Fall With Me by Jennifer L. Armentrout
A Little Taste
There was a county cruiser parked next to my car and there was a really freaking hot cop propped against the passenger side, long legs crossed at the ankles and arms folded across a yummy chest.
Reece was waiting.
I wasn’t really thinking about my list of priorities as I stared at him in the dimly lit parking lot. The muggy night air settled over me as he unfolded his legs and pushed off the cruiser. My gaze roamed over him. I was really just thinking about how the polyester material of his work pants moved along his thighs.
God, he walked with the kind of lethal grace that should be illegal.
Nick leaned in and whispered in my ear, “And right there is the main reason why I wouldn’t get with you.”
I tripped over my feet.
“Hey man.” Nick clapped Reece on the shoulder as he strolled past him. “Have a good night. See you Wednesday, Roxy.”
“Bye-bye.” I didn’t take my eyes off Reece. What was he doing here, at two thirty in the morning? It wasn’t the first time I’d stepped out of the bar late at night and found Reece waiting. Back before “the night thou shalt not repeat,” he used to do it every once in a while, when he was working the night shift and was taking lunch.
But it was something I hadn’t expected him to do again.
The sound of Nick’s motorcycle rumbling to life echoed throughout the otherwise silent parking lot. I needed to say something, because we were standing there, a few feet between us, staring at one another. “Hi.”
Well, that was spectacular.
One side of his lips kicked up as his gaze dipped. “What . . . ?” He laughed, and there was a flutter deep in my belly, like a nest of butterflies had suddenly taken flight.
“What does your shirt say?”
I glanced down, trying to stop the smile tugging at my lips. “It says ‘Ladies’ Man.’ What’s wrong with that?”
Long, thick lashes lifted and then he laughed again, that nice and light laugh that wrapped around me. “You are . . . you’re something else, Roxy.”
Shifting my weight from one foot to the next, I bit down on my lip. “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a run-in-the-other-direction kind of thing.”
He took one step closer, his arms loose at his sides—his right arm brushing against the handle of his duty gun. The star on his chest seemed shinier than possible, and was eye level with me. “It’s . . . yeah, it’s a good thing.”