Danika

Let it never be said that Danika Silva backs down from a challenge, huh?

It’s Thursday evening—exactly twenty-four hours since my public sex-capades—and I’m dressed in my pajamas, hair wet from my shower. I’m on the edge of my bed with the door closed, muffled sounds from the television reaching me through the door. I’m flipping my cell phone up and down in my hand, working up the nerve to check in with the lieutenant. A.k.a. Greer. A.k.a. the Grim Reaper. A.k.a. the Orgasm Donor.

Underneath my nightshirt, goose bumps lift on every inch of my skin. God, I’ve been like this all day. As if I’m sharing a filthy secret with my panties. But I can’t give in and do another mental replay of the backseat boogie, because I need to focus on the upcoming phone call. Not to mention, the gauntlet I threw down last night.

The lieutenant made the mistake of opening up to me about his ex-partner, about the fact that the job is getting to him, and now he’s not just my instructor. Not just the badass with bazooka biceps and a scowl. He’s real. He’s a man who hesitates to fire on someone even though they’re drawing a gun. He’s a man who buys me stamps, mourns the loss of his friend, leads a book club and runs interference for my cousin with the department.

All these things have doubled my attraction to him.

And quadrupled my chances of getting hurt.

But there’s something inside me that won’t let Greer push me away. It would be the easy way out, wouldn’t it? Sure, we could have a few more accidents where I trip and find myself impaled on his lap. We’d go our separate ways afterwards and call it a slipup.

Here’s the thing, though. I don’t want to do that. What we did under the rumbling shadow of the FDR Drive felt like the furthest thing from an accident. And I’m not going to pretend Greer is a waste of my time. He’s not. The guy who bought me stamps, commended me in front of my parents and avoided taking a suspect’s life at the risk of his own? If I don’t try and convince him the world won’t end if he’s happy, I’ll regret it.

Greer didn’t sign on for more of me, but I can’t shake the feeling he wants more. Even if he’s afraid to admit it.

Flipping the phone one more time for good measure, I finally give in and hit call on the lieutenant’s number, burying a nervous squeal in my throat. This is the guy I got naked for last night, and I totally, totally got the last word. Why am I nervous? Ahhhh.

One ring. “I am calm. I am cool. I am woman, hear me roar—”

“Good to know.”

My heart shoots into my throat. When did he answer? “Come on. Don’t you say hello?”

“My caller ID told me who it was.”

I can gauge exactly nothing by his tone of voice. In the background, there’s a lot of scraping chairs and crackling radios, so I know he’s at the precinct. Not like he’d be baby talking me through the phone if he was somewhere more private. This is Greer we’re talking about. Keeper of frowns and blower of piercing whistles. “I’m just checking in.”

Silence passes. “How . . . are you?”

Oh my God, the way he asks the question. Like his mouth is right up against my ear and he’s clearly, clearly asking about the state of my vagina, right? “It’s fine,” I breathe. Shit, he was asking about my vagina, right? I slap a hand over my eyes. “How has your day been?”

“A lot of meetings and paperwork. I discharged my weapon yesterday,” he reminds me, like I could forget it for a single second.

“I know. I was there.” I press my lips together and puff a laugh. “Both times.”

“Jesus, Danika,” he chokes out and it’s priceless. It takes him a moment to speak again, and when he does, his voice is lower. It feels like he’s sitting beside me. “The man I shot is under psych evaluation, but he’s going to be fine.”

The way he says it tells me he was worried. Knowing Greer was concerned for someone who tried to put a bullet in his chest makes me that much more positive he’s got more to give. Maybe to me? “Did you go to see him?” I ask, my hand climbing my throat.

“Not inside the room, just to the desk.” A pause. “I wouldn’t know what to say.”

Really? This man who can cut to the center of a recruit’s bullshit from fifty yards away? “I’m sure they told him you were there. That’s more than most cops would do after he fired on them.” My fierce need to go find him and wrap him in a hug forces me to take a long, slow breath away from the receiver. “If you want to go into the room next time, I can . . . come with you.”

He’s quiet so long, I’m not sure he’s going to respond. “Thanks for the offer, but they’re probably transferring him to a different facility tomorrow.”

