on the job. It’s a sanctuary, if only for a few hours.
For the next thirty minutes, it’s all I can do to stay in my seat. The guy she’s with orders another round of drinks, two for him and what looks like a Shirley Temple for her.
Her body language tells me she is not relaxing into the moment and I want to go drag her from the table and into the back room. As I sit and watch, she has pressed her fingers to her forehead and rubbed three times already.
I steal looks as the barbaric thoughts of what I’d like to do to her play over and over in my head. She looks so uncomfortable and it’s beginning to irrationally piss me off. The fuck she’s with is looking at his phone while she’s talking. Occasionally, he looks up and leans back in his chair, smiling at her like she’s there for his amusement.
Fuck if she is. She deserves better.
Another fifteen painful minutes later, she reaches into her purse and pulls out her ringing phone, excusing herself from the table and stepping into the back hallway toward the restrooms.
The muscles in my back tighten at having her out of my sight for even a minute. I watch the douche toss back two more shots and shift his chair around the table closer to hers.
Rage swells in my belly, imagining him even thinking of touching her.
“Hey.” A gruff voice over my left shoulder spins me around. “Sorry I’m late. Paperwork.”
Gerald Denton, another detective in my precinct, pulls out a chair and plops down.
“It’s okay,” I mutter back, spinning my body back around to glare at the hallway where she has yet to re-emerge.
“You get that Reynold’s case closed up?” Gerald waves for Sandra, the bartender, who is already walking our way with his Crown and Coke.
“Yup,” I answer, distracted, barely acknowledging my buddy.
“You need anything?” Sandra leans over farther than necessary on my side of the table, showing me her surgically enhanced cleavage. “Anything at all?”
I shake my head and strain to look around her. “I’m good.”
“How come you never ask me that, Sandy?” Gerald leans back in his chair, taking a sip of the caramel colored liquid and unbuttoning his suit jacket as he gives Sandra a good-natured smile.
“Just not lucky, I guess.”
She shifts around to stand right in front of me, blocking my view, and I push my chair back, trying to make sure I can see the hallway back to the restrooms as well as keep an eye on the fuck at the table. I’ve never had anything going with Sandra, but she takes every opportunity to let me know she’s available if I change my mind.
I wasn’t interested before, but now? After seeing what just walked through that door and into my heart, there’s no one that could compete with what I’m feeling right now.
I can’t stay still; I feel like I need to be up and ready. My skin prickles and there’s a tug deep in my gut toward the back hall.
She needs me.
I can feel it.
“What’s up, man?” Gerald picks up on my intense stare as Sandra takes the hint and on a huff heads back behind the bar. Putting down his drink, he sets his chair back on all four legs, looking around, trying to see what it is that has me hinky.
The front door has opened several times since she arrived. The bar stools are filling as other cops come off shift and the end of the workday has more of the new group from the mortgage company coming in.
“Nothing.” I wave him off as I see her emerging from the hallway back toward the table.
The shithead she’s with has moved his chair right next to hers and my fists ball at my sides. I take a hard sniff as every muscle in my body tenses.
If he touches her, I don’t think I’ll be able to control myself.
If he touches her, I’ll hurt him.
Chapter 3
Jessie
It’s a battle, as I come out from the restroom after my rescue call from Heather, to not look at the hunk with the book.
I just want out of here, but at the same time, I don’t.
As I turn from the hallway back into the bar, I see the monster of a man now standing looking my way, and I stumble over my own feet.
“Shit.” I mumble and right myself trying to retain some amount of my cool.
He is enormous and making zero attempt to hide the fact that he’s staring directly at me.
At me.
My stomach flips, then turns sour as I look over to see Derek has moved his chair and himself in it right next to mine.
Our painful conversation has alternated so far between a manifesto on his financial success as a mortgage banker and a flood of sexual innuendo that has gotten raunchier with every drink.
Of which he’s consumed almost four since I arrived, on top of who knows how many before I came through the door.
My skin crawls as I sidestep and slip into my chair. I grip the seat on both sides, trying to tactfully scoot it a few inches away from him.
“Glad you’re back.” He leans closer and the scent of alcohol breath makes me shiver. “I missed you.” His words are thick, and I don’t even bother to fake a polite reply.
