Mr. Prime Minister

by Jessica Ashe

  “Anyway,” Arlene says, “time to step away from the desk for a bit. What with the nature of this investigation, I’ve asked them to push up your training. Time for you to step foot on the range.”

  “The range?”

  Arlene smiles comfortingly. “Follow me.”

  I’m holding a gun. A loaded gun.

  I grew up with a cop for a father, but I never held his gun, or any gun for that matter. I’ve always hated the things, and Dad wasn’t too keen on them either. A ‘necessary evil,’ as he described them.

  Arlene didn’t hang around to teach me. Instead she left me in the hands of the sergeant in charge of the range; a guy called Lyndon, who has the belly of someone who’s clearly spent most of his life behind the desk, never more than arm’s reach away from his next soft drink. I can’t decide if he’s friendly or leery. He starts off polite, but he seems way too excited about the fact that he has a group of five women to teach.

  “Hold it steady,” Lyndon shouts to the group. We all look equally nervous, and being yelled at by a fat sweaty guy isn’t helping. “I shouldn’t have to say this, but remember always, always, always keep it pointed away from you and away from everyone else. I’m sure you girls know how to handle a loaded weapon, am I right?” I don’t look over at him, but I’m sure he winks. “If this one goes off in your face, you’ll be dealing with much more than a bit of pink eye and sticky hair.”

  Lyndon’s giving some of the women far more attention than others. I try to look like I don’t need his help, but I’m clearly holding the gun wrong, and haven’t yet had the courage to fire a shot.

  “Bend your arms slightly,” Lyndon says. He stands close and moves my arms into position. “When this gun goes off in your hand, you’re going to feel it. It’s not like the weapons you’re used to handling.”

  I bet I’d feel Tanner’s weapon going off in my hand. Imagine dealing with that beast. It would probably make firing a Glock 22 feel tame by comparison.

  I aim roughly at the target, and then close my eyes, and pull the trigger. There is a kickback to the gun, but it’s not as much as I’d been expecting. I’m slightly off balance, but I don’t stagger back.

  “Not bad,” Lyndon says. I feel like his eyes are on me and not the target. “I’d trust you with my weapon any day.”

  I spend the next hour shooting well enough that Lyndon keeps his focus on one of the other women who has the misfortune of being both attractive and a bad shot. They don’t assign me a gun yet, which comes as a relief. There’s a test I’ll need to pass, but I won’t be able to delay it forever. Sooner or later, a gun will be part of my life.

  By the time I’m done at the range, I’m so desperate to get home that I forget all about my plan to stay late and avoid Tanner.

  Despite the loud noise from a motorized trimmer, I don’t notice him trimming the bushes until it’s too late. He’s completely shirtless and for the first time I see the rest of his tattoo. As predicted, it’s a dragon. The head ends around his chest with a huge flame trailing down his abs. It’s fucking glorious. I mean, a part of me still hates tattoos and finds them hideous, but there’s no denying that this one is incredible to look at. Just the tattoo I mean, not Tanner’s chest or abs.

  “Afternoon, gorgeous,” Tanner says, switching off the trimmer’s engine.

  Is he doing this on purpose? I’ve always had a weakness for men with power tools in the garden. It dates back to a soft drink commercial I used to like when I was about fourteen or fifteen. It wasn’t anything particularly erotic—just a shirtless man trimming some trees and occasionally stopping for a sip of some diet soda. Simple, but damn effective, especially with all the hormones I had flowing through my body at that age.

  No, Tanner might be able to read certain parts of my body language, but he can’t read my mind. Yet.

  “Afternoon,” I reply quickly, my brain reaching for one of my ready made excuses. “Can’t talk, I’m just on my way out to meet Sadie for a drink.”

  Damn, wrong one.

  Tanner looks confused. “Looks like you’re on your way in to me.”

  “Oh yeah, I mean I have to go in and get changed and then go back out again.”

  “That’s funny, because Sadie’s in the house. I just saw her a minute ago.”

