“He’s waiting for you,” she whispered. “Maybe see if you can talk him into going home? Easton has a handle on things, and he needs some rest.”
“Will do.” I tapped on the glass insert with his name and a brass star painted on it. When no one replied, I cracked the door enough to peek inside. Ollie was sound asleep at his desk, his strong upper body splayed out, soft snores wafting into the air. “Hey, Ollie?”
He never moved. Not a twitch or a snuffle. I eased in, leaving the door cracked, and went to stand beside him. As soon as my hand landed on his biceps, he jerked up, his gaze flying around the office, totally lost, until he saw me at his side. I gave his broad shoulder a squeeze.
“I was double-checking the timesheets before sending them off to the county payroll clerk at the courthouse,” he said while blinking to clear the sleep from his dark eyes.
“Always working,” I said, smiling down at him. “It’s time for lunch. Why don’t we grab something to-go at the Calico and take it to your place?”
“I’m needed here,” he replied as he stretched his arms over his head. His shoulder popped so loudly I heard it and winced.
“No, you’re not. Things are quiet. Easton is taking the next shift, so go home, eat, shower, and get some rest!” Monica called from the outer office. Ollie rolled his eyes.
“She thinks she’s the one with the badge,” he whispered and grabbed his hat from atop the payroll papers on his desk. “Fine, we’ll grab something and take it to my place. I can smell myself.”
“When did you shower last?” I asked, following him out to the front, giving Monica a thumbs-up as Ollie stepped out into a humid day.
“Don’t ask, although all the time I spent in water over the past few days should have counted for some sort of a rinse if nothing else.” He looked up and down Main Street. I could see the pride on his face. This town was lucky to have him.
“That water might have worked better if there had been soap in the equation.” I took him by the hand, timidly at first in case he wasn’t cool with a PDA, but when he slid his fingers between mine, I gripped his hand just a bit harder. We walked down the main drag like that, and no one that we passed said a word other than thanks or praise for his leadership and caring for the folks who voted for him.
We grabbed something quick at the Calico: cold sandwiches, chips, coleslaw, and two root beers, and headed to his tidy home. He was talkative, which was a nice change from my silent son as we removed our shoes at the front door.
“My two nieces are finishing up the beading on their slippers for the Cherokee Nation Holiday powwow in two weeks.” He placed the food on the table, flipped on a light, and motioned for me to sit.
“Do you dance?” I asked, taking a seat and twisting the caps from our bottles of soda while he grabbed paper towels to use as napkins. He lowered his bulk down across from me, his sigh that of a man running on pure fumes and determination.
“Not so much anymore. I used to do the warrior dance when I was younger. Just a few times.”
“Tell me about it. I’m ashamed to say that I know little about your nation,” I confessed after taking the top off the carton of coleslaw. The sun outside shone through a thin-slatted window shade over the kitchen window, the narrow bands of bright yellow falling over the clean sink.
“It’s an all-male dance, done in a storytelling that extolls the bravery and strength of the warrior. The dancer always moves forward, never turning a complete circle as that signifies being lost. The warrior never dances backward as that is a sign of cowardice. The dancer always charges forward to meet his enemies head-to-head.”
I sat there as he went on to explain the various dances his people did at their celebrations. The food was enjoyable but just spending this time with him as he patiently told me about his people and their beliefs was even more so.
“So why don’t you dance anymore?” I took a sip of root beer as he rose to dispose of our empty containers in the trash can under the sink.
“I got too old and fat.”
“Please. There’s not an ounce of fat on your body.” I lowered my bottle to the table. He chuckled and turned to face me.
“I’m happy to help out in other capacities and leave the dancing to the young guys. The council always seems to want me to be working security.” He lifted a shoulder, and I sat back to drink in the man. Even on the edge of exhaustion, he got my blood pumping.
“Well, that’s because you’re so intimidating,” I commented, noting the rather large ridge of his cock pressing into his zipper.
“Meh.” He leaned back against the counter, the move pressing his pelvis forward. As if I could miss that shank of meat he was carrying around in his pants. “They just want to see me in uniform at the gate.”
I stood and padded around the table. “Personally, I’d rather see yououtof uniform.”
The corners of that sensual mouth curled up. “I think fair warning is required,” he said as I began to unbutton his not-so-crisply-pressed uniform shirt. “I’ve not fully showered in days.” I crinkled my nose but kept popping buttons free to reveal a dampwhite undershirt. “I have washed up in the sink at the office but not a complete shower.”
“Well, what we’ll do is get you freed from this sexy uniform.” I tugged his shirt free from his duty belt and slacks. “And then we’ll get you into the shower where we’ll wash you from stem,” I pressed a kiss to his jawline, “to stern.” Another peck to his chin as his hands found my hips. He guided me in closer, wedging his erection beside mine.
“That’s pretty nautical talk for a dentist,” he replied, deep brown eyes simmering with lust.
“Pedodontist. Ex-pedodontist,” I corrected and began freeing him from the various trinkets and contraptions on his shirt before I flung it to the winds. I removed his name badge, his star, a duo of pens, followed by the mic attached to his duty belt. It hung free. “That’s not right. What if that mic hits something and breaks? We need to remove your duty belt as well.”
He paused my hands on the belt buckle. “I’ll remove the belt. There’s a few locking devices on the holster that you’re not familiar with.”
