Curvy for Him: The Librarian and the Cop

by Winters, Annabelle

  COPYRIGHT NOTICE

  Copyright © 2019 by Annabelle Winters

  All Rights Reserved by Author

  www.annabellewinters.com

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  Cover Design by S. Lee

  CURVY FOR HIM: THE LIBRARIAN AND THE COP

  ANNABELLE WINTERS

  1

  BEATRICE

  If you’re late once more, you’re out!

  I lean forward on the steering wheel of my battered, powder-blue Honda, squinting up at the red light and cursing under my breath. Those words are playing back in my head as I count the seconds this light has been red. I swear this traffic light is broken. I’m going to write a letter to the government. If I’m late, it’s gonna be the government’s fault!

  If you’re late once more, you’re out! Out! Out!

  I groan and shake my head as I wonder how it’s possible that two different authority figures in my life said the same damned thing to me last week. My boss and my landlord. I show up late to the library once more and I’m fired. I’m late on my rent once more and I’m evicted.

  I stare at that red light again as my mind swirls with the maddening scenario that if I’m late to work today, the dominoes will fall, the house of cards that’s my life will collapse, the walls will come tumbling down around me. If I get fired today, it means I can’t make rent this month.

  “So really,” I think as I rev the engine of my little blue Honda hatchback, which is getting too small for my big ass, it feels, “I’m like one stop-light away from being unemployed and homeless. Good job, Bea. Great fucking job being an independent modern woman who don’t need no man!”

  I close my eyes tight as I try to push away the memories of the choices I’ve made, choices that my friends and family told me were the wrong choices. Well, just one choice, really. The choice to say no.

  “No,” I’d said to Gary two years ago when he awkwardly went down on one knee and showed me the fake-diamond ring he swore was his grandmother’s. “I’m sorry. I can’t. The answer is no.”

  Gary had protested at first. Then he’d argued. Finally he’d gotten angry and called me a fat, stuck-up bitch who was gonna die alone. Wow! It had taken all my patience and self-control to not just go off on him, to tell him the truth about why I’d rather be alone than marry a man I wasn’t in love with. But I’d held my tongue and just walked away. Not sure why I’d spared him. I think it’s because I wasn’t ready to admit what I want in a man, in a marriage, in a happily every after.

  I’m snapped out of my daydream by a loud honk from behind me, and I flick my eyes open wide and see that the light has changed to green and in fact has just moved back to orange, about to cycle back to red once more!

  “Oh, shit!” I scream, slamming my foot down on the gas just as the light turns red again. The guy behind me is honking and pounding his palms on the wheel, but I’m gone. Right through the red! Gone, baby!

  All I can see is red as I go flying through the intersection, muttering under my breath, feeling the weight of all the crappiness in my life coming down on me: about to get fired, about to get evicted, still hopelessly single after turning down probably the only marriage proposal I’m gonna get. What else could go wrong? Bring it, Universe! Bring it!

  I see more red, and I blink as I realize that this time it’s in my rearview mirror. I frown and look up, and the moment I hear the siren, I know that the universe has responded to my challenge and is throwing everything it can at me today. It’s gonna take me down in a blaze of glory.

  For a moment I wonder if I should just run, lead this cop on a car chase through town, a chase that ends with me driving off a cliff, Thelma and Louise style! I’m gonna be late anyway, right? Gonna get fired today. Evicted next week. Oh, and I have a monster zit on my forehead that I swear is an alien baby emerging from my fat face! Yeah, might as well end it all, Bea. You gave life a shot, and it blew up in your face.

  I press down on the gas, seriously considering making a run for it. Of course, it only takes me like two seconds to come back to my senses. Am I crazy?! Am I seriously going to run from the police?! I’m supposed to be the smart girl! So why has everything I’ve done in life turned to shit?

  I’m still muttering as I slowly pull over to the side of the road, shaking my head and leaning on the steering wheel as I wait for some paunchy cop to give me a lecture on safety or morality or how I’m endangering the lives of honest, law-abiding, happy citizens by racing my powder-blue Honda hatchback through busy intersections. My eyelids are fluttering as I take deep breaths, still shaking my head as I stare down at myself.

