Indecent Exposure_The Academy

by Tessa Bailey

  My bedroom door creaks open.

  And suddenly I’m looking at two unfamiliar faces. A man and women in their fifties stare back at me, eyebrows in the vicinity of their hairlines.

  “My parents are here, Jack,” Katie whispers. “Surprise.”

  I’ve never lost an erection so fast in my life.

  “I’m as shocked as you are,” Katie says, patting me on the shoulder. To let me know I still have her levered against the wall for a quickie, while her parents are literally five feet away. Over their shoulders, I see Danika busting her ass laughing on the way to her bedroom, which should have lightened my panic. But no. My current heart rate is equivalent to a man running from a bull in Pamplona. I’m not prepared for this. I’m still trying to assure myself I landed Katie. Parents were something for the future. Something I was looking forward to, sure. I want the McCoys to know I’m going to worship at their daughter’s feet as long as I live, but there’s no plan in place yet to accomplish that. I’m shirtless, unshaven. And I’ve got their little girl’s ass cheeks in my hands. “You might want to set me down, Jack . . . ?”

  “Oh God. Right.” I ease Katie down to her feet and search frantically for my shirt. “I’m sorry—”

  “Now. Don’t go getting dressed on my account,” Mrs. McCoy says from the doorway, chin up, watching me from the corner of her eye. “Sure, you should be comfortable in your own home.”

  I start laughing. Which seemed impossible a second ago, but this is familiar territory.

  Katie’s face turns red. “Honestly, Mam.”

  “What has he got that I don’t?” Mr. McCoy holds up an arm and flexes. “Same physique as the day you married me. Better, even.”

  “Jack Garrett.” Katie waves her hands around, as if trying to dispel the conversation. “Meet my parents, David and Sinead. They’re like this all the time. Except for the spontaneous trips to America part. That’s new.”

  I lunge—yes, lunge—forwards to shake their hands. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  I’d pictured Katie’s mom to be an older version of her—an adorably happy redhead—and she is. But her father surprises me. He’s not the cold, anguished man I was expecting when Katie told me about the difficult training he put her through. I’ve been around him only a couple of awkward minutes and I can already understand why Katie would feel guilty letting him down. He’s such a dad. Something I wouldn’t understand, because I never had one. But I understand the way he looks at Katie. He loves her. Wants the best things life has to offer for her. We have that in common.

  “We decided to bring your clothes and knick-knacks in person,” Sinead says, walking into the room, purse clutched beneath her arm. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Ringing first would have been nice.” Katie stops battling her smile and it spreads across her face like wildfire. Knowing how much she’s missed her parents, that smile makes my heart pound. She made the call to her father the morning after she decided to stay in New York, informing him she wouldn’t be resuming training for the Olympics. There were enough tears to down a battleship, but I was so fucking proud of Katie for finally coming clean to her father about how the pressure was too much. They talked a lot about Sean, for the first time at length since his death and I could see, after they spoke, the load on Katie’s shoulders was lighter. There’s still some lingering guilt, though, but if I’ve learned one thing recently, it’s that real, actual progress takes time. And we have that.

  “I am happy to see you, though,” Katie continues. “Very much. Even if it’s going to take me a year to recover from finding you loitering outside the building.”

  David pats his daughter on the shoulder. “Ah sure, we’ll be back for another visit before a year passes.”

  Katie’s smile wavers. “Brilliant?”

  Parents and daughter share a laugh, then silence falls in the room, three pairs of eyes turning to me expectantly. Katie’s mother can’t look at me without blushing, but her husband is the exact opposite. Brows furrowed, rocking back on his heels. In Katie’s words, he wants to see what I’m at.

  “I’m glad you brought Katie’s clothes.” Do better. Do so much better. Crossing to my dresser, I pull out the top three drawers, which I cleared out for Katie. “You probably brought a lot of sweaters, right? Because Ireland. And it’s about to get cold here, so she’ll need them.” I go through a mental rundown of my Make Katie Happy checklist. “I’ve been looking everywhere for mint tea bags, but they don’t have the same brand here. You didn’t happen to bring any of those, did you?”

