The man in question stood a couple inches over six feet. His gray cowboy boots pushed him up taller. Black jeans wrapped his legs like lover’s hands, and made his ass look mouthwatering. His shoulders were wide, his waist lean, his forearms ropey with muscle where they emerged from a dove gray western shirt with pearl buttons. He walked upright with his shoulders squared like he was ready for a fight. His brown hair bristled from his head in a short, military-style cut. His square jaw was clean-shaven, showing off his all-American good looks.
“Well, fuck. Just what we needed when we’re planning to go out criming,” I said.
“He sure is pretty, though. Wonder if he’s got back hair.”
I eyed her. “Back hair? Tell me that’s not a turn-on.”
Jen grinned. “Exactly. I’d hate to think he was a perfect specimen of virile manhood. Not when he’s such a holier-than-thou prick.”
“Maybe he’s compensating for his small dick.”
“Guess we’ll never know,” she said, leaning back in her chair to watch him.
Mike Crowe—Officer Mike Crowe—had been trying to get Stacey into a wedding ring for a couple of years now. Never going to happen. Stacey had no intention of following the bad example of her parents and all their steps into marriage. Between her father and mother, they’d had nine weddings. Stacey’s mother remained married to her fourth husband, though the way things were going that could change any day now, and her father was trolling for his sixth wife, having finalized his latest divorce a few months back.
Her parents, however, remained friends with each other and all their other spouses. Though Stacey was their only child together, they each had three or four more biological children with other people, plus a couple dozen step children, if you counted all the kids their other spouses had, which they did. Stacey’s family was like the mafia: once you were in, you could never get out.
The whole situation was an Elmore Leonard book waiting to happen. Stacey had decided long ago she’d have to get a lobotomy to want to get married. She’d been excited when Officer Hotpants, as she’d dubbed him, invited her out. Two dates later and he’d turned into Officer Stick-Up-His-Ass and she’d dropped him like a bad habit.
The problem was she was most men’s wet dream. Petite with blonde ringlets, a curvy figure, and a bright smile, she looked like a sexy angel, a fact she wasn’t oblivious to and often took advantage of.
She continued to flirt outrageously with Officer Obnoxiously-Hot, but had told him in no uncertain terms that she’d fuck him but not marry him. Clearly he didn’t quite believe her. Or maybe the flirting gave him hope. I’ll admit I took great satisfaction in knowing that he went home with blue balls every time he saw her.
My malice was justified. Officer My-Shit-Don’t-Stink despised me, Lorraine, and Jen. He’d developed the bizarre belief that Stacey would be pure as the driven snow if not for us. The fact that she wasn’t interested in any long term commitments or settling down was apparently our fault, because we’d infected her with slut cooties or something.
As if.
I was still mostly a virgin. Lorraine rarely had time for lovers, even one night stands. Jen couldn’t be bothered by most men she met. Stacey was the free spirit, encouraging all of us to enjoy ourselves, even temporarily. Officer Blue-Balls would probably have a heart attack if he got a look at her toy drawer.
He strode through the rambunctious crowd like he was on a mission, dodging dancers and waitstaff and ignoring all the admiring stares he was getting from women and men alike. He took a seat at the bar and waited for Stacey to notice him. The club was hopping, crowded more than usual for Thursday night. Even with two other bartenders, Stacey could hardly keep up.
Eventually she saw him. She gave him a bright smile and a wave, then filled a frosty-cold glass with dark beer and set it before him. Ignoring the clamors for her attention from thirsty customers, she gripped the brass bar rail and hoisted herself up off her feet, leaning forward so she could get close enough for him to hear her. He bent and met her half way, listening intently.
She spoke for a few moments and dropped back to the floor, waiting for him to reply. He stared, his expression startled and then disappointed, before giving a slight nod. She flashed him another sunny smile and hurried back to work.
“Wonder what that was about,” I said.
"Talk about an inconvenient time for Mikey to show up," Jen said. "Hopefully she was telling him to get lost before he gets in the way."
"If he gets in the way, I'll just flatten all his tires," I said.
Jen glanced back at him and scowled. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. He’s headed over here. Quick! Tie his shoes together, or better yet, turn him into a toad.”
“He’s wearing cowboy boots, and people would probably panic if he suddenly turned into a toad,” I said, after a moment’s contemplation. “Wouldn’t want to be responsible for the injuries when they stampeded out of here.”
“Then glue his boots to the floor. Or put cockroaches in his pants.”
My brows rose. “Not bees? Or spiders?”
“Or all three.”
“I’d have thought you’d be itching to tell him off.”
“I’d love to kick him in the balls, but Stacey wouldn’t appreciate me getting arrested before we actually go commit tonight’s crimes,” Jen said, watching Officer Asswipe weave his way through the club’s boisterous crowd.
“True.”
“Anyway, she does like him. Apparently, he can be smart and funny when he’s not a jackass.”
