Page 8 of Clumsy in Love

“No. I’m sittin’ on too much leave. Sarge is making me take some time off.”

“That’s a good idea,” Mark said. “You’ve sort of been an asshole lately. No offense.”

Cole rolled his eyes and slipped into the driver’s seat.

“Got any plans for the weekend?” Mark asked once they had settled into the RMP and were moving. Their “weekend” was actually Monday and Tuesday, but Cole knew what he meant.

“I’ll be on call with the detectives again,” Cole said.

“Think shadowing them is doing any good?”

“Hope so,” Cole said, tapping the horn at a pedestrian who hadn’t reached the curb before their light turned green. “I’ve got about a month to prep for the exam. Every little bit helps.”

“Dude, all you do is work. When’s the last time you had a girlfriend? Or even went on a date?”

“None of your damn business, Nosy.” It came out harsher than he intended, probably because Mark had hit a nerve. Girlfriend? He couldn’t remember. Date? Maybe a couple ofmonths ago? “I don’t have time or mind space for the drama right now. I gotta focus on this detective gig.”

“Drama?”

“My last girlfriend. She was constantly on me about my shifting schedule and would get pissed when I had to work late. Always texting to see what I was doing and needing help with stupid stuff. Way too clingy. I can’t do that again.”

“Takes a special woman to be a cop’s wife,” Mark said. “But once you find her, there is no drama.”

“Being married foroneyear does not make you a pro.” Although, considering Cole had never been in a serious relationship, Mark probably did have a leg up on the subject.

“It’s called work-life balance,” Mark said. “And you need to get you some.”

They’d been in the car ten minutes when a drunk and disorderly call came over the radio. Mark radioed to dispatch, advising they’d be en route, and Cole hit the lights. They pulled up to the Sip and Swirl and got out, slipping on their hats.

Patrons were standing on the street, sipping drinks and chatting. Nothing looked amiss.

“What’s goin’ on?” Cole asked a man.

“Bunch of booze got spilled while two chicks were goin’ at it. Just waitin’ for ’em to clean up.”

Cole nodded, and he and Mark pushed through the crowd. Inside, two people were mopping up a sudsy puddle of beer. One woman cried into a man’s shoulder, wailing that her shoes were ruined. Another stood a few feet away, shell-shocked and staring at the crying woman. A man approached from behind the bar.

“Sorry, guys,” he said. “I wouldn’t have called, but that lady says she was attacked and insisted we call the cops.” He putthe word attacked in air quotes and rolled his eyes. “And by attacked, I think she means bumped into. Probably on accident.”

“Thanks, man. We’ll sort it out.”

Cole turned to Mark. “You take her,” he said, hitching his chin toward the overwrought woman. “I’ll talk to that one.”

“I hate being the junior partner,” Mark muttered, sulking over to the couple.

Cole took a few long strides to where the other woman stood. She was tall, only a few inches shorter than him, lean, and pretty, in a girl-next-door sort of way. Huge hazel eyes met his, and judging from the deer-in-the-headlights look, he would bet his next paycheck she was from out of town.

“Name?” Cole asked.

“Holly. Holly Bennett.”

“What happened, Holly?”

“I…I…I have no idea,” she stuttered. “I got up to leave, and my sandal got stuck in the barstool rung. I was about to fall and caught myself by grabbing onto the nearest thing possible. Which turned out to be that lady’s boyfriend. Shefreakedand came at me, wanting to claw my eyes out.”

“Who pushed who?”

“No one pushed anyone. I tried to walk away and ran into the server.” She waved a hand up and down her beer-soaked torso. “She’s saying I attacked her, but I swear, it was all an accident.”

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