  I watch in horror as Katie’s mom gets teary eyed. “He’s looking for her tea bags, David.”

  Mr. McCoy makes an exasperated sound. “What’s the story with these pink lights?”

  “It was the fastest way to make the bedroom as much hers as mine.” Katie’s mom starts to fan her face and Katie hugs herself, so I take that as a good sign. But I’m clearly still about ten miles from winning over David. I’m probably not going to win that battle today, but I’m lucky just getting the chance to fight it, aren’t I? “I know this isn’t ideal. Katie moving into a place with so many roommates and a small bedroom. Or with a guy who technically doesn’t have a job yet.” A snort from Mr. McCoy, earning himself an elbow nudge from his rapt wife. “I promise you both, though, it won’t be forever.”

  “No, it won’t. Especially since her visa is only ninety days.”

  “All due respect, sir, I’ll be surprised if I make it that long without asking her to be my wife.”

  Mrs. McCoy bursts into tears.

  Katie stares at me. Half in awe, half like she wishes we were alone. She’s going to say yes if I ask her. I’m so sure of it in that moment—and humbled—I’m tempted to get down on one knee, right there in front of her parents. But I won’t do it without a ring. Which is the first item on my Make Katie Happy list and I plan to cross it off. Sooner rather than later, now that I see the way she’s looking at me. My wife. God, I can’t wait to call her that. Marrying my girl means she never has to leave New York. After which I might stop waking up shouting her name in an outright panic that she’s gone.

  “What is that?” Katie asks, her gaze drifting past me. “Jack . . .”

  Shit. I’d forgotten about my project. Sue me, though. I’ve been a little distracted. “You came home early, so I didn’t have a chance to finish.” I turn, trying to see my handiwork through her parents’ eyes and hope they find it worthy. “Went down to that flea market on Houston and picked it out this morning, paid a couple guys to drop it off. I finished sanding it down, but I’m still putting on the lacquer. It’s a workspace. For your purses.” No one says anything so I keep rambling. Apparently Katie is rubbing off on me, but I’m definitely nowhere near as cute. “You can store materials in these drawers—”

  Katie takes a running leap, throwing herself into my arms, which wrap around her automatically, tightening as much as I know she can stand. “I love you.”

  In a split second, there’s no one in the room except Katie. “I love you, too.”

  “There goes our chances of luring her home,” David says across the room, his mouth ticking up at one end.

  Katie’s eyes shine as she shakes her head. “My home is with Jack. I’m sorry, Da.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” he says. “Be happy.”

  “It appears she already is,” Sinead sobs. In a familiar gesture, Katie’s mother straightens her back and marches across the room, dropping her purse and picking up a paintbrush. “Now. Let’s get this workspace finished. Do put on the kettle, David.”

  There we sat, the four of us. For hours. Drinking mint tea, finishing the table and putting Katie’s clothes away in drawers while I listened to stories about the love of my life’s childhood. And with her hand in mine, I couldn’t wait to write our own.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to the following people who helped shape this book! Patrick and Mackenzie, my support system and forever loves. Nicole Fischer, my fabulous
editor at Avon, for letting me throw out my original outline for this book after meeting Jack and understanding him more. Fiona Clarke, my consultant on Dublin-isms and ruiner of fun when I wanted to use the word shagging. Okay, it’s an English term, I get it. Chill. Eagle of Aquila Editing for top notch beta reading. And Karen and Georgia of the My Favorite Murder podcast for helping inspire Katie’s character. SSDGM.

  An Excerpt from Disturbing His Peace

  Are you ready to watch stern, grumpy Lieutenant Greer Burns fall hard? He’s already met his match and she’s not going to make things easy for him!

  DISTURBING HIS PEACE

  Coming Spring 2018!

  Read on for a sneak peek . . .

  Chapter 1

  Danika

  The ground rumbles when he walks in.

  Weird how I’m the only one that seems to notice.

