March
“Holy shit! You’re that hot cop from Facebook!”
Son of a bitch.
All I want is a cup of coffee, but now I have a forty-year-old lady screaming at me across Starbucks.
Fuck.
People are staring.
This is awkward.
I thought after hurricane season and the holidays some of this craziness would die down, but now spring is in the air, and I’m still being recognized. My venture into modeling certainly hasn’t helped the notoriety die down.
My whole life I wanted to be someone’s hero. I wanted to save the world and keep people safe. Becoming a cop was a no-brainer for me. But one photo and forty thousand followers on social media later, suddenly, I, a twenty-eight-year-old police officer from Tallahassee, Florida have become a viral sensation.
It was supposed to be another normal day at work. The four of us were geared up and out on patrol—do some cleanup and check on residents after being hammered by a hurricane over the weekend. A citizen snapped a picture of us in action, smiling and laughing as we helped an older lady remove debris from her yard. The citizen uploaded it to Facebook and tagged the department. Our captain spotted it and decided to re-share it for everyone to see.
By the end of the day, I had to shut off my phone. Thanks to an old college buddy who thought it would be hilarious to tag me in the photo - I had an inbox full of friend requests and messages. Everything from gratitude to the more obscene propositions.
Me and my buddies...we’d officially become the “Tallahassee Hot Cops.”
Don’t get me wrong. I’m flattered, really. But, occasionally it makes my life a little difficult.
“You really are, aren’t you? Can I take a selfie with you? Oh my God, you could cuff me anytime!”
I usually work nights, being on days this week is killing me, hence the need for something a lot stronger than the brew at the station. I simply wanted a cup of coffee before my shift. That’s it. I can’t, and I won’t be rude though.
There’s a lot of good that has come from all this attention already. Some of our brothers in blue started a hot cop challenge and had people donating to hurricane relief efforts in the name of the department that they thought had the hottest cops. We raised some serious funds.
And Tallahassee won. Just in case you were wondering.
Not to mention – the offer from a local photographer to shoot me for some book covers. We’ve sold sixteen so far. The attention has only grown from there.
“That’s me,” I offer her a smile. “One selfie and then I’ve got to hit the road. Duty calls.”
“Oh, of course. I wouldn’t want to keep you from saving the world...Officer,” she bats her eyes at me and pushes out her chest. She’s trying hard, too hard in fact. Holding her phone out in front of us, she wraps one arm around me, I put a hand on her shoulder and smile for the picture.
Two seconds later, I’m saved by the barista calling my name and sliding my coffee across the counter.
“Have a good day, ma’am,” I nod to the lady after thanking the barista and taking a sip of the piping hot cup of blonde roast.
When I step outside my partner, Dylan Smith – better known as Smitty, is leaning against the squad car laughing his ass off. “Oh my God!” He squeals in the worst feminine impersonation I’ve ever heard as we climb inside the car.
“Shut up, fucker. You’re just jealous that your mug wasn’t in that photo. That’s what happens when you call off."
It figures he was still inside Starbucks to witness that interaction go down.
“You can cuff me anytime,” he continues, ignoring me.
I roll my eyes and laugh. Okay, so maybe Smitty’s girlie voice is entertaining. The situation was funny too, after the fact.
Tossing the car into reverse, I back out of the parking spot and hit the road.
“You’re right, man.” His voice finally returns to normal. “I’m jealous as hell. Unlimited women, ready and willing–you’re living the dream.”
I snort. “Oh yeah, living the dream.” Unlimited women, ready and willing. Not quite. I’m not a saint, not by a long shot but I tend to be selective when it comes to scratching an itch, so to speak. Meaningless sex doesn’t exactly do it for me.
Stopped at a red light, I pull my cell phone out and attempt to take a picture of Smitty while he’s strumming through his phone. Just before the flash goes off, the fucker flips me off and ruins the damn picture.
“What the hell are you doing Rhys? Eyes on the road man.”
“I’m trying to help you out. You could be ‘The OTHER Hot Cop’ if you’d sit still long enough to let me snap a good picture of you.”
“Drive Rhys and quit trying to snap pictures of me for your spank bank.”
People are still blowing up my Facebook and calling the station trying to connect with us. And Smitty loves to give me a hard time about it too. I never thought I’d see the day that the department had to tell people not to dial 911. Yeah, that happened too. True story - you cannot call 911 and ask to talk to Tallahassee’s Hot Cops. That number is for emergencies only. Emergencies that do not consist of your panties going up in flames.
Some of the women that have taken an interest in me only want one thing. Something I’m not willing to give. Most guys in my situation, Smitty included, would be taking full advantage of the attention. But not me. Instead, I feel like I’m saving myself. For something. For someone.
Ever since that one weekend a year ago, I’ve felt this void. Ever since her.