  I catch a glimpse of my heavy cleavage as I glance down, and a chill rushes through me as I wonder if . . . if I should . . . if I can . . . if I dare . . . ohmygod, am I insane?! I can’t do that!

  “Do what?” I mutter through gritted teeth as I lean back and straighten up. It’s the middle of summer, and I’m wearing a thin white blouse with a couple of buttons open. I like feeling the warm breeze swirl down my blouse. The air-conditioning is my car is dead (of course!), and I don’t want to walk into work all sticky. Obviously I was planning on buttoning up before walking in through the hallowed doors of the Public Library.

  But you’ve got it all on the line now, Bea, I tell myself as the police cruiser glides to a stop behind me, lights still spinning. The cop hasn’t stepped out yet. He’s probably running my plates through the system. (Yeah, I watch crime shows. What, just ‘cos I’m a librarian I’m supposed to have my nose in a book all the time?)

  “Screw it,” I say, reaching up and carefully pulling at my top just enough so my ample cleavage peeks out like I’ve got two freshly fluffed pillows stuffed in there. I’ve always been a big girl. Maybe it’s time I used my God-given assets to get me out of a jam.

  “Or into a jam,” I tell myself as my racing mind spins through a million scenarios. What the hell am I doing?! What do I expect is going to happen?! Some chubby cop sees my tits and decides to skip the ticket? What if he’s some super-uptight cop and arrests me for offering a bribe?! What if he’s some pervy asshole and asks me for a blowjob?! What if it’s a lady cop?! What if—

  But then my thoughts just stop, because in my rearview I see the cop get out of his car and stand there, hands on his thick belt, dark eyes staring straight ahead. He’s tall like a tower, broad like a bridge, with thick black hair that seems a bit long for a cop. He’s got dark stubble that matches his brooding eyes. Shit, he’s handsome as hell, and I gasp as I feel a tingle go through me. Then I zoom in on his dark eyes like I can’t help it, and I gasp again when I realize he’s looking right at my rearview mirror, right back into my eyes!

  I’m frozen in my seat, my heart pounding so hard I wonder if the radio is tuned to some drums-only station. There are beads of perspiration on my forehead like I’m overheating, and I wonder what the hell is going on. Then one more look into the rearview mirror and I know what’s going on.

  He’s going on, I realize as I see the cop slowly walk towards the car, glancing left and right with the lazy confidence of a man who knows what he’s doing, knows what he is, knows what he wants.

  2

  BRICK

  I want her, comes the thought as I look down at the curvy woman looking up at me from this banged-up Honda that’s painted powder blue like it’s a child’s toy.

  “This isn’t a factory
color,” I say without thinking as I take in the sight of her cleavage and feel my cock stiffen inside my uniform. It takes all my willpower and focus to not just stare at her boobs from above and pant like a goddamn dog in heat, and it’s only when she turns her pretty round face up at me, an expression of fear mixed with confusion plastered all over that I realize what I said.

  “Um . . . what?” she stammers, blinking up at me. “Factory color? What does that—”

  “The powder blue,” I say, feeling the color rush to my face as I realize I’m babbling like a goddamn fool. Thank God I’ve got a solid tan going so she can’t see that I’m blushing like a tongue-tied schoolboy who’s just found himself face-to-face with his secret crush and is about to faint. “Honda doesn’t make this model in that color.”

  And God doesn’t make enough women in your shape, I think as I glance past her boobs and see her thick thighs spread out on the seat. I can tell she’s got solid hips, wide enough for man like me to get between. Now I want to see her ass, and I almost black out when I realize I’m just staring down at her like I’ve lost my fucking mind. What the hell, Brick! You’re a man of the law. You’re a good cop. You’ve always been decent and respectful with women. Well, mostly.

