Page 105 of Man Cuffed
Hemingway said once: “The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them.” And he was a really smart man. I trust Meg, and I trust us. And I’m about to show her how much.
“Listen, Trouble,” I whisper. “I’m sorry I can’t watch your show tonight.”
“I know you are. But you can watch later.”
“No, I really can’t.”
“Of course you can! I’m recording the episode.”
“I get that. But what I mean is that I really can’t bring myself to watch it. I have no trouble watching the scenes where you chase down the bad guys. And I didn’t even mind those scenes where that asshole put his hands all over you.” Well, I minded. But I kept it to myself. “But I just cannot watch a scene where you get killed.”
Meg turns around suddenly in my arms, and her face is full of surprise. “Mac, it’s fake. I’m standing right here.”
“Doesn’t matter.“ I shake my head. “I don’t want that image in my mind. I love you too much to watch that.”
Her eyes fill. “You are really something else. Have I told you that?”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat, because I hate making people cry. “Look, when are all of your friends coming over?”
“Not for an hour.”
“Oh. Phew. Because I have a present to give you.”
“Really?” She bats her damp eyelashes at me. “I love presents. Is this a literal present? Or a naked present?”
“Well…” It’s honestly a little of both. “You need to sit on the couch and wait. I have to go get something. Or I guess we could do this later. I went out on a limb and I’m having second thoughts already.”
“Pfft!” she brushes that idea away. “With that build up, you have to give it to me right now. I love danger.”
Of course she does. “I’ll be right back.”
Now, I’ve done a little research into what’s about to happen. And, yes,a little researchmeans I asked Lance. The man drives me insane, but sometimes all those sexy books he’s reading are full of suggestions. And I’m banking that this is a good suggestion. Or I’m going to punch him in the throat.
Maybe that’s harsh.
If this doesn’t work, he’s buying me a meatball sub, at least.
It’ll work though. Meg once asked me if I’d ever done anything really crazy for love. The truth is, I’ve never let go long enough to be crazy. But she makes me want to free fall.
So here I go.
I dim the lights.
“What’s going on?” she calls.
Then I connect the mini disco ball to my iPhone, lean into the room and set it on the counter.
Then I hit PLAY on the song I’ve got queued up.
It’s a raunchy, down and dirty hip-hop song.
I’m hoping she recognizes it.
Then I hear her laughing. “Oh my God!” she cries. “Is this the song from when I was a serving wench and I thought you were a…”
She doesn’t finish the thought. She doesn’t have to.
Because tonight, right now, I’m not a cop. Not a real cop.
