His eyes darkened, just for a second. “Bet,” he said. “One more thing. You still my biggest fan?”
“You played like trash the first half of the last game,” I said, lips twitching. “Jury’s still out.”
We stared at each other for a beat before our laughter hit at the same time.
“Yeah, aight,” he said, shaking his head. “You know I’m him.”
“Oh, I know,Mr. Bryns the House Down.”
The nickname from his college days made him laugh for real, tipping his head back.
“Yeah, let me get the fuck outta here before I kidnap you and throw away the key.”
“A stalker and a kidnapper. Noted.”
“Chill, let me get your phone.”
I handed it over, open, no hesitation this time. He dropped his number in, called himself, then slid it back to me.
“Don’t stand me up. I’m chilling unless you turn me up.”
“I won’t. Scouts honor.”
He reached out, just his fingertips brushing my wrist. “So fuckin cute. I’m glad I got to put a smile on your face today and see that shit up close and personal.”
“Me too. Look, I gotta go. Duty calls. Call me, text me. Whatever.”
“Aight, be safe out there, Angel.”
I watched him walk back to his Range Rover, and I stayed there for a moment, holding the gift box. When I rounded the corner back to the station, everyone pretended that they hadn’t been eavesdropping.
The second I walked in, they all started.
“So, what did he say? Are you done pretending you don’t like him?” Lisah asked.
“That man is FINE,” someone else added.
“Lieutenant got herself a baller!” Miller laughed. “Literally.”
Keith opened his mouth, and right on cue, the alarm cut across all of it.
“Structure fire, 2847 West Industrial Boulevard. Multiple units responding. Possible entrapment.”
Saved by disaster. Story of my life.
“You heard it! Move!” I shouted, voice snapping back into command.
Thank God for emergencies.
#
I was so damn glad that week was over. I’d been holding down the fort at work for weeks, so they low-key volun-told me to sit down somewhere. A whole week off. Time to rest my bones, let my mind breathe, maybe read, maybe skate, maybe just exist without a pager yelling at me.
But first on the docket was Olive Garden with my girls.
The hostess walked us into a private room in the back. Door clicked shut, candles on the table, breadsticks already waiting, the big salad bowl sitting pretty in the middle. I'd kept it simple tonight—mini skirt showing a little leg, collared shirt, heeled boots. Enough to feel cute without trying too hard for a girls' night.
We settled in, wine poured, water for Sametra, and for a few minutes, it was just us catching up. Winnie talked about drama at the barbershop. Tessa ranted about the new girl on the derby team who couldn’t skate in a straight line. Sametra rubbed her belly and talked about nursery colors and whether Malik would survive her nesting phase without getting cussed out.
