Danika

The ground rumbles when he walks in.

Weird how I’m the only one that seems to notice.

Okay, not the only one. There’s a trio of other female recruits parked up against the gymnasium wall that zero in on Lieutenant Greer Burns’s shifting butt muscles, shaking their heads as if they’re mad at it. The dudes stretching around me on the mat are a different story. They live and die by the lieutenant’s whistle, but until he blows it, they’re still lost in their world of women, baseball and ball scratching.

Ahh, the academy. Never change.

There’s this sliver of time, twice a week, that I love to hate. When Greer is scheduled to whip our future police officer backsides into shape, I’m treated with—cursed with—a window of five seconds before he blows the whistle for inspection. During that handful of ticks, he slowly inserts that whistle between a pair of lips that make grandmothers wish for time machines. He tucks it right in there. And he looks at me. One cool sweep of those twin glaciers that begins at the tip of my sneakers and ends at my ponytail.

That’s around the time I tell him with my eyes to go fuck himself.

It’s a complicated dynamic.

Anyone else would get suspended for showing the lieutenant a hint of the fire I pack into my morning look. Why does he let me get away with it?

Even more annoying, why do I look forward to it?

Greer hasn’t quite made it to the front of the gymnasium yet, but there’s a jet stream of anticipation whipping through my blood in hot revolutions. My spine straightens and I firm my jaw, telling myself this time I won’t meet his eyes. I’m distracted from my mental preparations when a male recruit drops down on the mat beside me, blocking my view of the approaching lieutenant. His timing is either terrible or perfect. My body is too confused these days to decide.

“Hey, Silva.”

“Levi.” I flash a tight smile at our resident easygoing, golden boy who’s never without a smile or a compliment. “What’s up?”

Over his shoulder, I catch the eye of my best friend, Jack, who lets his tongue loll out of his mouth like a lovesick idiot. His impression of Levi, I’m guessing, who has been flirting with me since we started at the academy, but has yet to pull the trigger and ask me out.

To which I would say . . . what? No freaking clue.

“What did you think about COBRA training yesterday?” Levi asks, grabbing his elbow above his head and stretching. “Heavy stuff, right?”

He’s referring to the Chemical Ordinance, Biological and Radiological Awareness training we spent the last few days completing. “Yeah.” I tear my attention away from Jack, who is now pretending to make out with himself. “There’s no cute way to rock a hazmat suit, I guess.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Levi cuts me a look. “I think you did a damn good job.”

Impressive. Ten points to Levi. See, I should be asking him out. He’s the definition of my type. Growing up around my uncles and boy cousins meant I was always one of the guys. They didn’t pull any punches while playing football in the park or critiquing my homecoming dresses with sarcasm. My mother was—is—amazing at making me feel girly when necessary, but there was no escaping the men in my family. As a result, I’m drawn to softer-spoken artistic types that treat me like a lady. Which is the number one reason I shouldn’t be so . . . affected by the sight of the lieutenant sliding a whistle between his lips. There’s nothing soft about him.

When Levi chuckles, I realize I’ve been staring into space. Way to take a compliment, Danika. “Uh. Thanks. You . . .” I give him a soft punch in the shoulder. “Did it justice, too.”

I’m saved from having to bask in the aftermath of my awkward attempt at flirting when Jack pokes his head in between us and makes a buzzer noise. “Snooze you lose, Levi. Gave you a good two minutes to close the deal. More than enough time.” He winks at me, letting me know I owe him one for his intervention. “Danika has plans for the night, anyway. She’s cake tasting.”

My stomach groans, reminding me I skipped breakfast. “I am?”

Jack nods. “Pays to know the lady who is catering our graduation.”

I don’t know what’s flowing through the drinking fountains at the academy, but in the months since we started, both of my roommates, Jack and Charlie, have been brought to heel by the almighty L word. And I’m not talking the fizzy stomach bubbles, let’s share a soda pop kind of love. I’m talking all-out, devoted, want their women to have their babies kind of love. It’s a little daunting when I have zero romantic prospects of my own and I can hear the proof of their affection through the thin walls of our apartment. Nightly. My suffering has all become worth it, though, with the utterance of the words cake tasting. “I’ll be there—”

The whistle blows. Loud.

All two-hundred recruits jump to their feet and form rows. Backs go ramrod straight, chests puff out. Inspection is always twice as intense when Greer is here, because he doesn’t just take roll. He scrutinizes each of us for imperfections. Legend has it, he once made a recruit walk home from 20th Street to the Bronx to retrieve his forgotten uniform gym shorts. And that recruit was never seen or heard from again.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch the lieutenant approach, my attention traveling down to perform their own inspection on the object of my reluctant obsession. The thighs that—against my will—changed my type from artistic, easygoing guys to big, rough-hewn enforcers. They demand to be taken seriously, as does their owner, by doing nothing more than existing. Through stiff, navy blue uniform pants, sinew creeps from hips to knee, muscles sculpted by a diamond cutter. In weak moments, I find myself wondering if they’re hairy or smooth. Or ticklish? Could the man have such a silly weakness as being ticklish?