  I’m an intelligent person; why am I so unable to form coherent thoughts when I’m around this man?

  “Nice trimmer,” I say.

  Yeah, nice one Elena. Real subtle change of subject there.

  “It does the job,” Tanner replies. “I do like a nicely trimmed bush. I don’t get rid of all the bush, but it’s neat and tidy, you know what I mean?”

  Oh my God, say something.

  I open my mouth to complement his tattoo, but then he’d just accuse me of staring at his chest. He wouldn’t be wrong. Then I notice another tattoo, located on the left side of his stomach, just next to his luscious abs.

  “Is that a military tattoo?” I ask. The two overlapping guns look like a military symbol as opposed to just being a general show of bravado. Plus, there’s writing underneath that looks like it might be his division, although I’m not going to stare close enough to find out. He briefly mentioned serving in the military when we first met at the bar, but I’d forgotten all about it.

  “Yeah,” Tanner replies. “Navy. I served for a few years.”

  “Iraq?”

  I never know how to talk to people who served in the military. It’s such a foreign concept to me. I’m terrified enough being a detective. I can’t even begin to comprehend what it must feel like to board a plane and land in a war-torn country. I spent most of my college years being fairly vocal against the Iraq war. That’s much easier to do when you don’t know any soldiers.

  “Yeah, Iraq. Listen, I better get on with this, or I’ll be late for work.”

  “Oh sure, that’s fine. I better get ready as well.”

  I can’t even remember what excuse I used now. Am I supposed to be staying in working, or going out for a drink? Who cares? I screwed that up. I must’ve looked like a real idiot standing there talking about his tattoos and telling him how much I liked his trimmer.

  Even so, he seemed quick to get rid of me. Maybe he’s just playing hard to get now? That could work. We’d both ignore each other, and eventually my need for him would disappear. Hopefully. How long will that take? A week? A month? A year?

  I head inside and grab a cool glass of water, surprised to find that I’m sweating.

  “Are you alone?” Sadie asks from the living room.

  “Of course,” I reply.

  “That’s a shame.”

  For once, I think I agree with her.

  Chapter Eight

  Tanner

  I get up early in the morning just to see her.

  It’s not deliberate. I’m not setting an alarm clock, and I’m not going to bed any earlier. By the time I get in from the bar it’s usually past one in the morning, and I don’t sleep until at least two. When I fall into bed, I’m exhausted, and yet somehow my body jolts me awake at seven in the morning with a raging hard-on that makes it impossible to go back to sleep.

  Seven o’clock just happens to be when she’s getting dressed in her bedroom.

  I stand in the window and watch her. She’s clever enough to get dressed while the curtains are closed, but she does her makeup with them open.

  I’m not subtle; she must be able to see me standing here, but she doesn’t look over or react at all. If she did look at me, there’s no way she’d be able to keep a straight face. My morning glory is clearly visible under my tight boxer briefs and I know full well she’s never seen a guy packing a weapon like mine.

  But she doesn’t look. She does her makeup, puts the finishing touches on her outfit, and packs a large purse. It shouldn’t be titillating, but it is. I like seeing her living her normal life. I normally only pay attention to women when I’m about to fuck them, am currently fucking them, or have just fucked them. I never see their real ch
aracter. I never want to.

  Elena’s different. She must be sleeping on just a mattress, because I can’t see any bed. I can picture it though, and I want to be in it. Not so I can drag her down and rip off her clothes, but just so I can be in the room with her while she gets ready for work. She looks every bit the lawyer. Until now, I hadn’t realized I found lawyers at all sexy. I wonder if she has her own office. Maybe a little lunchtime visit might be in order?

  Elena and Sadie both leave within ten minutes of each other, heading off for a busy day of billing clients $400 an hour for doing very little I imagine. I bumped into Sadie the other day, and she didn’t appear too stressed. Apparently it will ramp up as soon as she is assigned to work on a big deal.

