Page 7 of Best Friends
“Dream on, loser.” I roll over in the bed, turning my back on him. But I can’t help smiling.
He chuckles softly and drapes himself over me. “You should stop lying to yourself, C. I’m the best thing that ever happened to you.”
He’s not wrong. I can’t imagine not having Malcolm in my life. I don’t even want to think about losing him. I enjoy thewarmth of his skin against mine, and I close my eyes. I should be weirded out that my best friend is basically cuddling me right now, but instead I contentedly drift off to sleep.
Chapter Two
“So how was the fly fishing convention?” Cheyenne asks. She’s driving, and I’m riding shotgun. A lot of the misogynistic types at the precinct don’t like the women officers driving, but Cheyenne is more than competent at everything she does. She’s only five-seven and slim as a willow, but she’s tough as nails too. Many a perp has been fooled by her short blonde hair and delicate features, not realizing their mistake until she has them on the ground in a chokehold.
I glance at the dash console and turn up the volume on dispatch before answering. “It was good.”
It was good too. Sure, the night got a little weird, and the next day was awkward when Malcolm and I went to breakfast, but neither one of us brought up the sex stuff. I think we both just wanted it to blow over. What was done, was done. It was a one-off that meant nothing.
So why am I still thinking about it?
“Did Malcolm pick anyone up?” She grins, glancing over at me. It’s no secret Malcolm has a way with the ladies, so her question is expected. “He did, right?”
My face warms. What would she say if she knew what Malcolm and I did together? Would she be horrified or embarrassed that I’m her partner? Or would she high-five me and be glad I finally had sex with another person and ended the dry spell I’ve been in?
“Let’s just say he made some women very happy,” I lie. Malcolm and I decided we’d tell everyone we picked up a couple of girls at the convention. Everyone expects it anyway.
“He’s a sexy beast.”
“Yes, he is.”
You have no idea.
“So you really picked up a girl too?” She glances over, looking hopeful.
“Uh, yeah. I hit it off with a girl,” I lie. “We had a lot of fun.” I hope she doesn’t notice how pink my cheeks probably are.
“Are you going to see her again?” she asks, but then is distracted when a call comes over the radio. “Oh, that’s near us. We should take that call.”
Thank god.
I acknowledge dispatch, and we roll out to our first call of the day—a domestic disturbance. Not my favorite kind of call. In fact, they’re some of the most dangerous. But we’re not paid to avoid danger, so we quickly make our way to the address we’re given.
When we arrive, a big white guy with tattoos all over his body is pacing in front of a dilapidated house with a dead lawn. He’s obviously agitated as he stomps around, bellowing at the house. His mood only worsens when he sees our unit pull up.
“What the fuck are you doing here? I didn’t call no cops,” he yells. “This ain’t none of your business.”
“Sir,” Cheyenne says, approaching him slowly. “Would you mind keeping your hands where we can see them?” She soundsand looks amazingly calm considering he outweighs her by about a hundred pounds.
The guy’s glazed eyes focus on her and he frowns. “I ain’t done nothingwrong.”
“Even if that’s true, we have to come when we’re called,” I say, closing the distance between us. “Can you tell us what’s going on?”
About that time a skinny, redheaded woman comes slamming out of the house, her face flushed and her eyes flashing with anger. “You need to take his worthless piece of shit the hell out of here. If you don’t, I have a gun and I’m not afraid to use it.”
I stiffen at the mention of a weapon. “Now ma’am—”
“Oh really, bitch?” The guy interrupts me, lunging toward the woman. Cheyenne moves quickly and kicks his feet out from under him. Before he realizes what’s happening, he goes down like a rhinoceros with a loud grunt.
The wind is knocked out of him and Cheyenne straddles him. She yanks his arms behind his back, slapping cuffs on smoothly. “You need to calm down, sir, so we can have a nice friendly chat.”
Impressed, I squash my grin and move toward the woman on the porch. She’s watching the guy warily, her bony face tight with stress. “Are you okay?” I ask.
“I’m fine.” She sounds impatient. “The fool isn’t smart enough to know when to call it.”