No. Not a chance.

Lieutenant Greer Burns doesn’t have weaknesses. As he strides past the inspection line, the humming halogens overhead paint shadows on his face, darkness settling in the always present frown lines between his eyebrows. When his eyes land on me, his jaw bunches. When is it not bunched? It tics and flexes like he’s trying to suck the copper off a penny. That tension must be the reason my eyes are drawn to his brutal lips, harsh and full all at once.

He leaves my line of vision, his boots making the mat groan as he weaves behind me, and I’m not—definitely not—disappointed that I missed my five second stare-down with Greer today. I’m not annoyed at Levi and Jack for distracting me either. Nope. Uh-uh.

Greer is right behind me when he says, “I’ll be demonstrating a new takedown this morning.” I feel his gaze on my neck, heating the flesh above my collar. “Any volunteers?”

My hand goes up. It always does, even though he never picks me. Ever. I tell myself it’s stupid to think he’s afraid to touch me.

My theory is further disproven a second later.

“Silva. To the front.”

Greer

What the hell are you doing?

I can’t even think of the girl without getting wood. Now I’m going to wrestle her onto the mat in front of two hundred recruits?

Silva’s head turns slowly, hitting me with the full force of her surprise. And not for the first time, I’m caught between wanting to lick her, head to toe . . . and telling her the gray academy T-shirt really brings out her eyes.

Idiot. You fucking idiot.

This wouldn’t be happening if she’d just kept our arrangement. It’s very simple. Before I blow the whistle for inspection and become her instructor, she gives me a few seconds of her undivided attention. Obviously we never made this agreement out loud. How would that conversation even start? But it’s the one thing I look forward to lately.

Even if she does hate me.

Why wouldn’t she? My default mode is insufferable asshole. This is my city and I’ve been tasked with whipping this group of young people into effective members of law enforcement. I take that responsibility seriously. So why do I like letting Silva get away with that open disdain so damn much? I can’t tell her that she’s . . . important. Special. Even if those words cram into my throat when she’s around, twisting my stomach up like a pretzel. So I satisfy the urge by letting those heated looks slide and hope she doesn’t sense this pointless infatuation of mine.

She’s definitely going to catch on when I pin her to the floor and my cock salutes the tight, sexy shape of her. God, what is she going to feel like under me?

Silva isn’t the only one shocked that I picked her for the demonstration. My brother, Charlie, is giving me jerky bad idea, bad idea head shakes, making me wonder if he’s caught me staring like a fool at his roommate. If so, I need to be more careful. Recruits are off-limits. I’ve never had a problem adhering to that rule in the past. Not even close. They were all just uniforms with varying skill levels until she showed up.

Some jackass two rows back whispers about how he wouldn’t mind pinning Silva, and the comment brings my focus roaring back. Jesus, it’s that shithead who always wears aviator sunglasses again. He goes white when I turn and narrow my eyes on him. “I hope you don’t mind staying an hour late today and wiping down the mats, because that’s how you’ll be spending your evening,” I snap. “Try and locate some respect while you’re down there.”

“Yes, sir.”

Christ, on top of being sex-starved for an off-limits girl, I’m now a hypocrite. Didn’t I choose Danika for the demonstration because I hated watching her flirt with someone else? Because I wouldn’t mind pinning her, to put it mildly. Yes. Hell yes. And that moment of weakness is going to cost me big-time because in a few minutes, her curves are going to be pressed to mine. I’m going to have her beneath me. She’s the only one inside these four walls that could shake my professionalism with something as routine as a takedown—and I’ve damned myself with my jealousy.

“Was I somehow unclear?” Self-disgust makes my voice hard as I pivot to face Silva again. “To the front.”

The way she jerks on a gasp stabs me in the gut. For a split second, right before I shouted at her, there was wonder, maybe even appreciation, in the way she looked at me. Because I stood up for her? The possibility makes me wish I’d suspended the recruit who made the comment. Or sent him on a walk to Montauk. How would she have looked at me then?

Doesn’t matter now, because I ruined it.

Just like I’m about to ruin myself.

Following in Silva’s wake to the front of the room, I can’t help but suck in the fresh grapefruit scent that follows her. I don’t know for sure, but I think it comes from her shampoo. Perfect, now I’m trying not to think of her in the shower, soaping all those black, wavy curls she keeps up in her ponytail. Trying not to think of steam clinging to her full, sarcastic lips and taut skin. Good thoughts to be having when I’m about to wrestle her in front of a crowd.