  She seemed excited by the prospect of working long hours, which puzzles me immensely. I guess that’s why I’m not a lawyer. Well, that’s one of many reasons why I’m not a lawyer. There’s also the small matter of not going to law school, not being able to pass the bar exam, and probably not being admitted to the state bar afterwards anyway because of my… history.

  I try to go back to sleep, but it’s not happening. I’m too awake. After twenty minutes of tossing and turning I get up and try to think of something productive to do. The building manager pays me to look after the place and do basic maintenance, but I’ve done all that.

  I’m incapable of staying still for more than five minutes, so in the end I get the lawnmower and head next door to cut the grass in front of Elena’s building. I did tell her I appreciated a tidy bush, but I never told her what pattern I like. Might as well give her a subtle clue with some creative lawn mowing.

  I’m nearly finished when a large truck pulls up outside the house, and the driver heads up the path towards me.

  “Don’t suppose you’re number two are you?” the driver asks.

  “No, they’re both out for the day. Is this the furniture?”

  “Yeah, there’s a fucking ton of it and I’d rather not drive it back to the warehouse.”

  “I live in the building next door. I can take it if you like. I know Elena and Sadie fairly well.”

  The driver isn’t too keen to leave what I assume is thousands of dollars’ worth of furniture with the guy mowing the lawn, but he makes a call to Sadie and I guess she agrees because he instructs his team to leave the furniture at my place.

  There are two beds, two large chests of drawers, two desks, a coffee table, a few bookcases, and some small bedside tables. They’ll probably need to buy more stuff over the next few months, but they have all the basics.

  Or at least they will have the basics, once it’s all built. At the moment it’s all flat in boxes.

  I’m relieved.

  Finally, I have something to do with my day.

  “Goddamnit, these instructions make absolutely no fucking sense.”

  How am I supposed to put the top of part B into part D if the top of part B is already in part A? There are nowhere near enough of the long screws, and I’m missing at least three of those long metal pins that are supposed to keep pieces of wood held together.

  When did building furniture become so fucking complicated? I used to make this shit from scratch when I was a kid. I swear it took less time than putting these pieces together. These look a damn sight less sturdy as well.

  I planned to have this all finished by four o’clock, but it’s three o’clock now and I still haven’t made the two beds. I give Damien a call and ask him to cover for me tonight at the bar. He jumps at the chance to earn more money, although I feel guilty for asking. Damien has a habit of giving out a few more free drinks than he should, and they often go to the women he has his eye on. If he ran the bar every night it would’ve shut down by now, but a few extra shifts occasionally won’t hurt.

  Everything’s finished by seven o’clock, although I’m slightly suspicious about the number of pieces I have left over from one of the beds. That can be Sadie’s one. Elena’s bed needs to be strong; it’s going to take a lot of abuse.

  I grab one of the large chests of drawers, and slowly take it over to Elena’s place. It’s not particularly heavy, but it’s almost impossible to carry and by the time I’ve heaved it up her stairs I’m sticky with sweat.

  Elena answers the door. She’s still in her work gear, but she’s undone a couple of buttons on her blouse. Not enough for me to see anything, but enough to drive me crazy with wonder. I guess less really is more, although I hope she doesn’t make a habit of it.

  “I need to work tonight,” Elena says quickly.

  “Good thing you don’t have to spend the evening making furniture then,” I reply, pointing to the drawers.

  “Is that my chest of drawers?”

  “Yep, and I have the rest of your stuff back at my place. May need a hand with the beds, but I can bring the rest of it myself.”

  “Invite him in,” Sadie yells from the kitchen.

  Elena reluctantly steps to one side and lets me through with the chest of drawers.

  “Which room should I put this in?”

  “My room please,” Sadie replies. “Have you seriously made all of the furniture? There’s loads of it.”

  “I’m good with my hands, right Elena?”

  She doesn’t say anything.

  The three of us bring all the furniture over and I make sure Elena gets the sturdy bed. She might not realize it yet, but she’s going to need it.

