Wild
A Blue Falls novella
Available now on Amazon!
Chapter 1
Hanna
When I was in the fourth grade, my teacher Mrs. Cunningham told me I had ants in my pants. I literally had no idea what that cranky old goat was talking about until the day after I graduated high school and I was overcome with this insane itch to hop on a plane and get the hell out of Blue Falls. I had a nice little savings account from years of babysitting, so that’s exactly what I did. Las Vegas, Thailand, London, Paris. I worked as I travelled and was fearless in my pursuit of any place that felt new and shiny. Now here I am…eight years later, driving down the highway in my step mom, Barbara’s, Ford Taurus wearing nothing but my Wonder Woman undies and a novelty T-shirt with a picture of Sam Elliot’s face on the front. Two weeks ago I had been living in Ireland for nearly four years, only coming back to the small town I grew up in at Christmas time. Two weeks ago I had an epiphany as my boyfriend Sean broke up with me over a pint at the pub where he bartended. If I see one more Irish crotch loaf, I’m going to vomit. Not exactly what Oprah would call an “ah-ha moment” but it was enough to get me on a plane and back home so I could figure out my next move. If I’m being really honest with myself, I was already getting restless before Sean ended things. We weren’t that serious and actually ended up getting completely shit faced together that night to celebrate the ending of our brief but very enjoyable relationship. Now I have no idea what I’m going to do or where I’m heading next, which would usually suit me fine but at the moment it just doesn’t feel right to not know.
I look up at the rear view mirror to see a set of blue and red flashing lights. I glance at the speedometer and notice that I’m breaking the speed limit by more than just a smidge. Great. This is exactly what I need right now. I look down at Sam and his sexy as fuck moustache before I sigh my frustration and flip on my blinker, pulling over onto the side of the highway. I just saw Trace with Sophie and their little girl along with the rest of our crew at the lake so I know it won’t be him pulling up behind me, unfortunately. I turn off the ignition and reach for my wallet along with Barbara’s insurance and registration slips. I roll down the window and prepare to use my innocent girl voice which is usually reserved for naughty foreplay, when I hear the crunching of boots on gravel and a dark, looming shadow blocks the streaming sunlight from my open window. I glance up slowly and let my eyes take in the trim waist and broad chest that strains against the tan polyester blend of his uniform. I drink in the set of large biceps and veiny, sweet baby yoda, veiny forearms attached to deliciously large hands whose thumbs are now hooked onto a belt. A belt that I bet can do alllll kinds of things besides hold up this guy’s pants.
“License and registration please ma’am,” he says in a voice so deep and sexy that my panties nearly disintegrate on the spot.
“Here you go officer, was I going a little fast?” Cute and innocent. That’s me.
His large hand reaches out and takes the thin cards from me and I actually have to stop myself from licking his tan skin. Jesus, it hasn’t been that long, get your shit together Hanna.
He continues to stand outside my door and I’m wondering if there’s a problem with my license. That’s the first thing I did when I got back in the country was retake my driver’s test because I knew I’d go nuts if I couldn’t get around on my own. It says “temporary” on it while I wait for my official card but the girl at the DMV said I shouldn’t have any problems.
“Um, excuse me, is there a problem?” I ask sweetly.
“I’m going to need you to step out of the vehicle ma’am,” he says.
“Is that really necessary? Because I’m not wea-“
“Ma’am, please step out of the vehicle.”
Yes sir, right away sir. Thank God I didn’t wear a thong today, or better yet, thank God I wore underwear at all. Fuck.
I open the door and climb out as gracefully as one can while wearing such a clearly fashionable ensemble. I think the yellow rubber boots I’m wearing really tie the outfit together. At least my hair and make-up are on point. I’m now standing beside the car with my back turned to officer hot stuff and when I go to turn around his deep voice stops me in my tracks.
“Don’t bother turning around ma’am, I’m going to need you to step over to the shoulder of the highway for a little sobriety test.”
“A sobriety test, it’s three o’clock in th-“
“Please ma’am, just do as you’re told,” he says.
Is this guy for real? Ugh, I mentally take back my initial appreciation and effectively re-name him officer dick face. I walk to the front of the car and over to the side of the highway as traffic flies by. Someone even honks, obviously appreciating me in all my glory.
“That’s fine right there,” he says. “Now just walk in a straight line, one foot in front of the other. I’ll tell you when to stop.
I exhale a loud and clearly annoyed breath and do as I’m told. I walk about ten feet before he tells me to turn around and come back the way I came, one foot snugly in front of the other.
“Sam Elliot fan?” He smirks.
“Who isn’t? But actually, I was at a barbeque at Rock Lake and got barfed on by my friend’s three year old son. After washing off the stench of hotdogs and cotton candy, fashion choices were somewhat limited to whatever I could find crammed in the backseat and trunk. Figured I’d be safe on the ten minute drive home. Silly old me.”
I stop a few feet in front of him and when I look up I actually have to work at maintaining the irritation in my expression. Officer hot stu- I mean dick face, is built like a fucking Greek God. Of course. The line of his jaw is sharp and his light brown hair is nearly brush cut short. I can’t see his eyes behind his aviators but I bet they’re the perfect shade of fucking sky blue, because why wouldn’t they be? He catches me clearly ogling him and grins. Lord have mercy on my dirty little soul, he has dimples. Plural. As in matching little marks of please fuck me on the hood of your cruiser, dimples.
“Well I think it’s safe to say that you’re sober, Ms. Mitchell. I am going to have to write you a ticket for speeding though. You were going at least fifteen over the posted limit.”
He bends over the hood of the car and writes out a ticket, I step towards him and accept the offensive piece of paper, too distracted by him to bother looking at it.
“You’re free to go, have a nice afternoon,” he smiles and turns for his cruiser while I stand there like a moron and watch his fine ass walk away. The slamming of his door jars me from my pervy inner thoughts and I get back in the car. Christ, I need to give myself a little hello when I get back to Mona’s. I check the time on my phone and figure I should be able to fit in a quick session of one on one time before I have to be at Mac’s for my first shift. I turn on the engine and fire up the AC before I unfold the ticket and nearly shit myself. THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS?! Is he high? This can’t be right, I’m calling the Sheriff’s office. I scan the ticket for the officer’s name and when I find it in the corner, along with his signature I feel my face turn five shades of red and my jaw instantly clenches. Mother fucking Brent Doyle.