by Ivy Jordan
I leaned up and soon the warmth of Officer Reynolds hands was on my back. “Is it okay if I lift your shirt?” he asked.
“Yes,” I agreed, leaning up further so he could check for my marks.
The cool air of the room brushed against my back as my tank top lifted away from my skin. Soon, it was back down again, and my handcuffs were being removed. I stretched my fingers, pulled my arms in front of me, and let out a long sigh. “Are there any marks?” I asked.
Officer Reynolds moved back to his seat. His eyes were warm and filled with empathy. “Yes. You have marks to substantiate your story,” he said. “Has this ever happened before?” he asked with concern.
“No. He’s always been controlling, and he’s grabbed me a little too hard before, but nothing like this,” I explained.
“I’m not going to arrest you, Naomi. But, I do need you to fill out a statement,” he said.
“Of course,” I agreed, relief filling my soul.
“Where do you plan to go?” he asked.
“Home.”
“That was your place of residence?”
“Yes.”
“And he does not live there anymore?” he asked.
“He never lived there,” I explained.
“I’d feel better about sending you home with a restraining order against him. Are you willing to agree to a temporary one being put into place?” he asked in a gentle voice.
“Yes,” I agreed. I would’ve agreed to anything to get out of that station.
“Here. Write down everything that happened in your own words,” he said, pushing a paper and pen towards me.
He was young, not much older than me, maybe in his late twenties. Even so, there was something so powerful about him, so strong. I finished my statement and then called Carrie, my best friend, to pick me up. I waited for her while Officer Reynolds gave me the instructions on how the restraining order worked.
“I don’t think he’ll be a problem again,” I said strongly.
“Believing that is your biggest mistake,” he warned.
A female voice came over the intercom on Office Reynolds’ desk alerting us that my ride had arrived. He smiled, scooted his chair back, and stood.
His eyes were different now, now that he didn’t think I was a criminal, a man-beater. They were soft, kind, and filled with compassion as he placed his hand on my lower back and led me through the double set of doors down a long hallway.
I looked down each hall as we passed, wondering if each one led to a cell where I could’ve very well been tucked away.
“I hope things get better,” he said kindly as he pushed open the last set of doors that led to the station lobby.
“Thank you, Officer Reynolds,” I said with a smile I couldn’t hide.
“Carter,” he said.
I must’ve looked confused, but I was merely shocked. “My name’s Carter,” he said with a smile.
Carrie stood at the front counter, her long, whiskey-colored hair flowing down her back, her big green eyes wide and filled with fear as she turned to me. “Naomi, are you okay?” she asked.
“Yes, just please get me outta here,” I sighed.
“Holy shit! I wouldn’t mind being cuffed and stuffed by him,” Carrie whispered as we walked out the front doors.
I giggled, knowing she was referring to the hot cop that had detained me, Carter. Carter Reynolds.
Chapter Two
I pulled up in front of my house, ignoring the fact that Marlene was working in her yard. She hadn’t spoken to me since that night over a week ago, and honestly, I was grateful. I knew if she had come over, for anything at all, I’d have ended up back in jail for smacking her smug face, this time for real.
The box I pulled out of my backseat was almost too large to get my arms around, but I managed. I’d just catered my first large party, a birthday party for a regular client. He wanted to not only show off his personal chef—me—but he wanted his friends to start eating healthier.
I’d handed my new business cards out to the guests, hoping to gain more business, and from the reaction of most, I figured I’d get at least a few calls. I didn’t need Greg, or his gym. I was doing just fine on my own.
I slapped my hip against the back door, slamming it shut as a cop car turned the corner.
My heart raced as I narrowed my eyes, hoping to see Carter inside. He’d been making rounds, pretty regularly since that night. Even though it had been over a week without another incident, he was diligently doing his duty to keep me safe.
I lifted my arm and waved once I noticed it was indeed Carter. The police cruiser pulled up beside my car, and he rolled down his window.
“You don’t have to spend so much time checking on me,” I said, secretly excited that I got to see him almost every night after work.
“It’s my job. And I feel bad that I almost tossed you in jail,” he smiled.
“You should!” I teased.
“What’s all that?” he asked, motioning to the large box in my hands.
“I had a large party to cater tonight. It’s just my equipment,” I explained, hoisting it higher on my hip so it wouldn’t slip from my fingers.
“Here, let me,” he said, opening his car door and shutting off the engine.
He took the large box, his dark, dreamy eyes lingering on mine, and then followed me to my front door.
I fumbled with my key, nervous that he was so close behind me. My body was tingling with excitement, something that seemed to happen every time he was near.
“So, has he bothered you anymore?” Carter asked as I opened the front door.
I held open the storm door, letting him inside. “You can set that anywhere. No. He’s called a few times, but he hasn’t been back over,” I replied.
“He’s not supposed to have any contact with you whatsoever. Has he threatened you in any way?” he asked, his voice growing stern.
“No. He called to yell about the restraining order, and a couple other times to ask about something work-related,” I sighed.
“If you have the phone calls still logged on your phone, I can pick him up,” Carter suggested.
