What am I doing here?

That was my first question upon my arrival to jail, and it still plays over and over again in my head.

I can’t believe I’m in fucking jail over some stupid fist fight. I’ve had so many in the past, but I’ve never been ratted out by my opponent like the loser who just ratted me out.

Then again, I’ve never fought such a loser. And the fight certainly wasn’t voluntary.

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m a Bradford, and we’re known for causing trouble. There were things I did in high school that were less than okay, and even more things I did while in the SEALs that have skirted the line of “appropriate military personnel behavior,” but luckily, I’ve always gotten away with them.

I’ll add this experience to my long list of WTF moments, and I shouldn’t be surprised that my actions have finally caught up with me.

It makes no difference though. I would gladly beat up the bastard all over again if given the chance, no matter the punishment, even though he’s the reason I ended up in jail. I just hope this doesn’t affect my career too negatively.

On that note, I glance around, wondering where Dylan is. He’s my lawyer from the Veterans’ Legal Alliance, and I’m waiting in the holding area for him to finally show up. My arraignment and bond hearing are quickly approaching, and this fucking dude is nowhere to be found.

I sigh, trying to hide my disgust that my lawyer is MIA. But then I see that Tim McDonald, the director of the organization, is here, and I have hope that he’ll know where Dylan is. He seems to be the only guy in this place who has a clue about what’s going on.

And then I notice the chick sitting across from him at the table. When I say notice, I mean that it would be impossible to miss her. She’s all decked out in a fancy suit, her hair meticulously curled into blonde waves that cascade down her shoulders.

Damn. Blondes are my type. And I love long hair. I just want to reach out and grab it, and not in a friendly way either. In a “let me show you who’s boss” type of way.

And that ass. I can see part of it from this angle and it’s full and curvy, just like I like them. My cock needs your curvy ass, I want to tell her.

But that’s ridiculous. I’m in jail, and she’s likely in the legal field, since she’s meeting with Tim and since she’s dressed like she’s auditioning for an episode of Law & Order: SVU.

Besides, even if she weren’t completely fucking out of my league, she’s not my type. I mean, yeah, sure, her looks are my type— I’d hit that in a second, and then throw her out of bed and never talk to her again— but her personality clearly isn’t.

I’m into laid-back girls that I can easily talk to, and do a lot of other things with as well. Such as share a beer with them. Or maybe even some whiskey. Or, hell, have a threesome with them.

And this chick looks like the total opposite of all of that. Stuck-up and snobby, with a stick up her ass and something to prove all the time, to somebody, for some reason. I know the type, and I stay away from them.

But still. Fuck, she’s gorgeous.

Out of nowhere she surveys the room and locks eyes with me. She has beautiful eyes, like she just got off a plane from some Nordic country as ice cold and steely blue as those eyes of hers.

I look back and hold her gaze. Of course, I do. I’m no pussy, and even though I wouldn’t date her, that doesn’t mean I won’t try to fuck her. I don’t “date” anyone, anyway.

She looks like the type with a boring boyfriend or husband at home, but I don’t care. I don’t want a relationship, just some hot sex.

She’s probably never had hot sex but there’s always a first time for everything. Just like me winding up in jail for some stupid fight no different than the ones I’ve gotten into since I was a boy, without such humiliating repercussions.

No one knows what the future holds. I'm sure I’m not her type, either. I doubt she’d date me. But I bet I can get her to fuck me.

I want to bend her over and pull her hair while I do it. I bet I could have her moaning and yelling out my name all night long. As soon as I'm sprung from this joint.

I decide to make a move. I’ve never been known for my patience.

I approach the table and make up a dumbass excuse to talk to Tim. Of course, I do have a valid reason— I’m waiting on my perpetually late attorney— but I know Tim can’t make him appear any faster than I can. I just want an excuse to be closer to this mystery woman.

Tim’s in the middle of telling this hottie that even though she doesn’t have criminal law experience, he can quickly train her.

Great, I think. She is a fucking lawyer. And a newbie at that. I hope they’re not wanting to assign her to my case.

I’ll just stick with Dylan— as awful as I’m starting to think he is— or pay some private attorney out of pocket. Money talks, and a new attorney will have to do what I want, not what the VLA has trained them to do.

But damn is she fine, I think, as Tim introduces us and I shake her hand firmly, the same way I’d like to grab her ass if I weren’t impeded by this orange jumpsuit and my temporary lack of freedom.

I return to the table to continue my boring task of waiting for Dylan, all the while thinking, What is she doing here? Instead of only What am I doing here?

I clearly bashed a guy’s skull in to end up here. But she’s like a fish out of water. Why would she want to represent someone like me?

When Dylan finally arrives and I jump to the front of the line to meet him, he takes me back to the attorney/ client conference room and I can’t help but look back at Riley one more time. My curiosity gets the better of me and I wink at her. She looks pleased.

If I weren’t in jail, I’d have her in bed by tonight, I think, as I reluctantly follow Dylan into the conference room and kiss all hopes of fucking Fancy Lawyer Lady goodbye.

That’s just one of many things in my life I’ll be kissing goodbye. And it shouldn’t even be the most important thought in my head right now, but it is.