“Okay. Just keep it in mind.” I can almost hear the time ticking on this phone call. The longer we talk, the more intimate it becomes, and Greer doesn’t think he wants that. Not the emotional kind of intimacy, anyway. I’m banking on the opposite, though, so I search for a way to keep him on the line longer. “Um. I’ve been thinking about something you said during our ride along.” I wet my lips. “How will rubber gloves and nose plugs help me get stamps for my collection next time?”

He clears his throat. “Did I . . . say that?”

My cop-in-training sense tingles. “You know you did.”

There’s some shuffling of paperwork, followed by a sigh. “A woman got the last booklet, okay? I offered her cash and she wouldn’t take it.”

Feathers begin to whip around in my stomach, just imagining the lieutenant bartering for something I wanted. Being desperate enough to do it. “H-how much cash?”

“Not relevant.”

A laugh puffs out of my mouth. “Spoken like someone who isn’t existing on toast and leftover pizza.”

“Is that all you eat?” A beat passes where I can almost feel his annoyed frown. Those whipping feathers blast into overdrive at the possibility he’s concerned about the balance of my meals. “No . . . candy bars ever slip in there?”

“Sometimes.” My eyes narrow when he gives a heavy exhale. “You’re purposely trying to change the subject. How did you get the stamps if she didn’t want your money?”

Is that the sound of his jaw grinding? “Do you have any idea what kind of upkeep it takes to own nine cats, Danika?”

“No.”

“You don’t want to.”

I lie down on the floor and mimic making a snow angel on the hard wood. If he could see me, he would think I’m a lunatic, but there’s no way to contain the champagne fizz popping off inside my belly, my chest. “You changed her litter boxes in exchange for the stamps. You actually did that.”

“I’m late for a briefing.”

“Liar.” I turn my head and laugh into my shoulder before bringing the receiver to my mouth again. There’s a blurry quality to my vision as I look up at the ceiling and try to picture him at his desk, all commanding and sharp in his uniform. “Thank you.”

He grunts. Twice. “You have training in the morning. You better get some sleep.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.” Take the leap. If he’s willing to scoop poop for stamps, I’m not imagining what’s between us. “Listen. It’s my mother’s birthday tomorrow night. At their place. You know, where you had the chicken? Charlie and everyone are coming.” Nothing. He gives me nothing. I die. “Don’t give me an answer, okay? Just take the knowledge and do with it what you will.”

“I’m on shift tomorrow night.”

Disappointment weighs me down, but I manage to sound casual. “Okay.” I swallow. “Good night, Greer.”

His deep exhale wraps around me. “Good night, Danika.”

I haven’t had cause to get dressed up in a while, unless you count my foiled date. My mother never says out loud that she hates my yoga pants, but it’s kind of a dead giveaway when she purses her lips and behaves like she’s in excruciating pain when I show up in them. Thinking about the red dress hanging in my old bedroom closet, I smile to myself. She’s going to hate the yoga pants even more after this, but it’ll be worth it.

As soon as we were dismissed from the academy late this afternoon, I hit the ground running. I’d already been stocking up on decorations, so I hauled those, along with my change of clothes, across town. While my father occupies my mother with a movie, I set up the apartment and run to the store upwards of seven times, bringing back snacks, soda, beer and a hoagie taller than myself.

After tying the final balloon to the back of a dining room chair, I step back and survey my handiwork. Not bad. Beer is icing in the double sinks, more in the fridge. There’s a snack bowl on every available surface, and there are almost enough balloons to carry the building away. Kind of like Up without the painful, heart-wrenching death. A quick check of the clock tells me guests will start arriving in half an hour, followed by my parents in approximately an hour, so I can’t delay making myself presentable anymore.

Minutes later, I’m wrestling with the zipper of the dress a little and trying not to think what Greer’s reaction would be seeing me in it. He’s on shift so he isn’t going to. I was probably jumping into the deep end inviting him in the first place, but I don’t like the idea of him spending so much time alone after being shot. Sure, he has his book club, but I’m not sure a bunch of hard-nosed cops discussing murder mysteries is much of a break from daily police work. He needs friends.

