the chair had grown teeth, hungry to take a bite out of me too. The armrest was all but gone, held together with my repeated attempts to repair it with duct tape. Despite its sad condition, good, bad, or otherwise we were partners, and right then and there I made the decision to wheel him home after shift, see if I could replace the faithful arms propping me up.
I straightened the page and perused the list, hoping I’d find something that would distract me from thinking about not just one but two major traffic accidents that happened on our watch and the blood and gore that coated both of them.
I rubbed my neck. Restful sleep had eluded me again. The nightmare had me sitting straight up in bed this time, gasping. The gunshot, the vacant look on my partner’s face after the bullet penetrated his skull, all followed by the silver charm bracelet dangling on the charred remains of another ghastly memory. I rubbed my eyes.
The only thing keeping me from falling into another downward spiral was visualizing that gorgeous doctor we pulled over this morning. Every time the anger, frustration, and haunting images started to swell I’d force my thoughts back to her, finding the memory of her bright enough to break through the darkness.
Her long, dirty-blonde hair had just enough wave in it to make me fantasize what it might feel like threaded through my fingers. Those killer blue eyes and soft cheeks naturally blushed with the cold hit me every time I blinked. Recalling how she fought through an extremely shitty situation to rally in the end with her extraordinary heroics tangled up with images of her sexy mouth and plump lips.
I felt tight in my skin and my chest ached, as if this random female had managed to turn me inside out somehow. I couldn’t concentrate on anything else for more than a few seconds before returning to visions of her. My imagination was having a field day with its vivid depictions.
I rubbed a thumb over my breastbone. Funny, thinking of her had gotten me through that burning urge to dull the pain in other ways. Huh. I wonder if it would be harmful to my health to be addicted to a hot doctor instead.
Hot sheet. Concentrate on the hot sheet.
I tried to look at the paper in my hand but the print distorted; its allure paled in comparison. I finally managed to note the makes and models of a few high-end vehicles reported stolen this morning, which immediately took over my attention. I sat forward in my chair, circling several on the list with my pen.
The hot sheet was long and I was still slightly distracted by an alluring blonde, so I went over the list twice. Most of the vehicles reported were typical; they were older makes and models, easy to steal with a brick and a screwdriver. But the ones I’d highlighted were anything but. Son of a… While we were screwing around and getting innocent people killed, four new cars vanished off of a dealership’s lot.
“Trent, it’s time,” Cap said from the doorway, jerking his head. “Suits from the network are here.”
Fuck. I dropped my pen on the table and followed him out into the hallway. With all that had gone on in the last twenty-four hours I had refrained from thinking about this meeting. This was the television network’s answer to me refusing their repeated requests to take another private meeting at their office in Manhattan. This time the mountain came to me at my convenient hour.
A new throb immediately started in my skull. No way was I going into Cap’s office unprepared. “And?”
“They want to talk to you.”
“I gathered that. Christ, Cap.”
“I know.”
“Do you? I just had three girls camped out on my goddamned lawn take cell pictures of me when I left my house. I mean, how the hell do they find out where I live? Fans have even started calling up my mom. My mother , Cap. She doesn’t need this shit and I sure as hell don’t either. She’s got her hands full taking care of my pop; she doesn’t need to add nonsense on top
I straightened the page and perused the list, hoping I’d find something that would distract me from thinking about not just one but two major traffic accidents that happened on our watch and the blood and gore that coated both of them.
I rubbed my neck. Restful sleep had eluded me again. The nightmare had me sitting straight up in bed this time, gasping. The gunshot, the vacant look on my partner’s face after the bullet penetrated his skull, all followed by the silver charm bracelet dangling on the charred remains of another ghastly memory. I rubbed my eyes.
The only thing keeping me from falling into another downward spiral was visualizing that gorgeous doctor we pulled over this morning. Every time the anger, frustration, and haunting images started to swell I’d force my thoughts back to her, finding the memory of her bright enough to break through the darkness.
Her long, dirty-blonde hair had just enough wave in it to make me fantasize what it might feel like threaded through my fingers. Those killer blue eyes and soft cheeks naturally blushed with the cold hit me every time I blinked. Recalling how she fought through an extremely shitty situation to rally in the end with her extraordinary heroics tangled up with images of her sexy mouth and plump lips.
I felt tight in my skin and my chest ached, as if this random female had managed to turn me inside out somehow. I couldn’t concentrate on anything else for more than a few seconds before returning to visions of her. My imagination was having a field day with its vivid depictions.
I rubbed a thumb over my breastbone. Funny, thinking of her had gotten me through that burning urge to dull the pain in other ways. Huh. I wonder if it would be harmful to my health to be addicted to a hot doctor instead.
Hot sheet. Concentrate on the hot sheet.
I tried to look at the paper in my hand but the print distorted; its allure paled in comparison. I finally managed to note the makes and models of a few high-end vehicles reported stolen this morning, which immediately took over my attention. I sat forward in my chair, circling several on the list with my pen.
The hot sheet was long and I was still slightly distracted by an alluring blonde, so I went over the list twice. Most of the vehicles reported were typical; they were older makes and models, easy to steal with a brick and a screwdriver. But the ones I’d highlighted were anything but. Son of a… While we were screwing around and getting innocent people killed, four new cars vanished off of a dealership’s lot.
“Trent, it’s time,” Cap said from the doorway, jerking his head. “Suits from the network are here.”
Fuck. I dropped my pen on the table and followed him out into the hallway. With all that had gone on in the last twenty-four hours I had refrained from thinking about this meeting. This was the television network’s answer to me refusing their repeated requests to take another private meeting at their office in Manhattan. This time the mountain came to me at my convenient hour.
A new throb immediately started in my skull. No way was I going into Cap’s office unprepared. “And?”
“They want to talk to you.”
“I gathered that. Christ, Cap.”
“I know.”
“Do you? I just had three girls camped out on my goddamned lawn take cell pictures of me when I left my house. I mean, how the hell do they find out where I live? Fans have even started calling up my mom. My mother , Cap. She doesn’t need this shit and I sure as hell don’t either. She’s got her hands full taking care of my pop; she doesn’t need to add nonsense on top
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