“That was my mom,” I lie. “She’s not feeling well, I need to cut it short—”
Derek ignores me and slips a hand under the table onto my knee.
“I think we have things in common, Jessie. Jessie Patrick.”
The way he says my full name makes me cold.
“I need to—”
He cuts me off. “You’re that sweet, girl next door type with some skeletons in her closet.”
A shiver races up my spine at the thought of what he knows about me, and hoping I’m just misreading his insinuation. Either way, I’m done with this shit show and that last straw is quickly breaking the camel’s back.
I make one last attempt to remain polite. “I’m going. Sorry, I just—” He interrupts me again and what was irritation bubbles over into anger.
“Don’t go,” he slurs. “My place isn’t far from here. Come over, we can have a drink there.”
“No, thanks, I have to go.” I jerk my leg, trying to dislodge his hand.
“Come on. Do you know what most girls would give to be in your position right now?” His eyes trail down to my tits and my thoughts go to my choice of clothing. I should have opted for a turtle neck rather than a tank top because he’s done nothing but look at his phone or my cleavage since I sat down. “You’re lucky.”
He could be right. He’s the type I’m sure a lot of girls would find attractive but there’s nothing about this guy that hits any of my buttons.
“You’re an ass,” I blurt out, that last straw snapping.
Seems number twenty-eight is my limit. I’ve had it. I can’t do this anymore.
“What?” He glares, pulling his brow tighter and sliding his hand up to grab me between the legs. “I’m an ass? You’re a dumb cunt—”
Before he can finish whatever else he wanted to say, I draw back and slam a closed fist right into his stupid nose. The impact is harder than I expected, and I realize with a mix of mild horror and satisfaction that I connected with far more force than intended.
“What the…” Derek’s voice chokes and his hand flies to cover his face. “…fuck?” He’s on his feet as I knock my own chair back to stand ready for whatever comes next.
My fist is throbbing and my heart pounding, but I feel so alive. I put up my dukes like some cartoon character ready for a full on fist-to-cuffs.
Rage fills Derek’s eyes as he steps forward, and he raises an open hand. I square my shoulders and cock back, but before either of us has a chance to strike, an arm clutches around my waist and I’m off my feet, spun around then planted securely back on the floor three feet away from Derek.
“You fucking better think again.” A growly voice comes from the massive man that just plucked me from my first fight.
He steps toward Derek, who looks like a toddler next to the expanse of man that is half blocking my view.
“Fucking bitch hit me.” He looks around at the faces staring back. “This is a cop bar, any cops see—”
“I’m a fucking cop and what I saw is you assault her first. You have two choices, hit that door in the next five seconds or hit the floor when I finish what she started.”
Waves of heat hit me as his voice fills my ears. Derek shakes his head and opens his mouth to protest but before he can get a word out, my hero lifts him off his feet by the back of his child-sized suit jacket.
Another patron that was sitting with Captain Amazing as I came out of the bathroom is now holding the door open.
A second later, Derek is launched out the door and the last I see of him is a crumpled mess on the dark sidewalk out front, screaming obscenities.
“You okay?” The monster of a man turns to me and runs his hands down my hair, leaning down to lock eyes level with mine.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” It’s the truth.
It’s not because of Derek. I mean, that was intense, and I landed my first punch ever smack on target.
No, I’m fine because suddenly everything feels fine. Better than fine. Good.
Perfect.
Like I’ve just arrived on a tropical island after spending a lifetime at the North Pole.
“You’re not fine.” He reaches down and picks up my hand.
The knuckles are swelling but I don’t feel anything except the budding tension down low in my gut.
My hand looks like a child’s as he holds it flat on top of his palm, the finger of his other hand tracing over my knuckles.
“Gerry!” he shouts at the man who a moment ago held the door. “Get some ice.”
I look over to see him nod and head to the bar, stepping behind and then emerging with a white towel.
“She okay?” He looks at the mountain first, then down at me. “You okay?”
“Yes, I’m really okay.”
Mountain looks at me. “What he did was wrong. You get that, right? He’s lucky I didn’t kill him.”
