Page 34 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

Instead, I choke on my own spit.

Like a professional.

I cough violently, humiliate myself in stereo, and speed-walk past the security checkpoint, eyes locked on the floor and cheeks the same shade as my blush-pink pantsuit.

Please, Hair Gods, let my split end prevention payoff to distract from the fact that I just drooled over a homicide detective.

We met last year during the Watson case. He testified.

It was probably the worst case I ever worked.

The ones with kids usually are.

But my case was solid and so was Declan’s testimony. The man will never walk free again.

His wife was devoted to the very end. Until she was found hanging by her neck in their house. She had been there about two weeks before someone called in the smell.

Suicide note was practically a love letter to the monster.

I’ll never understand it.

I may or may not have replayed Declan’s direct examination... more times than someone with two functioning brain cells should admit.

Everyone at the DA’s office knows him.

So do all the women. If the water cooler talk is to be believed. But I’m not judging.

He’s tall, tan, and terrifyingly competent. I’m sure… in many ways.

Black clothes. Green eyes like glass in sunlight. Hair that looks like it was styled by flirty demons that would wink at you.

And that mouth.

Filthy. The actual kind. F-bombs, low growls, and threats likeTry me again and I’ll make you wish you’d chosen tax fraud.

I once heard him say that. I had to excuse myself and scream into a folder.

But on the rare occasion that I find myself in his vicinity? I forget how to breathe. I start to rethink that celibacy thing and have... other thoughts.

It’s not my fault. He’s just so brooding.

He’s basically my mother’s grumpy fae prince, if the fae were armed, tattooed, and emotionally constipated.

Five o’clock shadow: perfect.

Scowl: weaponized.

Sleeves: always rolled just enough to raise the collective blood pressure of the DA’s office.

I’ve never once seen him smile like a normal person. Maybe once, at a vending machine, when two Snickers bars dropped at the same time. But it could’ve been gas.

And that man just told his lieutenant to eat dog poopie and called meCounselorin the same breath.

So yeah. I choked on my spit.

But that’s fine. I’m fine.

Totally fine.

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