I can be his friend and still want to see him without pants on, right?

I barely have a chance to fix my hair in a loose twist and sling on my heels before the downstairs buzzer starts to ring. Over the next little while, people begin to pile into the apartment. Women from my mother’s church, their husbands, a few neighbors that have been living in the Kitchen since I can remember. Charlie arrives with an arm around Ever, Jack bringing up the rear with a blushing Katie. No wonder, since I’m pretty sure his tongue is in her ear.

Ever’s whistle turns heads in the apartment. “Girl, you clean up nice.”

That gets Jack’s attention, and I know—I know—before he opens his mouth that my childhood best friend and Manhattan native will find a way to rib me. It’s what we do. “What happened, D? Did you lose a bet?” Smiling, he reaches out and ruffles my hair, earning his hand a smack. “It’s about time someone loses one besides me.”

He’s referring to the sucker’s bet he lost to me, the terms of which landed him in the police academy. That’s right. I play dirty pool and regret nothing. “I don’t think it was a loss,” I say, tilting my head at Katie.

“Hell, no.” Jack pulls his girlfriend closer, laying a kiss on her forehead. “Biggest win of my life.”

“You’re welcome,” I say, fluttering my eyelashes. Turning to Charlie and Ever, I notice Charlie is more quiet than usual. He’s always full of energy, looking for some way to be useful, but his expression is subdued. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” His tight smile is clearly meant to reassure. “You probably heard my asshole brother went and got himself shot yesterday.”

Okay, so it’s safe to say no one knows I was there. If Greer had some reason not to mention it to Charlie, I’m not going to create tension between them by spilling the beans. Plus, Greer did me a solid by not telling anyone I was present during the almost-robbery at the yogurt shop or about the probation. Which is good, because both situations would have led to a lot of uncomfortable questions. Like, Are you insane? And, What does your probation entail?

Oh nothing, just wild monkey sex.

“I heard something about it, yeah.” Ever and I trade a solemn look. “He’s going to be fine, though, right? Look at it this way, statistically he’s more likely to be pecked to death by peacocks than to be shot again. Maybe it was a good thing.”

Ever nods. “I take the word of anyone who uses ‘statistically’ in a sentence.”

Charlie finally laughs and seems to relax. “Somehow that actually made me feel better.”

“You might feel even better if you go see him.” The suggestion is out there before I can stop it. Who am I to tell Charlie how to interact with his brother? It’s none of my business, except Greer confided in me about getting burned out. If Charlie knew, he would probably make ten times the effort to be around Greer. So while I can’t tell Charlie his brother isn’t in a great place, surely a gentle nudge is acceptable? “He probably never takes a break, but he’d be forced to stop working if you did a flyby.”

“Yeah.” Charlie narrows perceptive eyes at me, clueing me in that I’m not as smooth as I think I am. “I might just do that.”

Wanting to escape my roommate’s scrutiny, I rub my hands together. “So . . . what can I get you guys to drink?”

As soon as I get one person their refill, another glass is empty until time begins to blur together. By the time my parents are supposed to arrive, the church ladies are tipsy, Robbie has commandeered the easy chair as his DJ booth—which is basically just him and his iPhone—and my feet are already starting to regret the heels. Thanks to the neighbor I position at the window as lookout, I manage to quiet everyone down enough to surprise my mother when she comes through the door. And I can see the woman totally knew about the party, even though she throws herself back against the wall and gasps dramatically.

Someone get Hollywood on the line.

“And my daughter, in a dress.” She kisses her fingers. “Best gift of all.”

“Don’t get used to it,” I say, handing her a glass of wine.

Jack wastes no time spinning my mother into a laughing dance, and the party gets back into the flow, although as more people arrive, I can see we’re going to be short on supplies. I could probably send Charlie or Jack down to the bodega to get ice and another couple six-packs, but they’re having such a good time. Plus Jack buying alcohol, even if he doesn’t plan on drinking, doesn’t sit right. So I decide to go grab it myself and be back before any of the chip bowls need to be refilled.

Palming my wallet, I open the front door—

And run into the brick wall that is Greer.