Danika

Who’s got two thumbs and doesn’t let some man get her down?

This girl.

One of my fellow lady recruits holds the door for me on the way into the locker room, and we exchange a fist bump. It’s going to be a great Wednesday. Even if Greer is on the schedule for the first time this week and I’ll finally be coming face-to-face with him again. No big deal. I’m even wearing the red panties again for an extra boost of confidence, maybe even a sassy, secret middle finger to the lieutenant.

There is absolutely nothing that can break my stride.

Except maybe an envelope taped to my locker.

I frown at the white rectangle and carefully remove it, settling it in my lap as I plop down onto the bench. Making sure there is no one looking, I lift the fold out . . . and a book of collector’s edition Elvis stamps slides out into my palm.

Mayday, mayday. Stride broken.

Oh my God. They’re so beautiful. Crisp, scalloped edges. Bright, vivid pinks and oranges. The King is crooning into an old-fashioned microphone with a stray, black hair dangling over his forehead. My fingers are already itching to add them to my book.

Greer is the only one who knew I even wanted these stamps, which means . . . he left them here for me. An apology? Or did he buy them out of guilt?

My muscles seize up and I can’t move, which is much the same condition I was left in Saturday night. Oh, I played off my humiliation when Ever and Katie came to check on me after Greer left. Putting on a smile and joining the crew for a slice of pizza made me wonder if I should look into working undercover, because I put on quite a performance. I think I fooled everyone but Jack into believing I was fine. Thank God no one asked me directly what happened or I might have cracked.

What did happen? Nothing like a man barreling into a girl’s apartment, wiping off her makeup, spanking her, giving her a monumental orgasm, then leaving. Nothing confusing about that at all, right?

I made the decision to follow through with the probation, though, and nothing is going to stop me from fulfilling my end of the deal. If I want to make my family proud, setting an example for my cousins and their children that come after? That example is going to be authentic. Unfortunately, Greer hasn’t been answering his phone, so I’ve been leaving messages like a clingy one-time hookup who won’t take a hint.

Yesterday’s was the most ridiculous so far. Do you have book club merch? Asking for a friend. If not, she was thinking you should look into bookmarks. That way you don’t have to remember the page number. That is what you’ve been doing, isn’t it? Okay, bye.

Funny enough, leaving messages has made me feel a lot better. Him walking out on me when I was vulnerable might have hurt—more than I will ever admit—but making light of the whole situation helped me take back power. Suggesting Greer stay and eat pizza was stupid. Seriously stupid. For a minute there, I even thought I wanted him to accept the offer. To what? Be my kind of boyfriend? No wonder he legged it. What happened in my bedroom was a hookup that got cut unfortunately short and won’t be happening again.

Only . . . now I have stamps. What do they mean?

A whistle blows out in the gym, rousing me from my stupor. I’m alone in the locker room? My glaze flies to the clock and I’m late. Shit. How long have I been sitting here? Time seems to slow down as I change into my academy T-shirt and a pair of black yoga pants, hopping on one foot while tying my sneakers. I almost wipe out minutes later as I skid around the corner into the brightly lit gym, finding everyone already lined up for inspection.

Every head turns in my direction, including Greer’s, and I want to stab him with his pencil when he makes a notation on the clipboard. I take the walk of shame to the end of a line, ignoring questioning looks from Jack and Charlie. They’re probably wondering how I left the apartment before them and somehow showed up late.

Well, you see, fellas, I was mooning over some stamps.

Every time Greer does inspection, walking down the line of recruits to mark us present and presentable, I have to think about something gross to keep my nipples from getting hard. Usually I think of eating snails or birds regurgitating food to their young, and it does the trick. But today, the closer he gets to me, the harder I find it to concentrate on keeping my body neutral. My backside hasn’t been tender since around Monday, but the skin he slapped wakes up and tingles now, like it wants more. Those tingles travel on little lightning clouds up and around to my breasts—and I’m in major trouble now. He’s only about two people away, and my buds are beginning to strain underneath my T-shirt. There isn’t a sports bra on the planet with enough thickness to keep them hidden . . . and I witness the moment Greer sees them.

Hard for him.

He drops his head forward, that pencil scratching across his clipboard, but I see him. He’s watching me though eyelashes I never noticed before. How does he make them look so masculine? Every part of him is. That ripped chest and those stupid, incredible thighs. Was this man really in my bed?