  But hell if I can’t stop these images from rolling through me like I’m being possessed. Images of pulling this woman out of her car, pushing her down on the warm hood of her Honda, frisking her up that skirt with my goddamn face, spreading her thighs from behind, spanking that big ass until she—

  I’m so hard that I feel my equipment belt move from my throbbing erection, and I know I need to get the hell out of here. I don’t know what’s come over me. Maybe I worked out too hard this morning and my testosterone is all jacked up. Maybe I shoulda jerked off a couple more times yesterday. Maybe I shoulda banged that drunk chick who came onto me at the bar the other night instead of calling her a taxi.

  “Just watch those lights, all right, Ma’am?” I manage to say as I turn away from her window before she sees my hard-on. “You have a nice day.”

  I take a step toward my car, frowning as I feel like I’m being pulled back to her, to this woman, this curvy creature in her little blue hatchback. I want to look into her big brown eyes again, caress her smooth round cheeks, kiss those big red lips. I want to make her mine, and the thought comes through so clearly that I just grin and shake my head. You’ve lost it, bro. Yeah, you’re a dude and you’ve fantasized about women your entire life. But this feels different. It’s like you just want to take her, claim her, make her yours right here on the street, in broad daylight! Who thinks like that?!

  “An animal,” I grunt as I stroll back towards my car, trying to walk as casually as possible even though my balls feel tight like they’re gonna explode inside my uniform. “Only an animal thinks like that. And you’re not an animal. You have self-control, Brick. Your mind rules your body. That’s why you took this job, isn’t it? To learn discipline. Control. Restraint. You can’t let go of yourself, Brick. Don’t let go.”

  “So I can go?” comes her voice from behind me, and it sounds like music being played by a band of giggling cupids.

  “Yes,” I say, refusing to turn back towards her, refusing to acknowledge that the voice in my head is saying, “No! You can’t go! You’re mine! Mine!”

  I sense the hesitation in her, and I grind my teeth as I wait for the sound of her car starting up. Soon she’ll be gone, whispers the voice inside me like it’s real. Don’t let her go. You can’t let her go.

  I stop before I get to my car, my fists clenching as I fight the need to turn back to her, to say something, anything. But how can I?! I’m an officer of the law. I can’t hit on a woman I’ve pulled over. That would only reinforce the worst stereotypes about cops. I’m not a bad cop. I have to walk away. That’s the right choice.

  The sound of her engine choking interrupts my moral dilemma, and I raise my head and listen. No. Is this really happening? Is her car seriously not starting?! Is this fate? Destiny? Meant-to-be?

  Slowly I turn on my heel, my jaw tightening as I listen to her try the ignition again. This isn’t a dead battery, I realize. A jump isn’t gonna get her going. She isn’t out of gas either. This is straight-up engine failure. This powder-blue Honda needs a tow-truck.

  And this curvy outlaw needs a ride.

  I know it before she even asks the question, and I stare as she pops open the front door and slowly gets out. She’s in a gray business skirt that comes down to her knees, and when I see her strong hourglass shape as she stands there in the sunlight, I know I’m not saying no.

  “No,” I say, feeling my body fighting my mind in a way that makes me almost sick.

  “If I’m late for work again, they’re going to fire me,” she says, putting her hands on her hips and looking me directly in the eye. I can tell that it’s taking some effort, and she’s only asking because she’s desperate.

  “Call an Uber,” I say, tightening my jaw and squaring off with her even though I want to pull her into my big body, feel her soft curves against my hard muscle, stroke her hair, kiss her forehead, tell her everything’s going to be all right, that Brick’s gonna make it all right.

  “Can’t,” she says, glancing into her car and then looking back at me. “May I?” she says, asking permission to get something from her front seat.

  I nod, instinctively placing my hand on my gun even though I want to stroke myself as she leans into her car, displaying her gorgeous ass because she just can’t hide something that big and beautiful. I almost groan out loud as I see her skirt move up her thighs. I know she isn’t doing this on purpose. She isn’t teasing me. This curvy goddess just can’t contain that body. She’s gonna need me to contain her. Whatever the hell that means. Fuck, I’m losing it.

