Page 41 of Man Cuffed
Honestly, I blame the laundry room. That’s where I ran into her just the other day. While I separated my lights from my darks, she told me about the crazy musical number she’s organized. She even asked me to participate.
I’d laughed out loud. “Nobody wants to hear me sing.”
“Not true!” she’d argued. “You could wear your uniform! It would be so cool for a cop to suddenly join in.”
“Cool for people without ears, maybe. Besides, I gotta work.”
She’d waved a hand, dismissing both arguments. “You sing. Why are you pretending you don’t?”
“You’re high,” I’d argued. “Should I frisk you for the bong you’ve obviously been hitting?”
That vixen only gave me a sexy smirk. “Frisk me already. And you’re lying.”
“Why would you say that?”
She’d opened her dryer and pulled out the tiniest pair of pink underwear I’ve ever seen. My brain activity dropped in half as I tried to picture them against her smooth, coppery skin. “Thin walls,” she said.
“Uh, what?”
“Thin walls, Hot Cop. I’ve heard you singing in the shower. I’ve heard every noise you’ve made for the past six weeks. Especially when Nicole was staying with you.”
This bit of insight blindsided me. And I was still staring at those panties. Meg could see it in my face, too. So she twirled them around on her finger. Then she took a step closer to me. All my warning bells started to ring.Warning! Retreat! No hooking up with your neighbor! Too risky. Too close. Too much trouble.
But I didn’t budge. My brain was not the boss of me in that particular moment.
Meg leaned in close and said, “You have a nice baritone, Copper. Good pipes.”
Her lips were so close to mine. It’s been impossible to forget their softness. That fake kiss at the bridal shower is still burned into my consciousness.
Now Meg was offering me a chance at a real kiss. All it would have taken was the slightest turn of my chin. I could finally taste her. Slow and deep.
But we all know how that would play out. I’d probably hoist her up on the dryer, spread her legs, and go to town while the laundry shuddered under us.
But no. I didn’t move. Discipline won, if only by a nose.
Meg hovered there for a beat, waiting. Then she tucked that thong into my front pocket, patted it, scooped the rest of her laundry into a bag, and disappeared. I just stood there. Dick nice and hard. Big stupid grin forming on my face. Trouble. Trouble.Trouble.
I can’t get that girl out of my system. She keeps popping up, tempting me with her snark and her long arms that I want to feel wrapped around me, or even better, her long legs wrapped around me while I…
No, Maguire. Don’t go toward the light.
It’s been a hot summer so far, just saying. And all week I haven’t done any singing in the shower, so she won’t try to recruit me again.
Today’s her big day, though. Even though I’m not willing to make an ass of myself by singing in public, I’m too curious to stay away. I mean, Lance and I were already in the neighborhood, so I’m just being a gentleman in swinging by to watch.
Lance is already halfway to the pastries, as I lock the car and approach the market. I can’t pick out Meg in the crowd, but I can already hear the music. At least a dozen people are playing instruments. They’re circling a smiling woman in the flower stall. She has her hands pressed to her face, and her eyes look shiny.
There’s a nice feeling in the air right now. And I know that’s all Meg’s doing. She’s the kind of person who weaves magic around people. She’s like a firefly. She’s lighter and brighter than everyone else. I can’t help but smile a little whenever she’s nearby.
And that woman in the flower stall? Now a man approaches her, hands thrust in his pockets. He’s wearing a Loon Lake Dairy apron and a proud smile. Lucky guy. He’s got all his shit figured out. He makes the world’s most expensive cheese for a living, and he’s made his girl tear up with music and attention.
I can tell by looking at this man that I’m never gonna have him in the back of a cruiser. Sometimes you just know. Some people are just plain made of light. But most of us have a dark side. Or at least a side the light can’t reach.
I’m too much inside my head, maybe. I try to focus on the music instead.
The violins rise to a fevered pitch, and then another dozen people launch into song. And, wow. They’ve got some lungs. It’s stunning to hear so many voices at once. I feel myself get very quiet inside.
When was the last time I heard live music? I’d forgotten what it felt like to be so close to a song that you can feel it in your chest. The fiddle has crawled down into my gut and given everything a tug.
