Clayton
I sit at the high-top table, tucked in a corner of the busy bar, poking at the ice in my scotch and wondering how it’s possible my past and present just collided.
The last time I saw Lacy, she was a senior in college interning at a well-known Denver newspaper. The paper had requested the bureau allow her an interview to help earn her college credits. When I learned the story would be about me, I was more than just hesitant—I flat out refused. It wasn’t until my captain had insisted that I eventually agreed.
As I let out a heavy exhale, I lean back in my seat, memories of the first day we met flooding in.
In the empty conference room, the silence weighs heavy and I start to have second thoughts about being interviewed. That is…until the door opens.
With tentative steps and darting eyes, she makes her way into the room. Everything about her exudes innocence, and it makes my dick twitch as she approaches.
I stand and extend my hand. “Hi, I’m Clayton. Clayton Andrews.”
She hesitantly places her hand in mine. When our skin connects, there’s an energy, a spark, that surges between us. Snapping her hand away, her eyes fly to mine and I know she felt it too.
Our eyes are glued for several moments before she lowers hers and mumbles, “I’m Lacy. Nice to meet you.” She pulls out her chair, legs scraping across the concrete floor, and the horrible screeching noise disintegrates any moment we may have just shared. Pink tints her cheeks as she starts to fumble with her notebook, and my lips curve up at her embarrassment.
As she begins reading through her questions, the first few come out choppy and stuttered, but she quickly settles in. The questioning lasts for close to an hour, and by the end, I find myself both surprised and impressed by her abilities.
Silence fills the room, and even though my gaze hadn’t moved from the mesmerizing way her dimples appear then disappear as she speaks, it takes me a moment to realize she’s stopped talking. The long pause becomes almost unbearable, and I run my hand over the stubble on my chin, wondering if I missed a question.
Just as I’m about to ask, she releases a deep breath, and says, “Okay, last question.” The slouch in her posture and thumbing at the edge of her notebook gives me the impression this is not a question she wants to ask. “Inquiring readers want to know…are you single?” She drops her gaze, waiting for my answer.
My brows raise at her question. It’s unexpected, but not something I’m unwilling to answer. In fact, I’m eager for her reaction, just not yet. I want her eyes on mine when I respond. The chair creaks as I lean back, cross a leg over my knee, and wait. It doesn’t take long before her vivid emerald eyes meet mine. With a cocky smirk, I say, “Yes, I’m single.”
There’s the slightest hint of a smile as she writes something down, then slams the tattered notebook closed and stands. I follow, and extend my hand to shake, but she shrugs it off. “Thank you so much for your time. The paper will email you a draft for your approval before they post it online.”
“I’m sure it will be perfect. Let me walk you to the door,” I say, stepping around the table and placing a hand on the curve of her back. Her body stiffens, but she doesn’t move out of my reach. The heat still radiating from her body warms my palm, but the energy—the spark from earlier—is masked by her clothing.
Once we’re standing at the threshold of the door, I remove my hand and immediately miss her warmth. With the proximity of our bodies, she cranes her neck to meet my gaze and my eyes lower to the perfect plump bow of her lips. I resist the urge to lean down and run my tongue along their seam to see if they taste as sweet as they look.
“Clayton, my man!” Martin belts out from only a few feet away.
I tense at the interruption, but don’t take my eyes off Lacy. The annoyance in my tone is clear. “Martin.”
The big-ass grin on his face fills my peripheral and he decides to poke the bear. “Who is this pretty little lady?”
Her gaze leaves mine to glance in his direction before she lowers her eyes, the pink shade tinting her cheeks again.
My response comes out in a frustrated huff. “This ‘young’ lady is Lacy. Lacy, this is my soon to be ex-partner, Martin.”
He extends his hand to her, his tone less coy as he says, “It’s nice to meet you, Lacy.”
Jealousy pinches at my chest when she places her hand in his. The unsure gesture not only makes my dick come alive, but also has me silently questioning whether they’re experiencing the same connection we shared earlier.
We’ve been partners for a long time; we both took the same training and know how to read body language. With her wide eyes and knees bent, Lacy’s is screaming fight or flight. She’s either going to take a chance at knocking over two cops for her escape or faint. I step toward Martin, my gaze narrowed and back straight, silently warning him I’m close to kicking his ass.
He glances at me, then back at Lacy. With a quick shrug, he releases her hand.
I place my hand on her back, pressing slightly so she knows it’s okay to go. “Lacy was just leaving.” Her eyes meet mine for a brief second before she heads down the hall, and I’m left standing here to deal with Martin.
Always one to get the last word in, he yells out, “It was nice meeting you.”
I shake my head and give him a hard shove, knocking him against the wall as I head in the opposite direction.
His lighthearted laughter fills my ears as he trots up next to me, matching my stride.
That was the first and last time I saw her until today, and even then, I hadn’t recognized her. With my thoughts on overdrive, I don’t realize the dark liquid is gone from my glass.
I glance over to the bar, while looking for the waiter, when my breath catches. She’s here. I’m not one to believe in luck, fate, or any of that superstitious crap, but the fact that this is the second time I’ve seen her in one day makes me think I should reconsider.
She’s leaning against the bar, her attention on her phone, giving me the opportunity to get a better look. With her hair piled on top of her head, the smooth, light skin of her neck is exposed, taunting me to walk up behind her, grab her jaw, tip her head back, and devour that lovely neck.
While she’s distracted, I wave the waiter over.
“Yes, sir.” His voice comes out on a yawn.
“Please inform the bartender to put whatever drinks the lady over there is having on my tab. And make sure she knows where they came from.”
“Yes, sir.” He nods, then heads directly to the bar.
A few moments later, the bartender is pointing in my direction and I’m raising my glass to a beautiful lady with the worst case of “deer caught in headlights” look I’ve ever seen.