Page 6 of Lake
CHAPTER TWO
Bridget
I looked at the clock for the millionth time this morning. I hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep but I wasn’t ready to get out of bed. It wasn’t like it mattered because no matter what time I finally rolled my tired ass out of bed, I’d never beat Art to the office. I had no clue what time that man got up, but he was always there by the time I stepped foot over the threshold. Sometimes he looked like he’d never even left the place.
With a low, drawn-out groan, I whipped the covers off of my nearly naked body. I felt the cool air slithered over my skin, instantly causing the goosebumps to awaken all over.
“No,” I groaned as I forced myself to release the sheets before I yanked them back to cover me.
In case you were wondering, I was alone. Always alone. Like sadly so.
But that never stopped me from talking out loud like there might actually be someone floating around that would give a fuck.
Sometimes I imagined the perfect boyfriend.
Right now he’d be in the bathroom surrounded by steam and still wet from his shower. There would be a swipe across the mirror from his hand and he would be lifting his chin to the sky while he shaved the stubble from his neck. And the moment my feet hit the cool, hardwood floor, the sound of the coffee maker would fill the apartment causing me to smile because he was thoughtful enough to make it before he hopped into the shower.
I let out a sigh, thinking how this perfect boyfriend would already have my favorite coffee mug sitting right there on the counter next to the brewing pot and there would already be a half of an inch of creamer resting in the bottom of the mug so that all I had to do was pour and drink.
Oh, how wonderfully amazing my imaginary boyfriend was. I loved him. Every little thing about him.
Sadly, I knew real-life boyfriend would never measure up.
It wasn’t that I had high expectations. I mean, I was smart enough to know that no one, and I mean no one, would ever be as perfect as the man my mind came up with. But so far, I hadn’t even found a guy that would remember my phone number let alone how much creamer I put in my coffee.
That was okay though because I wasn’t the type of woman who shied away from her sexuality and I wasn’t afraid to take matters into my own hands. Which I did, quite often.
“Alright, here we go,” I said in a way to pump myself up enough to hop into the shower.
Fifteen minutes later, I was putting my wet hair up in a bun on top of my head, grabbing my coat while stuffing my feet into some sensible shoes, and flying out the door.
I decided to skip trying to mess with my car. She was a fickle old gal and if she didn’t want to go anywhere then I wouldn’t be either. Most mornings I just let her be lazy, opting to take the bus instead.
I made it to the bus stop just in time to catch the driver’s eyes in the side view mirror and beg him not to close the doors on me.
A short trip later I was telling that grumpy bus driver to have a wonderful day as I made my exit.
One block away from the shelter of the office, the sky decided to open up and rain its cold spit upon me.
Ugh, most days were just like this. I wouldn’t have been surprised if I stepped in a pile of dog shit as I ran for the door with the peeling gold and green letters just up ahead. I powered through it, running like the devil was chasing me as I held my arm in front of my face to shield my eyes from the stinging drops.
“Made it,” I whispered as I pushed open the door to the office, my fingers brushing over the decal of the old school magnifying glass as I slipped into the semi-warm space.
“Hey, Bridget,” Art said not even looking up from the papers scattered on the desk in front of him. “It’s raining out.”
I rolled my eyes at him.
Like I didn’t know that.
I shook my arms out and was thankful that I’d put my hair up in a bun.
“Yep,” I said shaking my head as I hung my jacket on the rickety coat rack behind the door. “Coffee?”
I headed over to the coffee maker already aware of what his answer would be. I wasn’t surprised to find the thing off and empty though he’d probably been here for hours.
“Yeah,” he grunted.
No, he wasn’t an asshole, he was just really focused. Which was good, because if he was focused then that meant there was a case.