  By now I’m almost delirious with arousal, and I have to swallow hard to stop myself from drooling by the time she stands up straight again. She’s holding up a flip-phone that looks like it’s from the 1980s or some shit. I raise an eyebrow and frown.

  “What the hell is that? A museum artifact?” I say.

  She shrugs, breaking into a hesitant smile that almost breaks me down into a lump of jelly. Now I can tell that this woman is shy by nature, despite the show of cleavage. Shy but also brave. A strong will. I see it in her, in how she carries herself.

  “I don’t want to spend my day staring at a phone,” she says, shrugging again and holding that ridiculous phone up like it’s Exhibit A on Law and Order. “I stare at enough screens at work. And I’m not giving up TV at home. So something else had to give.”

  Something’s gotta give, all right, I think as I feel my own smile spreading across my face. I don’t want to smile. I’ve spent years training myself to look like a bad-ass motherfucker when I’m on the job. It helps prevent a perp from trying any shit with me. Not that I’m afraid of getting into some shit with a street thug. In fact I like to do it sometimes, just to keep my edge, to remind myself I can take a hit and give two in return. I’m a beast in a fight, but this chick with her toy-phone and powder-blue Honda is turning me into a goofy schoolboy. Careful, Brick. Be very careful. You’re on the job here. This job is important. It’s the only thing keeping you together, keeping you in line, keeping you from going off the rails again.

  “Then arrest me,” she says, her brown eyes wide.

  “What?”

  “Arrest me. That way they can’t fire me from work. I’d have a solid excuse.”

  I snort. “Getting arrested is a good excuse? Where the hell do you work?”

  She laughs. “Public Library.”

  “Government job. Figures.” I shake my head. “No can do, Ma’am. I can’t arrest one of our own.”

  She puts her hands on her hips and widens her eyes at me. “Um, that’s favoritism. Corruption. I’ll report you to Internal Affairs.”

  I chuckle when I see her lips quiver as she tries to hold b
ack her smile. “You do watch a lot of TV, don’t ya. Especially if you think Internal Affairs is going to take you seriously when you complain about me not arresting you.”

  “OK, then at least give me a ticket so I can show it to my boss,” she says. Then she blinks and I see the anxiety ripple through her. “Oh, shit. I won’t be able to pay the ticket, of course.” She rubs her chin. “Oh! Maybe you don’t show up on the court date and then the judge dismisses the ticket and I won’t have to pay! Perfect!”

  “Perfect for whom?” I say, shaking my head as I wonder how this chick’s mind works. She’s quick, I’ll give her that. Also fucking crazy, if she thinks this is a negotiation. “You want me to be bad at my job so you can get away with being bad at yours?”

  Her mouth hangs open in mock indignation. “Did you just say I’m bad at my job? How dare you!”

  I shrug, taking a step toward her, my cock leading the way like it’s a goddamn homing device. “Well,” I growl, inhaling her scent and feeling her essence invade me like a drug. She smells like a flower, I think. And I wanna put my face between her petals.

  “Well, what?” she demands, hands still on her wide hips.

  It takes me a moment to realize that I’d stopped talking mid-sentence, and when I feel a car zip by us, I remember we’re blocking a lane on a busy street. Immediately my sense of duty snaps me back to reality, and I tighten my jaw and look around. What I should do is tell her to call a tow-truck and get this piece of powder-blue junk off the street. But that would cost her a hundred bucks minimum. Plus I’d have to stand here and wait for the truck to arrive, my lights on so traffic sees us.

  I rub my eyes and shake my head. Cops give rides to citizens all the time. It’s not necessarily a violation. And she is a government employee, after all.

  “All right,” I say, spying an empty lot about thirty yards down the road. “Get in.”

  Her eyes light up, and she walks to my cruiser, her hips moving in a way that makes me want to drop to my knees and push my face in there. But duty before booty, and I stop her and point at her own car. “No, I mean get into your own car,” I say. “Gotta push you off the road.”