Page 11 of Sheriff's Dirty Secret
“Why would I want to do that?” My voice was terse. My chest rose and fell heavily, like I’d run out instead of walked. His eyes searched my face.
“Because that way, we can sit across from one another, and I call look at those pretty, dark eyes of yours and ask you to forgive me for turning you away,” he laid out honestly. I blinked. “You caught me off guard,” he shared softly, almost vulnerably. “I didn’t expect you to come over. Fuck, baby, I didn’t even know you knew where I lived. I didn’t want to take advantage in case you had been drinking.”
“I was stone-cold sober,” I admitted.
“But I wasn’t sure. And I didn’t want you to regret things the next morning.”
“I wouldn’t have,” I found myself admitting softly, my body relaxing a little.
“I like to think that’s true, but with how we’ve been… me pursuing you and you telling me no every time? I couldn’t risk screwing things up.” He leaned in, bending so his bright ocean-water gaze connected with mine. “Please? Have dinner and a drink with me? Let me drive you home after?”
“You shouldn’t drink and drive, Sheriff.” I muttered, and his lips twitched.
“Fine. Have dinner and a drink with me, and we can walk home after.”
“Walk—“ I repeated and then laughed. “You’re messing with me,” I noted, and he nodded.
“What if I skip the drink and drive you home, Cookie?”
“Don’t call me that,” I mumbled, the fight in my voice basically gone.
“Please?” His gaze searched mine, and I made the stupid mistake of taking a deep breath. Luke’s distinctive scent filled my lungs, and I found myself leaning closer towards him. I waited for a beat to hear something.
A voice in my head shouting at me, to direct what way to go, but everything inside of me was quiet.
Almost like for the first time, the realist and the hopeless romantic in me were both holding their breath, waiting to see what my heart decided.
“Fine,” I huffed out, trying to hold on to a smidge of my usual attitude. “But you’re paying, and no drinking,” I demanded and then, for some godforsaken reason, I added, “For either of us.” His brow rose, and I could have sworn those island-water eyes of his steamed with desire. I could use that to my advantage since he’d wormed his way under my skin.
It was time to work Sheriff Luke March out of my system.
Good luck with that, the realist in my perked up.He looks like he wants to play for keeps.The hopeless romantic in me swooned, and the realist in me quietly nodded in agreement.
“Why do you want to stay sober, Olive?” His lips were just a breath from mine. This close, I could smell a hint of mint on his breath, and I had no idea why I liked that. Why I found it endearing. Like he’d popped one in his mouth in case he’d bump into me.
“So, when you take me home, you have no doubts about why I’m there. And you don’t have any excuses,” I said brazenly.
I wasn’t kidding.
I wasn’t a shy schoolgirl, and he had to know that about me. I was always going to ask for what I wanted. If that was too much for him?—
“Fuck, I’m tempted to toss you over my shoulder and jog the two of us home right fucking now.” I blinked and laughed.
I couldn’t help it.
That wasn’t anywhere close to what I’d expected him to say.
“We could, you know?” My hand drifted between us, resting on the center of his chest. It would make it easier for me to hold on to the idea that we were just scratching an itch. That anything between us could somehow stay casual and uncomplicated.Sure, lie to yourself. Let’s start doing that now!
“No.” He shook his head. “Dinner. Drinks, non-alcoholic ones so it doesn’t impair our judgment.”
“Sheriff, I think bad judgment went out the window the moment you chased after me,” I admitted.
Because if I was thinking straight, I wouldn’t willingly put my heart on the line like I was. He wouldn’t bet on me. I wasn’t the forever kind. Luke, on the other hand, was undoubtedly built for two point five kids and a golden retriever, all wrapped up with a white picket fence.
“Cookie,” he groaned, his lips so close I could taste him. “I should be a good guy.”
“Why?” I dared ask. He shook his head. “You’re a good guy all the time,” I argued, trying to coax him into taking me home and not stepping back inside the brewery.
