Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27101 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27101 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
She doesn’t blink. “Clocked you at ninety-three in a fifty-five. That’s reckless driving.”
I wince and blurt out before my mind has time to catch up with my brain, “I’m late for brunch at my parents’ house.”
She blinks several times, then takes a deep breath and holds up one palm. “That isn’t an excuse for putting yourself and others in danger with your reckless driving.” Then she turns on her heel and walks back to her cruiser, and I get to watch the aforementioned heart-shaped ass do a precision strut that’s both awe-inspiring and holy-fucking-sexy. I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t be thinking about a woman’s ass when she’s deciding whether or not to ruin my week, but that’s a battle I lost the second she stepped out of the car.
She’s gone for five minutes, probably running my name and record. I scroll the family group chat in the meantime, ignoring the string of GIFs from my brother Atlas and the all-caps threats from Mom. Beckett’s already weighing in with “You’re in deep shit,” and now I’m torn between sibling rage and the sick realization that I might, in fact, get arrested in the next five minutes.
I don’t look up until she’s back at my window, sunglasses off, and a dead serious look in her eyes. Her eyes are light hazel with an emerald green ring around the iris, which isn’t fair because I was already drowning in the rest of her, and now I have to add “gorgeous fucking eyes” to the list of things making things harder, and I mean that literally.
She glances down at me. “I’m going to need you to step out of the car, Mr. Hot,” she says, and her voice is still a flatline of professional, but I swear I see the corner of her mouth twitch. “Because you were going more than thirty over, I have to take you in.”
My stomach flops. Motherfucker. “To jail?”
“To the station,” she corrects, like that’s any better. “It’s mandatory for speeds in excess of thirty over the posted limit, per county code. Step out of the vehicle, please.”
I hesitate, not because I’m resisting, but because every molecule of blood in my body is now ping-ponging between humiliation and a hard-on. “Can I at least text my mom?” I ask, and immediately regret it. Fuck. Now, I sound like an idiot.
She almost cracks a smile at that, but recovers instantly. “You’ll get a phone call at the station. Please step out of the vehicle, Mr. Hot.”
I do, and she gestures for me to turn around, and for a split second, I wonder if this is a bad dream I’ll wake up from.
Cold steel on my wrists. Fast, efficient, practiced. She reads me my rights in a tone that makes it sound like she’s reading me bedtime stories. And just like that, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen has handcuffed me, and it isn’t in the bedroom. I don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or propose on the spot.
She puts a firm hand on my shoulder and guides me to the back seat of the cruiser. The whole time, I’m thinking about two things: one, how the hell am I going to live this down, and two, how soon can I tie this goddess to me for life?
I finally catch her name tag as she opens the door and see her last name is MERRILL.
She closes the door behind me, and I’m left staring at her through the safety glass as she does some paperwork up front. The air inside the cruiser is cooler than outside and smells faintly of lemon wipes. It takes about thirty seconds for the humiliation to hit me, and then another ten for the realization that, in all likelihood, every single one of my brothers is about to find out I got taken in for reckless driving by the woman who just stole my goddamn heart.
She fastens her seatbelt, adjusts the mirror so she can keep an eye on me, and pulls back onto the road with the kind of controlled, emotionless precision that makes my pulse spike in a whole new way. The cuffs are tight but not painful, and I do a little test wriggle to see if I can get comfortable. Spoiler alert—I can’t.
The drive is only a few miles, but it’s the longest car ride of my life. I clear my throat. “What’s going to happen to my car?”
She doesn’t look at me. “It’s going to be towed to the impound lot. After you bond out, you can pick it up there.”
“Great.” Fucking perfect. I should care more about what could be happening to my brand-new car, but all I’m worried about right now is the stunning woman sitting in the front seat.
She grunts in reply. I can’t handle the silence anymore so I decide to try again, because clearly, I’m a glutton for punishment.