“No. He’s stopped. I think he’ll leave me alone from here on out,” I assured him.
“I hope so. But better safe than sorry,” he said, setting the box on the kitchen table.
His eyes were always so flirty when they looked into mine, and his actions clearly showed some level of interest. I wasn’t sure if it was simply job-related, if he was just that kind, or if he had a romantic interest in me.
“I blocked his number,” I added with a smile.
His lips curled into a wide smile. “That’s smart. So, you work for a catering company?” he asked, obviously looking for a reason to delay his departure.
“No. I’m a personal chef and trainer. I create healthy meals, teach clients how to prepare simple meals for themselves, and offer workout routines that are customized to their lifestyle,” I said proudly.
“Wow. That’s impressive,” he said, looking around my house as he continued to linger.
“Why don’t you let me cook you dinner?” I asked.
“I couldn’t ask you to go to that kind of trouble,” he said.
“You didn’t ask. I offered,” I insisted.
He stared at me, his eyes smiling, and his demeanor somewhat nervous for a moment. “I could take you out to dinner, or even order take-out,” he offered.
“Nonsense. This is my passion. I’d love to feed you,” I said.
“Well, since you put it that way, how could I resist?” he smiled. “My next night off isn’t until Saturday,” he added quickly.
I gripped my phone, browsed through my calendar, and agreed that it was a date. Was it? A date?
“I better let you get relaxed and settled in. From the looks of that box, you had a long night,” he said with a chuckle.
It had been a long night, and I had been dreaming of putting my feet up and relaxing before he’d even pulled up. But n
ow, I felt like I could stand there in my living room talking to him, staring at him, forever.
“Yes. You have to get back to keeping the streets safe,” I smiled.
“Not much goes on around here, but yes, I do need to get back on patrol,” he agreed, walking towards my front door.
I followed him out, feeling a strange awkwardness as he turned to say goodbye. My instincts were to wrap my arms around him, tiptoe and kiss those magnificent lips. He extended his hand instead, so I shook it softly. I knew my cheeks were blushing bright red, but there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to stop them.
“See you Saturday around seven?” he asked as his hand released from mine.
“Yes. Seven is perfect,” I agreed.
“Oh,” he turned once again before making it to his car.
He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small white card. “This has my personal number on the back,” he said. “Call me if you need anything. Anything at all,” he said, flashing a grin.
My cheeks hurt from spreading into such a wide smile, and burnt from the blushing. Had I just made a date with Officer Reynolds?
I shut my door, leaning against it to catch my breath and calm my pounding heart.
My phone blasted my ringtone from inside my tote. I pushed through the folders until I found it, quickly sliding my thumb across the screen to answer it.
“How was your night? Was it a good gig?” Carrie’s voice sounded from the other end of my phone.
How was my night? My night was absolutely amazing!
“You won’t believe what just happened,” I blurted out, ignoring her interest in my first big catering night.
“What?” she asked.
“Officer Hottie just left here,” I squealed.
“Oh, no! Was Greg back there again?” she asked.
“No,” I replied.
“Why was he there?” she asked with a curious tone.
I could barely contain my excitement. I felt as though I’d burst as I tightened my grip on the phone. “He was just checking on me. But, he helped carry my stuff inside,” I gushed.
“Oh my God, Naomi. What did you do?” Carrie said with a chuckle.
I laughed at her insinuation. “Not that!”
“Well, why on earth are you so giddy?” she questioned.
“We made a date for Saturday night. I’m going to make him dinner,” I said proudly.
“Oh wow. I’m so jealous. Maybe I should get arrested to find a good guy,” she giggled.
A good guy. That’s what Carter was: a good guy. I could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice, and feel it in his actions.
“I’m nervous,” I admitted.
“Why?” she asked.
“It’s just weird. Isn’t it? Is it weird?” I stammered.
Carrie giggled on the other end of my phone. “You need to relax. He is gorgeous, he dedicates his life to protecting others, and he’s been there every day since Greg attacked you, so he obviously likes you,” she assured me.
That was all true. But, I was still nervous as hell.
Chapter Three
I tossed the grocery bags on my kitchen counter and rushed into the shower. Carter was supposed to be there in an hour, and even though he’d seen me plenty of times right after work, tonight was special.
I’d thought about calling his number, even just sending a text, but I couldn’t find a good reason. I found myself hoping all week that Greg would show up again, just so I’d have a good excuse to talk to Carter. Those few precious moments that I’d see him patrol my neighborhood were all I’d had. I was ready to have some alone time with the handsome cop that had almost arrested me. Yes, I am ready for that!
My long blonde hair was too thick to dry, so I pulled it back into a ponytail and dabbed foundation on my face. Mascara brought out my eyes, and even though everyone told me how blue eyeshadow made my eyes pop, I decided to keep my look more casual. Pink lipstick perfectly applied to my lips, and I was digging through my closet for something casual, yet sexy, to wear.
I settled on a white sundress to show off my California tan and a pair of flat sandals, and rushed into the kitchen.