“Break up into three groups.” Greer’s voice booms, confident and full, but I notice the dark rings around his eyes. Darker than usual. “A through J, you’re downstairs in the firing range. Garrett, you’re leading the session. Think you can handle it?” My blastoff to Planet Horny is aborted, pride plowing into my stomach. I look over in time to find Jack’s mouth curl into a hesitant smile before leading his group toward the stairwell. “K through S, you’re with me for drills. Everyone else, head to the track. Go.”

A blow of his whistle sends everyone running, faster than we move for any other instructor. I don’t have far to go since I’m staying with Greer for drills, which, let’s face it, is going to be awkward. It was uncomfortable before he woke up this new desire inside me to be manhandled, because I’ve wanted a ride on the Thigh Express since day one. Saturday night was a game changer, however . . . and I should be feeling more exposed here. Why don’t I?

It’s the stamps. The fact that he listened and realized they were important to me. It’s the fact that he just built Jack up in front of the whole room of recruits. And while I know my best friend deserves that recognition for his recent hard work, Greer is also trying to make up for what I overheard in that meeting. So he’s the one who’s exposed. Because that hard-ass lieutenant image is chipping away with each little gesture he can’t seem to help making.

Damn. This is a real inconvenient time for my resentment toward him to take a nosedive. He walked out on me and hasn’t answered a phone call since. I can recognize his efforts to be a better guy as much as I want. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s not interested in anything serious. Saturday was nothing more than temporary insanity.

My resolve to continue on like I’m completely unaffected by what happened Saturday night reaffirms itself. The alternative is to let Greer think he has the power to upset me, and I don’t want that. If I face him now, pretending I’m made of Teflon where he’s concerned will get easier each time, until it’s finally true.

Instead of joining the rest of my group at the mats, I stay where I am and wait for Greer to draw even with me. “Can I help you with something, Silva?”

Hearing him use my last name crams my belly with disappointment, but I ignore the feeling. What did I expect? Him to call me baby again? “Buying me stamps really takes the sting out of your dickhead act.”

“It’s not an act.” Hard blue eyes flick to mine. “I think we established that on Saturday.”

“Maybe.” My voice is threadbare, because I didn’t expect him to bring it up. The fact that he did throws me off. “We definitely established you’re a giver, not a taker.”

Wow. God, that was bold, even for me. What am I doing? My goal was to act like Saturday was no big deal, sure, but I didn’t plan on inviting a conversation about it. Or making it sound as though I’m hoping for more. Without taking his focus off the clipboard, he speaks to me in a sharp tone. “That mouth is going to land you in trouble again.”

His warning makes me think of slapping sounds, followed by groans of satisfaction. Wetness lands between my thighs, and I pull my T-shirt down on reflex. He notices, a muscle beginning to tic in his jaw. I want to push him further, to ask what kind of trouble he means. But we’ve been speaking privately long enough to draw attention to ourselves, so I go a different direction. “I’ve been staying out of trouble. You have the voice mails to prove it.”

It might be my imagination, but warmth seems to wink in his eyes before they go cold again. “That I do. You’re taking the commitment seriously.”

“Guess that makes one of us.”

That got his undivided attention. The suggestion that he’s not doing his job correctly brings one eyebrow shooting up the surface of his forehead. “Excuse me?”

Courage, young one. “You said ride alongs were part of my probation.” I shrug. “Maybe you didn’t mean it.”

His unwavering stare might send a smarter person sprinting for cover, but I force myself to remain unblinking in the line of fire. “Be outside the Ninth at six tonight.”

Shoot. “Can we make it six-thirty? I have to run to the West Side to bring a prescription to my dad after we’re dismissed.”

“Send me the address.” His chin is set. “I’ll pick you up there.”

“At my parents’ place?”

Has a sigh ever been more withering? “I’m not coming for Sunday dinner. I’ll wait for you outside.”

What would that be like? Walking out of my parents’ building and having Greer waiting for me at the curb. I guess I’m going to find out. “Done.”

“Don’t be late,” he grunts.

“You either, Grim Reaper,” I let sail over my shoulder on the way to join the group.

It’s a challenge not to turn a cartwheel on my way to the mat. Although, I have no idea if I’ve won a victory with the lieutenant . . . or set myself up for more disappointment.