Page 12 of Misadventures in Blue
Kenneth laughs. “Good is subjective. You know that.”
She makes a face. “Maybe in criminal defense, but you were getting doctors and rich kids out of DUIs, Ken. Not exactly a hero’s fare.”
“But you admit I was good at it.” He grins and then turns to me, extending a hand. He’s good-looking, damn him, in a WASPy way. Medium height, dark-blond hair, and a fucking cleft in his chin. His fine-boned face and expensive haircut make me think he’s known wealth long before defending assholes for lots of money.
“Nice to meet you, Officer Sutton,” Kenneth says easily. It takes every ounce of self-control I have to shake his hand.
“Likewise,” I lie.
Cat stands up, smoothing down her skirt as she does. It’s another pencil skirt, dark gray this time, and I nearly need to excuse myself after thinking about how good it would look shoved up to her waist.
She seems to have the same thought, because her hands shake as she smooths the fabric again and she can’t look me in the face.
“Kenneth is the ADA who will handle most of the medium-level persons crimes moving forward, so he was just in to talk to Kim.”
“Well, and to catch up with you, Cat,” Kenneth interjects.
He calls her Cat. I don’t fucking like that. Not at all.
And I like it even less when he catches her hand and gives it a quick squeeze. Jealousy flares through me so hot and fast that I think I might erupt, because how dare he touch her in front of me?
Stop it, my conscience warns. She’s not yours.
For her part, Cat seems as surprised by the hand squeeze as I’m not. Any idiot can tell that this Kenneth is interested in her, that he wants her. It’s all over his body language, in the gaze that can’t stop dropping to her tits and tracing the subtle curve her pussy makes against her tight skirt.
He wants her, and worse—I think there’s some history here. When he lets go of her hand, it’s with the satisfaction of someone reclaiming lost territory.
“I hope you don’t mind if I give you a call?” he asks, touching her elbow. I nearly deck him.
Her eyes dart to me, her mouth pursed in a moue that I’m beginning to recognize as her thinking face. “I suppose that would be okay,” she says hesitantly, and something inside me dies a little.
It’s impossible not to notice how good they look together. Not to notice he’s got the same elegant, well-bred features she does. The same expensive taste in clothes. They’re the same age and have the same precision of speech and bearing.
Compared to him, I feel young and dumb. A blunt, inexperienced instrument. A big, strong body to ride and then forget about the next day.
I take a step back as he gives her a winning smile and then turns that smile on me. I don’t think I’m imagining the glint of victory in his stare as he holds out a hand for me to shake again. Nor the trace of smugness in his voice when he says, “Officer Sutton.”
I shake his hand, letting my nod be my only response.
“I’ll talk to you later, Cat,” he says, the words laden with meaning, and then he leaves.
And I’m not sure what I feel, except jealous and possessive and maybe the tiniest bit insecure. Especially looking at Cat, now leaning over her desk to get her portfolio, her pale-blond hair swinging in soft, coiffed waves, one delicate high heel kicked back for balance.
She looks like perfection. Like the kind of woman who should be with a hotshot lawyer, pampered and taken to restaurants I’ve never even heard of—and wouldn’t be able to pronounce their names even if I had. Kenneth is the right kind of man for her. Not me.
But I don’t think I care.
I don’t care because I may not be rich, but I’ve known rich men and I know how they think. I know exactly how Kenneth sees Cat. She’s a shiny, beautiful thing to him, like a sleek sports car glinting in the lot, and once he acquires her, he’ll want her off the streets. He’ll want her sitting at home, safe and gathering dust, until he sees fit to take her out and show her off.
I don’t care because even though I barely know her, I can see a life like that would make her miserable. She can’t be fettered down to play house, leaving only to be gala arm candy. She needs to be handled according to her strength—used and adored in equal measure—and she needs someone who doesn’t want to change a single fucking thing about her. Not her job or her drive or anything.
And I don’t care because I felt her body against mine last night. I heard her fingernails against the wood and her soft, euphoric moans as she came over and over again. I saw her quiver as I spanked her and pulled her hair. I felt her get wetter and wetter as I kicked her legs apart and played with her asshole.
There’s no way in hell Kenneth would be able to give her what she needs.
And I can.
Maybe it’s as simple as that.