There is total silence, apart from the lights buzzing overhead and the occasional cough. In my head, though, there’s a riot taking place. Will I ever be satisfied with five seconds of eye contact ever again once I’ve had her beneath me? Of course not. Hell, I’m not satisfied now.

“As you know, an officer never wants to end up on the ground. Your weapon becomes accessible to someone other than yourself. There’s a lack of mobility and a potential to be assaulted by a perp. In other words, this is a worst-case scenario.”

I’m about halfway through the beginning of my speech when it dawns on me that a guard escape is probably the most intimate move I could have chosen. It’s not something I did intentionally after selecting Silva as my volunteer, it was on the morning agenda—and now it’s too late to change course.

Silva is beside me, trying to look fresh out of fucks, but I can see the pulse going wild in her neck, the eagerness to learn in her brown eyes. It starts my own pulse hammering, that determination in her. That bravery. Just some of the reasons I can’t seem to make it through an hour of the day without thinking about her.

“The goal of a guard escape is to gain back control of the situation and get your perp cuffed, as fast as possible, before you can be subdued or worse. Understood?” I wait for the chorus of yes sirs before lying on my back. They’ve seen me down here countless times, demonstrating moves—it’s a vital part of their training—and I try and fail to focus on the familiarity of teaching. How can I when Silva is staring down at me, her mouth in a little O. “Feign an attack, Silva.”

“On . . . you?” she whispers.

“Yes.” She’s nervous. Before I can make a conscious decision, the need to reassure her takes over. “This is it. Your chance has finally arrived.”

Laughter ripples through the recruits and it seems to ground her. But I’m the furthest thing from grounded when Silva drops down on her knees between my bent legs. Her tits are still jiggling when she wets her lips, and I’m the furthest thing from fucked. My balls are suddenly five pounds each, pressing in around the base of my dick. Christ. This is already torture, but I have no choice but to get even closer. Any other time, I would continue my lecture from the ground, but I can’t. I have to get this over with as fast as possible.

Her cheeks are fire-engine red as she leans over me, her dukes up, punching at the air. And with a final, hard swallow, I lock my legs around her waist, bringing her head down safely into the crook of my neck to stop the supposed attack. Then I drop a foot to the outside of her planted knee and use the ground as leverage to flip her over.

It’s the sound that comes out of her mouth that well and truly screws me.

That—and the way her eyes roll back, swollen lips popping open to let it out.

It’s a moan. It’s pleasure and excitement and need, all rolled into one little, choked noise that will probably haunt my every waking moment going forward.

Does she like being pinned down?

For a few seconds, all I can do is stare down at her flushed face, her body trapped between my thighs, and wish we were alone so I could—

So I could what?

I don’t get involved with women. For very good reasons. It’s a rule that has served me well. All the rules serve me well, and I’m breaking them right now by keeping my hips planted on top of Danika’s stomach far longer than necessary.

“Find a partner and practice,” I call to the room, still unable to stop staring down at Silva. “I’ll come around and—inevitably—correct you.”

The room breaks into motion, and so does Silva, sliding backwards up the mat and rolling to her feet. I stand, too, facing her. My pulse is pounding in my ears as she hesitates, words poised on her lips, fingers twisting in her T-shirt. But she doesn’t say anything, turning instead and jogging away to partner up with one of the girls. It’s a good thing my brother approaches, nudging me with his elbow. Otherwise, I might have gone after her and apologized. Or asked to pin her down again. Jesus, what is it about this girl?

Her moan goes off in my head, and I grit my teeth as I turn to Charlie. “What?”

Nothing can knock the humor off Charlie’s face. Not even me. “Nothing. Just . . . you really decided to make your move in a literal sense.” Before I can respond, he holds up his hands. “Forget I said that. Nothing was said. I’m just here to issue an invitation.”

He might as well have handed me a bouquet of flowers. “A what now?”

“You’re making this so easy.” Charlie scratches the back of his neck. “Ever is baking sample cakes tonight and we’re taste testing.” I say nothing. “Ever is my girlfriend . . . she’s the chef who’s catering our graduation . . .”

My sigh cuts him off. “I know who she is and what she does.”

“Considering this invite was her idea, she’ll be thrilled.”

That gives me pause. And an irritating tug in the region of my chest. “Tonight. Where is it and who is going?”

“Brooklyn. I can text you the address. It’s me, Jack, Danika . . .”

I don’t hear the rest of the names. I’m out. It’s hard enough to be around Silva at the academy. Seeing her outside of these walls in regular clothes, without the visible, concrete reminder of my position as her instructor to keep me away? Bad idea.

But even as Charlie walks off to go join the other recruits, I’m looking for every excuse to drive over the bridge later.