  “We really are grateful,” Sadie says, “aren’t we, Elena?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Elena says reluctantly.

  “Maybe you should show him how thankful you are,” Sadie says.

  “Maybe you should mind your own business.”

  “All right. Sorry Tanner, I tried.”

  “That’s all right, I’m enjoying the challenge.”

  Elena does at least pass me a glass of water, but she still seems anxious for me to leave. I look into her bedroom and realize her bed is tucked against a wall that hides it from my window. That just won’t do.

  “Do you want to move the furniture around a bit?” I ask.

  “Probably, but I can do that later.”

  “Let’s do it now. You won’t be able to move that bed by yourself.”

  Elena looks at me suspiciously, but she ends up shrugging her shoulders and we move the bed to a position where it is clearly visible from my window. Perfect.

  After we move the bed, I notice a small pile of stuff on the floor. There’s the purse she takes to work, a paperback book, and a few pieces of makeup. Nothing interesting. I step away, but the handle of her purse gets caught on my foot. I drag the purse a few inches to reveal a pair of shiny metal handcuffs.

  “Holy shit,” I say, as I bend down and pick them up. “These are hardcore. I suspected you might be a little kinkier than you let on, but I’ll give you credit, these are the real deal.”

  “Put them back,” Elena says, swinging an arm out to try and snatch them from me.

  “No need to be embarrassed. I’m all for playing games in the bedroom. Now, I must admit my experience with handcuffs is more limited to the pink, fluffy kind, but I’m definitely game for stepping it up a notch.”

  Elena’s headboard has lots of posts that would be just perfect for handcuffs. God damn, as if it wasn’t hard enough to stop thinking about fucking her, I now have the mental image of her handcuffed to the bed to contend with. I need to get home and have a very cold shower. Fuck it, I need to go home and dunk my balls in a bucket of ice water.

  “They’re for work,” Elena insists.

  “Princess, I know I haven’t been to law school, and I certainly haven’t taken the bar exam, but I’m still fairly sure that lawyers don’t need handcuffs at work. Or do they chain you to your desk these days?”

  “I’m not a lawyer,” Elena says.

  “That’s what you told me.”

  “I never told you I was a lawyer. I went to law school and took the bar exam, but I’m not a lawyer.”

  “So what are you?”

/>   “I’m a cop.”

  I drop the handcuffs. They land on the floor with a heavy thud which is consistent with what my heart is currently doing.

  Oh, this could be bad.

  There are parts of my life I’m not exactly proud of. More importantly, there are parts of my life that aren’t exactly legal. We not talking technicalities either, this isn’t a case of driving forty-six miles per hour in a forty-mile-per-hour zone. We’re talking definite lawbreaking. The type of lawbreaking that would be of interest to any cop, no matter how junior.

  I can keep that from her, can’t I? I’m not going to let her into that part of my life anyway. She never needs to know about it.

  Besides, there are benefits to dating a cop.

  “Does that mean you have the uniform?” I ask. “I’ve got to say, I’ve always had a thing for women in positions of power and that police uniform—”

  “I’m not that kind of cop. My title is junior detective. It’s basically just desk work for the most part. I only got the job because my dad used to be a detective and ended up quite high up the food chain when he retired.”

  “So you don’t have a gun?”

  “If you’re going to make loads of jokes about me holding your weapon, then you can just save it. I’ve had more than enough of that this week from my sexist instructor. Fortunately, he’s just been suspended for making crude jokes to women.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of making a joke so crass.”

  “So it wasn’t you who mowed the lawn and left a small triangle shape that looks an awful lot like a Brazilian wax?”

  Oops. Forgot about that.

  “I guess I missed a bit. By any chance, do you happen to like the look of a tidy triangle on the front yard?”

  “You’re never going to find out.”

  “Jumped the gun a bit there, haven’t we? Maybe you’ve got something on your mind.”

  I move towards the door, but instead of walking back out into the hall, I shut the door trapping us inside.