Page 1 of After Party

Scott Hansen hadn’t always hatedSt. Patrick’s Day.

He’d been a kid and had worn green to school so he wouldn’t get pinched, and had eaten cupcakes with green frosting that had turned his teeth and tongue green too. He’d been a college kid and had gone to parties and drank green beer and kissed girls who woreKiss Me I’m IrishT-shirts. Hell, he’d worn aKiss Me…I’m not Irish but so what?button himself a couple of times—and it had worked, incidentally. He’d even helped spray paint the town gazebo green one year. And then repaint it white after he got caught. That was one of three times he’d been arrested. Two of those three had been in his tiny hometown of Sapphire Falls.

But he was the cop now. In his tiny hometown of Sapphire Falls. And he now hated St. Patrick’s Day.

There was just something about the day that made people do stupid things. It wasn’t the only holiday of which that was true, of course. But the green beer and whiskey did not help St. Patrick’s Day’s reputation. In Sapphire Falls, the holiday also included green Booze—the locally made, secret-recipe moonshine that tasted suspiciously like lime Kool-Aid and made people especially stupid.

It was his penance. He knew that. Even if Ed didn’t remind him of it on every holiday where alcohol and poor decisions reigned. Since Ed had been the cop to arrest Scott those two times in Sapphire Falls, the older man got particular joy out of Scott having to deal with the shenanigans now. But Scott’s past hell-raising actually made his job easier in some ways. He knew the party traditions very well.

Like the “Shamrock Streak” where guys painted themselves green, wore only a decorated paper shamrock over their junk, and streaked up and down Main. That was followed by a vote for best “shamrock” from those who’d lined the sidewalks on both sides. Scott had won three years in a row, thank you very much.

There was also the Leprechaun Launch. Contestants built catapults and went to the baseball diamond. There they launched green balloons filled with green Jell-O to see who would win the title of Leprechaun Grand Master by sending their “leprechaun” the farthest. Scott also had two Grand Master titles.

And then there was the snake pit. Since St. Patrick—the real St. Patrick—was supposedly responsible for ridding Ireland of snakes, the party committee would gather nonpoisonous snakes, put them in a plastic kiddie pool, and whoever could sit in there with them the longest won the snake charmer trophy and a hundred Sapphire Bucks. Which were essentially pieces of paper printed on someone’s home computer, yet honored at the town’s businesses, for reasons no one seemed to really understand, but everyone respected. Scott hadnotwon that one. He hadn’t even participated. Because there weren’t enough Sapphire Bucks in the entire town to get him that close to a snake on purpose.

Of course, while all of those activities were generally harmless on their own, they were accompanied by vast quantities of alcohol. So it was now Scott’s job to be sure no one drove drunk, no one vandalized anything—like the town gazebo—and no one got into any fights. He made sure the streaking didn’t detour off of Main, that there was no green Jell-O anywhere but the baseball diamond, and that the snakes were not mistreated. Which was by far his least favorite part. Even compared to the house parties and the pranks that all had the tendency to get a little out of hand.

So yeah, he hated St. Patrick’s Day.

Thankfully his busy night was mostly over. Not that everyone was home in their pjs and sound asleep, but it was almost two a.m. and things were winding down. He’d given two of the streakers a ride home after their friends stole their clothes. He’d stopped a plan to turn the river that flowed past the town green. He didn’t think the idea to dump bottles of green food coloring in the water would have worked anyway, but it couldn’t be good for the fish and wildlife either. And he had three college-aged girls sobering up with the help of IV drips in Kyle’s office. Scott figured if he had to be out dealing with all of this, then his buddy, the town doctor, could also be up and at the service of the people who overdid it. Derek, his friend and the bartender at the Come Again, the only bar in town, was in charge of cutting people off and making sure they all had sober rides home—or that Scott got called.

But finally things were getting quiet and Scott was ready to hang up his cuffs for the night.

Scott slowed as he turned onto Lavender Lane to make his final party check of the night. Heather Wilson was the third house down on the north side and she was hosting one of the many costume parties. Hers hadn’t been too loud or wild when he’d checked earlier, but it didn’t hurt to do one more pass. Just one more harmless, meaningless pass.

But as he got to Heather’s curb, a woman stepped out onto the porch.

And Scott inadvertently hit the brake, throwing his shoulder hard against his seat belt.

But it wasn’t his fault. Any man would have braked hard for her. The gorgeous brunette who had just walked out of Heather’s house was in an extremely skimpy leprechaun costume, thigh-high white stockings, and three-inch green heels.

And in that moment he had to admit that he was a damned liar—he did not hateeverythingabout St. Patrick’s Day.

The tight green dress that zipped up the front, showed lots of cleavage, and bared inches of smooth skin between the bottom of the dress and the top of the stockings was just a perk of doing his duty as Peyton Wells’ unofficial babysitter.

And damn, what a perk. The girl had a killer body and she rarely covered it all up or hid it. There were no baggy sweatshirts or loose yoga pants in Peyton’s wardrobe. Butthiswas a huge departure from her usual cut-off denim shorts and fitted tank tops and even the short sundresses that left lots of skin uncovered. This… Well, he hoped she didn’t plan on bending over to pick anything up off the ground. Or if she did, he hoped he was behind her when she did it.

He pulled up at the curb. Now that he’d seen Peyton, he wasn’t going anywhere without talking to her. He needed to see how much she’d had to drink and how she planned on getting home.

One of the three guys who’d stepped out of the house behind her crowded close and leaned in to put his mouth near her ear. He also put his hand on her hip as he did it. Scott gritted his teeth and threw the car into park. It wasn’t his business who put their hands on Peyton. But he was going to butt in anyway.

He shut the car off and got out, rounding the front bumper as Peyton and the guys started down the porch steps. She saw him as her foot hit the sidewalk and she wobbled slightly. The guy beside her—the handsy one—caught her elbow, but she didn’t look away from Scott.

“Officer Hansen,” Peyton said, with the touch of sarcasm she always used.

“Miss Wells.”

She gave him the grin he always got when he called her that. He only did it in public with other people around but it was a million times more formal than anyone got with Peyton. In private, and in his head, he called her Trouble.

“Happy St. Patrick’s Day,” she said. She looked him up and down. “Are you wearing any green? If not, I get to pinch you, you know.”

“I guess I don’t have to ask you the same question,” he said, taking his time running his gaze over her from head to toe.

Her grin grew. “I’ve definitely gotten some compliments on my outfit tonight.”

Yeah, he could imagine.

He could also easily imagine pulling that zipper down on the front of her dress. Slowly. With his teeth.

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