Page 24 of Cocky Jerk

He nods.

I knew he’d get it.

“I’m putting in for a new partner,” he deadpans. “You’ve lost your fucking mind.”

Possibly. A sane man would walk away and forget he ever laid eyes on Antonia DeLuca. He’d tell himself the girl is the definition of trouble and if a man isn’t careful, he’ll lose himself to her before he even gets a taste.

Yeah, Richie’s right.

I’ve lost it.

But it’ll be a cold day in Hell before I admit that.

“I got the perp, didn’t I?” I say instead.

“What perp?”

Surprised, Richie and I both turn at the sound of Tony Dinaso’s voice. We met in the academy and instantly hit it off. There aren’t too many boys in blue who share a fondness for hair gel and after we graduated, we managed to remain tight despite being appointed to different precincts.

A couple of months ago, Tony got transferred to our precinct and promoted to the Gang Intelligence Unit. Sergeant Floyd felt Tony was a good fit for a sting operation he was working on and for the last two months Tony has been shadowing one of the soldiers of the Bendetti crime family.

“Oh, look what the cat dragged in,” Richie quips.

“You pinch Bendetti?” I ask.

“Not exactly,” he replies, lifting his eyes from the file he’s flipping through. He meets my gaze and points a finger at my cheek. “What happened to you?”

Richie chuckles and I shoot him a glare. Before I can warn him to keep his big trap shut, the desk sergeant shouts for me.

“Hey, Pirelli! You got a visitor.”

Chapter Eight

Marco

“What the hell is this, huh?” Antonia questions as I reach the front desk.

I barely have a chance to process the fact that she’s standing in my precinct before her eyes lock with mine and I lose all train of thought. Those fucking eyes, man, even when there is a murderous gleam radiating from them—they’re hypnotizing.

Clearing my throat, I pull myself together as she huffs out a breath and shoves the oversized bouquet of fruit toward me. Jesus, leave it to Soraya. Talk about overkill. This thing probably costs a fortune, and Antonia doesn’t even look all that impressed.

Lifting my chin, I stare at her over the top of the bouquet.

“Looks like some cantaloupe, pineapple…oh, and the green stuff is honeydew,” I reply, reaching out to pluck a piece of melon from one of the sticks. Popping it in my mouth, I grin at her.

“I know what it is,” she hisses, pushing it at me again. “What I want to know is why you sent it to me!”

Fearing she might send the fruit across the precinct, I take the bouquet from her and raise an eyebrow at her.

“You don’t like fruit?”

“It’s melon,” she argues, gritting her teeth.

“Okay,” I reply slowly. “So, you don’t like melon then.”

“I like melons just fine,” she snaps and angrily slams her palm against the desk. My brain short circuits following the movement and my gaze gets stuck on the Johnny Cash tee stretched across her chest.

“Yeah, I’m a fan myself,” I confess.

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