Page 84 of Riding the High

You and your friend

You must have something better to do? Dress shoes to polish? Brides to calm down?

SARGE

I’m trying to remember the last time he went to Lexington since his “friend” moved in

@SargeI expected better of you

SARGE

Just stating the facts, no need to get hostile.

NASH

Seemed mighty hostile when we mentioned his friend in the festival’s kissing booth too.

I have a job to do.

Fuck you both very much.

NASH

I think Cole might need a hug. Do friends hug?

I put my phone down next to me and listen to Brent drone on, just as I have for the last thirty minutes, to every member of the town council about our new budget and how it’s going to “get this office on track after Sims was let go.” And how “everyone should be accountable and do things by the book.” Fucking guy is one of those who loves to hear himself talk.

He eventually stops talking in order to field questions from our oldest council member, Arnold Dillard. At eighty-two, thismanneedsto retire. Brent kisses his ass every chance he gets. Come to think of it, Brent does a lot of ass-kissing but not a whole lot of actual work.

My phone buzzes again. But this time, when I flip it over, it’s a photo mostly of Ginger’s backside in a silky lilac dress. She’s captioned it: “Panties or no panties?”

I zoom in as I shift in my seat and try to appear professional. I could be looking at a spreadsheet, right?

My cock starts to swell at the image; the way her hand rests just above her full hips and the surprised expression she wears on her face looking back over her shoulder. She looks like a modern-day pinup.

Depends. What kind of panties are we talking?

Another photo comes in. This one is of her in the mirror. It’s fucking indecent and decent all at the same time. I can see everything from the top of her upper thigh to her naked breasts which she covers with her arms. Her white lace panties are on full display.

Fuck me.

I’m trying to work.

VIXEN

And I’m trying to make you look forward to coming home.

Mission fucking accomplished.

Home.They way she implies home is a place we share hits me square in the chest.

“Do you agree, Sheriff Ashby?” Dillard asks.

I’m completely blindsided but attempt to hold it together. I lean back in my chair and say, “Depends on how you look at it.”

“True,” Dillard replies. “From the town’s standpoint, a meeting to go over the new budget, and upping the council’s involvement with even the smallest expenses, is helpful and suggests openness. It signals a new era and shows we have nothing to hide. From your office’s standpoint, opening the expenses up to every last dollar is a lot of work and waiting for approval on your part.”

I jump right in because absolutely fucking not. This was Brent’s idea. He’s trying to overexpose the department and the things we need to pay for that people will no doubt bitch about. It’s one of his attempts to get the town to question me. Normally anything under a thousand dollars doesn’t need approval—that way we aren’t waiting on the council’s okay for a new stapler or coffee creamer.

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