Thirty minutes and Carter would be there, and I had nothing started. It’s okay, Naomi, you’re great under pressure.
My special dinner was planned to hopefully not scare Carter off of healthy cooking. For all I knew, he ate greasy burgers every night.
The water finally started to boil, so I tossed in the whole grain pasta with just a pinch of salt. I peeled and deveined the shrimp, and then started on my famous sea salt kale chips.
The doorbell rang, causing me to jump and slice a small piece of my finger. Shit!
I wrapped a paper towel around the cut and moved towards my front door.
Carter stood on my front porch, even hotter out of uniform than in. He held a bouquet of fresh lilies in his hand and wore a smile that could melt an igloo.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, looking towards the blood-soaked paper towel.
“It’s just a nick,” I said quickly, opening the door wide enough for him to enter.
“Let me see,” he said, gripping my hand in his.
A tingle shot through my body as our hands touched, and my heart swelled at the kindness in his eyes as he unwrapped my finger.
“Let’s get this cleaned,” he said, moving me towards the kitchen.
I didn’t argue. I did as he said, loving the gentleness of his touch and the concern in his voice.
He ran cold water over my wound, and then rewrapped it in a clean towel. “Do you have Band-Aids?” he asked.
“In the bathroom,” I said, starting to head that way.
“No. You sit here. Just hold this, add pressure, but not too much,” he ordered.
“There, above the sink,” I explained.
As he walked away, my heart raced at the thought of what he might see in my bathroom. I lived alone, barely had visitors—with the exception of Carrie—so tampons, birth control pills, and vaginal yeast cream had never been a concern until now.
I was relieved he reappeared into the kitchen so quickly, hoping he hadn’t noticed any of my personal hygiene items on his search for Band-Aids.
He sat me down at the table, scooting his chair in front of mine. He carefully unwrapped my towel, smeared antibiotic ointment that he’d found in my messy bathroom medicine chest onto my finger, and then tightly wrapped the Band-Aid around it.
“There. All better,” he chuckled.
“Thank you,” I said softly, feeling a tingle between my legs as he stared into my eyes.
“Oh, no!” I exclaimed, jumping up from my seat and rushing to the oven. I opened the door to perfectly crisp kale chips, and the aroma of the salty treats filling the kitchen quickly.
“That smells amazing,” he said.
“Wait until you try them. You’ll never eat potato chips again,” I boasted.
“Is there anything I can do?” he asked, looking around my kitchen.
“You can put those in water,” I said sweetly as I motioned to the flowers on the table, and then reached under the sink for a vase.
He smiled and grabbed the vase, filling it with cold water. He found a pair of kitchen shears, snipped the ends, and arranged them in the vase before sitting it in the center of the table. “Beautiful,” I sighed, staring at them with appreciation. Greg never brought me flowers.
“Can I help you with dinner?” he asked.
I hesitated, not because I couldn’t use the help, but because I wasn’t sure if he knew his way around a kitchen or not. He was young, a cop, and well, a man. Most men I knew ate TV dinners and fast food for a reason.
“If you’re scared I can’t cook, I can assure you I can,” he said proudly.
“Okay, then. Chop up those veggies while I heat the oil,” I replied.
He didn’t skip a beat, grabbing a knife and perfectly dicing the onions and peppers I’d had on the counter. He chopped the asparagus into small pieces and then sliced th
e mushrooms. He didn’t need any direction.
“Impressed?” he asked with a chuckle. I stared at him with what I was certain a surprised expression, even though I tried to hide it.
“Yes.”
“Good,” he said.
I strained the pasta, added it to the heated pan with shrimp, and then tossed in the veggies just long enough to heat them, but keep them nice and crisp.
“Wine?” he asked, handing me a glass already poured.
“Yes, please,” I agreed, accepting his offer.
He poured himself a glass while I made our plates, and I caught him sneaking another kale chip before we sat down. “You like them?” I asked.
He grinned. “Yes. Should I ask what they are?” he teased.
“Kale,” I said, laughing at his expression of disgust.
“Well, if you’d told me beforehand, I don’t think I would’ve tried them’” he admitted.
He complimented me over and over for my cooking, and I continued to remind him that he had helped. I wasn’t sure what to talk about. I barely knew him, and the only thing we had in common was Greg.
“So, are you staying safe?” he asked, breaking the ice, but of course leading the conversation around Greg.
“Yes. I’ve not had any problems,” I replied.
“He was never like that before?” he asked, surprised.
“He was always jealous and controlling, but never what I’d call ‘abusive,’” I answered, clearing the table of our dinner plates.
“You need to steer clear of those kinds; they always escalate,” he warned.
I couldn’t really picture Greg as an abuser, or dangerous. That day had been a bad day. It was not like him.
“He couldn’t handle me leaving the gym,” I explained. “When I decided to go on my own, I think it scared him. And, he didn’t like the idea of me working so closely with clients, in their homes, ya know?” I added.
“You’re a grown woman. You should be able to do what you want. That’s where trust comes in, I guess,” he sighed, finishing his wine. “I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you at the gym before. I know I’ve seen Greg,” he said calmly.