The violence in his voice takes me back. How he was able to see what was happening under the table is surprising at best. He must have had his eyes trained on me and the thought has wild expectations rising in my mind.
I take note that he’s looking me right in the eye and hasn’t once let his eyes drift lower. I’m not the most confident about my body, but one thing over the years that has rang true is nearly every straight guy, and even a few not straight guys, can’t seem to keep their eyes off my boobs.
They’re huge. I get it. They are the first part of me that enters any room and I understand they are attention grabbing, especially on a girl my height.
I’m barely five feet tall and I feel even smaller right now, standing next to this guy who could reach up and easily change any light bulb without pushing onto his tiptoes.
“So, you’re not going to arrest me?” I size him up with an upward glance and notice a long silver patch of skin that looks like webbing along the left side of his neck. For a moment, I wonder what happened to cause such a large scar.
“I’m not only not going to arrest you, I might just hire you as my bodyguard.” For the first time he flashes me a smile and the whitest of sexy teeth shine through his full lips. One of his front two teeth is chipped, and as I stare into his face, I note a few other marks and scars that tell me he’s not one to run from a fight.
I smile back as he brings my hand up higher for inspection, gently lifting the cold towel and turning my hand back and forth in his.
“Your knuckles are swelling. Can you move your fingers?”
I wiggle each one, making sure. “Yeah. It doesn’t really hurt, not really. I’m okay. I need to call a cab.” I glance toward the door and then back to the table where my purse and phone sit.
“No cab.” He shifts, his tongue coming out to graze his bottom lip and I take a deep breath, smelling a spicy, masculine scent. “Hold this here.” He presses the towel back on my hand and let’s go.
A couple comes through the bar door and brushes past us as we stand next to the table, and I watch how he eyes them with suspicion as they come close and one of his hands goes to his hip under the tail of his shirt.
“Well, I have to get home, I don’t own a car. So, yes, cab. Or Uber.” I nod, craning my neck to look up into those green, almost luminous, eyes as I step to the table and gather my purse shoving my phone into the side pocket.
“No,” he repeats, and confusion and annoyance start to rise as he follows me the two steps toward the table. “Come with me.”
He takes his other arm and places a hand at the small of my back, turning me with him and walking through the tables and people before we get to the end of the bar. For a second, I hold my breath as the image of him naked suddenly bursts into my brain.
I’ve had my share of dates. Never, not once, have I ever imagined any of them naked.
Which reminds me, I haven’t even officially met him.
As if on cue, he sp
ins me around at the end of the bar to face him.
“I’m Torin.”
My eyes are wide. There’s something about his presence that has me trapped in awe. I must look scared because he takes his hand from my back and places it against my cheek.
“Don’t be afraid. I’ll never do anything to hurt you. Never.”
His statement hits me as odd.
Never?
He’s talking like we have a future and I don’t even know his last name.
“I’m Jessie,” I reply, that image of him naked turning to an image of him lifting me up and pressing me against the wall.
Again, a first for me. Maybe hitting someone does something to your brain, because I don’t feel like myself. I feel like I’m melting. Not only is he hot, there’s this protectiveness about him. Like he’s my bodyguard.
I let my eyes drift down, thinking of how he looks under that white shirt. Does he have that sexy ‘V’ thing that runs from a guys hips down to his—
What the hell is that called anyway? Those muscles that form that arrow pointing downward, just inside a guy’s hips? It needs a name.
“Jessie.” Hearing him say my name breaks my thoughts. “Follow me. I’m going to show you something.”
“You’re sort of bossy, you know that?” I grouse as he looks over his shoulder and tips his head down another hallway behind the bar.
“Yep. I can be,” he agrees without an iota of apology.
Of all the dates I’ve been on, I’ve never had actual butterflies around a guy. But I do now. They feel more like bats, honestly. Flapping and running into the walls of my stomach, making me feel dizzy and off balance.
I stay on his heels, unsure of where we are going but for the life of me unable to not be drawn into his orbit.
Chapter 4
Torin
In downtown Detroit, you don’t really expect to come across a whole lot of beautiful things. The city has taken so many hits and although there are cracks of light coming through these days, they are few and far between.