  Okay, not the only one. There’s a trio of other female recruits parked up against the gymnasium wall that zero in on Lieutenant Greer Burns’s shifting butt muscles, shaking their heads as if they’re mad at it. The dudes stretching around me on the mat are a different story. They live and die by the lieutenant’s whistle, but until he blows it, they’re still lost in their world of women, baseball and ball scratching.

  Ahh, the academy. Never change.

  There’s this sliver of time, twice a week, that I love to hate. When Greer is scheduled to whip our future police officer backsides into shape, I’m treated—cursed with—a window of five seconds before he blows the whistle for inspection. During that handful of ticks, he slowly inserts that whistle between a pair of lips that make grandmothers wish for time machines. He tucks it right in there. And he looks at me. One cool sweep of those twin glaciers that begins at the tip of my sneakers and ends at my ponytail.

  That’s around the time I tell him with my eyes to go fuck himself.

  It’s a complicated dynamic.

  Anyone else would get suspended for showing the lieutenant a hint of the fire I pack into my morning look. Why does he let me get away with it?

  Even more annoying, why do I look forward to it?

  Greer hasn’t quite made it to the front of the gymnasium yet, but there’s a jet stream of anticipation whipping through my blood in hot revolutions. My spine straightens and I firm my jaw, telling myself this time I won’t meet his eyes. I’m distracted from my mental preparations when a male recruit drops down on the mat beside me, blocking my view of the approaching lieutenant. His timing is either terrible or perfect. My body is too confused these days to decide.

  “Hey, Silva.”

  “Levi.” I flash a tight smile at our resident easygoing, golden boy who’s never without a smile or a compliment. “What’s up?”

  Over his shoulder, I catch the eye of my best friend, Jack, who lets his tongue loll out of his mouth like a lovesick idiot. His impression of Levi, I’m guessing, who has been flirting with me since we started at the academy, but has yet to pull the trigger and ask me out.

  To which I would say . . . what? No freaking clue.

  “What did you think about COBRA training yesterday?” Levi asks, grabbing his elbow above his head and stretching. “Heavy stuff, right?”

  He’s referring to the Chemical Ordinance, Biological and Radiological Awareness Training we spent the last few days completing. “Yeah.” I tear my attention away from Jack who is now pretending to make out with himself. “There’s no cute way to rock a hazmat suit, I guess.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Levi cuts me a look. “I think you did a damn good job.”

  Impressive. Ten points to Levi. See, I should be asking him out. He’s the definition of my type. Growing up around my uncles and boy cousins meant I was always one of the guys. They didn’t pull any punches while playing football in the park or critiquing my homecoming dresses with sarcasm. My mother was—is—amazing at making me feel girly when necessary, but there was no escaping the men in my family. As a result, I’m drawn to softer-spoken artistic types that treat me like a lady. Which is the number one reason I shouldn’t be so . . . affected by the sight of the lieutenant sliding a whistle between his lips. There’s nothing soft about him.

  When Levi chuckles, I realize I’ve been staring into space. Way to take a compliment, Danika. “Uh. Thanks. You . . .” I give him a soft punch in the shoulder. “Did it justice, too.”

  I’m saved from having to bask in the aftermath of my awkward attempt at flirting when Jack pokes his head in between us and makes a buzzer noise. “Snooze you lose, Levi. Gave you a good two minutes to close the deal. More than enough time.” He winks at me, letting me know I owe him one for his intervention. “Danika has plans for the night, anyway. She’s cake tasting.”

  My stomach groans, reminding me I skipped breakfast. “I am?”

  Jack nods. “Pays to know the lady who is catering our graduation.”

  I don’t know what’s flowing through drinking fountains at the academy, but in the months since we started, both of my roommates, Jack and Charlie, have been brought to heel by the almighty L word. And I’m not talking the fizzy stomach bubbles, let’s share a soda pop kind of love. I’m talking all-out, devoted, want their women to have their babies kind of love. It’s a little daunting when I have zero romantic prospects of my own and I can hear the proof of their affection through the thin walls of our apartment. Nightly. My suffering has all become worth it, though, with the utterance of the words cake tasting. “I’ll be there—”

  The whistle blows. Loud.

