“You can’t suppress my expression!”he yells, still tossing donut holes over his shoulder.“My body is art!”
“Your junk is a community hazard, pal!We’ve talked about this!”
“No one tells Gerry what to wear!”
“I’m not asking, I’m begging—shorts, man!Or a towel.Or literally anything that covers the glory of your Gnomehood!”
He flips me off with powdered fingers and keeps running, zigzagging like a feral toddler.
I glance back toward the station door and catch her watching—arms folded, hip cocked, lips twitching like she’s trying not to laugh.
Great.
Agent Megan DiNapoli, federal-grade attitude in a five-foot curvy package, witnessing my morning unravel like a live-action cartoon.
And here I am, covered in powdered sugar, arguing with a naked espresso junky Gnome like it's just another Tuesday.
Which, in Arrhythmia?It is.
I sigh, wipe my hands on my thighs, and start walking back.
She lifts a brow as I approach.“Is that part of the welcome tour, or...?”
“Only for VIPs,” I grunt, brushing off the worst of the sugar.“You’ll get your own personal Gnome tantrum if you stick around long enough.”
“Can’t wait.”
I stop a few feet from her, close enough to see the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes, and just barely far enough to keep my Wolf from lunging.
He’s been so damn restless since she walked in.
Watching her like prey, like a promise, like something ours.
Not the time.Not the place.Definitely not the assignment.
“Uh, boss?”Deputy Delilah Banks jogs up beside me, her blonde braid swinging.“Should I get him?”
“Yeah,” I mutter.“Cuff him and toss him in the drunk tank for twelve hours.That oughta be enough time for him to come down off his high.”
“Got it.”
The young Fox Shifter hands me a crumpled paper towel, which I accept with a grunt of appreciation as she draws her taser.
“Gerry, stop it now or I’ll tase you!”she yells, charging after him in a blur of authority and annoyance.
Behind me, chaos erupts all over again.
Gerry’s screaming about censorship and the tragedy of modern art while Delilah yells something about public decency and felony mooning.
I glance at Agent DiNapoli and nod toward the madness.
“Welcome to Arrhythmia, Agent,” I say dryly.“Hope you brought a helmet.”
She smirks.“Why?Planning to throw donuts at me too?”
“No,” I say, letting my gaze sweep her, slow and deliberate, just once.Just long enough to make her blink.“But around here?Every day’s a full-contact sport.”
And this Jersey-born, gun-toting, curve-wrapped hurricane?