  All two-hundred recruits jump to their feet and form rows. Backs go ramrod straight, chests puff out. Inspection is always twice as intense when Greer is here, because he doesn’t just take roll. He scrutinizes each of us for imperfections. Legend has it, he once made a recruit walk home from 20th Street to the Bronx to retrieve his forgotten uniform gym shorts. And that recruit was never seen or heard from again.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watch the lieutenant approach, my attention traveling down to perform their own inspection on the object of my reluctant obsession. The thighs that—against my will—changed my type from artistic, easygoing guys to big, rough-hewn enforcers. They demand to be taken seriously, as does their owner, by doing nothing more than existing. Through stiff, navy blue uniform pants, sinew creeps from hips to knee, muscles sculpted by a diamond cutter. In weak moments, I find myself wondering if they’re hairy or smooth. Or ticklish? Could the man have such a silly weakness as being ticklish?

  No. Not a chance.

  Lieutenant Greer Burns doesn’t have weaknesses. As he strides past the inspection line, the humming halogens overhead paint shadows on his face, darkness settling in the always present frown lines between his eyebrows. When his eyes land on me, his jaw bunches. When is it not bunched? It tics and flexes like he’s trying to suck the copper off a penny. That tension must be the reason my eyes are drawn to his brutal lips, harsh and full all at once.

  He leaves my line of vision, his boots making the mat groan as he weaves behind me, and I’m not—definitely not—disappointed that I missed my five second stare-down with Greer today. I’m not annoyed at Levi and Jack for distracting me either. Nope. Uh-uh.

  Greer is right behind me when he says, “I’ll be demonstrating a new takedown this morning.” I feel his gaze on my neck, heating the flesh above my collar. “Any volunteers?”

  My hand goes up. It always does, even though he never picks me. Ever. I tell myself it’s stupid to think he’s afraid to touch me.

  My theory is further disproven a second later.

  “Silva. To the front.”

  Greer

  What the hell are you doing?

  I can’t even think of the girl without getting wood. Now I’m going to wrestle her onto the mat in front of two hundred recruits?

  Silva’s head turns slowly, hitting me with the full force of her surprise. And not for the first time, I’m caught between wanting to lick her, head to toe . . . and telling her the gray academy T-shirt really brings out her e
yes.

  Idiot. You fucking idiot.

  This wouldn’t be happening if she’d just kept our arrangement. It’s very simple. Before I blow the whistle for inspection and become her instructor, she gives me a few seconds of her undivided attention. Obviously we never made this agreement out loud. How would that conversation even start? But it’s the one thing I look forward to lately.

  Even if she does hate me.

  Why wouldn’t she? My default mode is insufferable asshole. This is my city and I’ve been tasked with whipping this group of young people into effective members of law enforcement. I take that responsibility seriously. So why do I like letting Silva get away with that open disdain so damn much? I can’t tell her that she’s . . . important. Special. Even if those words cram into my throat when she’s around, twisting my stomach up like a pretzel. So I satisfy the urge by letting those heated looks slide and hope she doesn’t sense this pointless infatuation of mine.

  She’s definitely going to catch on when I pin her to the floor and my cock salutes the tight, sexy shape of her. God, what is she going to feel like under me?

  Silva isn’t the only one shocked that I picked her for the demonstration. My brother, Charlie, is giving me jerky bad idea, bad idea head shakes, making me wonder if he’s caught me staring like a fool at his roommate. If so, I need to be more careful. Recruits are off-limits. I’ve never had a problem adhering to that rule in the past. Not even close. They were all just uniforms with varying skill levels until she showed up.

  Some jackass two rows back whispers about how he wouldn’t mind pinning Silva, and the comment brings my focus roaring back. Jesus, it’s that shithead who always wears aviator sunglasses again. He goes white when I turn and narrow my eyes on him. “I hope you don’t mind staying an hour late today and wiping down the mats, because that’s how you’ll be spending your evening,” I snap. “Try and locate some respect while you’re down there.”