Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27101 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27101 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Asshole #1
Try not to get arrested on the way.
I send the middle finger emoji since I have zero impulse control, then walk back into my room to dress.
I get to The Black Gold Café by seven and order a dozen donuts and a large black coffee for myself and a vanilla latte for my dumbass brother just to piss him off.
While I’m waiting for the order, the universe decides to drop a huge goddamn present right in my lap. The bell over the door dings, and I turn to watch Isla stroll right in.
Full uniform. Crisp and flawless. Gun and cuffs on her hip, radio on her shoulder, hair pulled back tight and severe. She looks fucking phenomenal, and my heart’s pounding twice as hard as it was yesterday. Fuck. At this rate, I’ll have a goddamn heart condition before I turn thirty-six.
Before she even notices me, I stroll over. “Morning, Deputy Merrill.” I throw out my best grin, the one that always got me out of trouble with every teacher I ever had.
The look of shock on her face is adorable. She quickly wipes it away and replaces it with her bored professional mask. “Mr. Hot.” Her smoky voice sends shivers racing straight down my spine.
She appears totally unaffected by me as she turns to order a white chocolate mocha with an extra shot of espresso. I file her drink choice away before offering, “Let me get that for you.” I pull out my wallet and hand my credit card to the barista before Isla can object. “Least I can do after all the trouble I caused.”
She levels a glare at me, the kind that would bring a lesser man to his knees. “That won’t be necessary.” Isla pushes my card out of the way and holds up her phone to the barista.
The barista—a high school kid with a nose ring and the attitude to match—looks from her to me and back again like she’s watching a tennis match. “It’s ready for you to scan.”
Isla holds her phone against the black screen, completely ignoring me.
That doesn’t sit right with me. I step closer to her curvy body, and her indrawn breath tells me she isn’t unaffected.
I lean in, letting my voice drop low so it’s just for her. “A white chocolate mocha, huh? Didn’t peg you for the sweet tooth type. That’s about three notches away from a unicorn frappuccino.”
Her head whips around, hazel eyes boring into me, and for a second, there’s a twitch in her cheek that looks suspiciously like she’s fighting back a laugh. “If I wanted your opinion on my caffeine habits, Mr. Hot, I’d ask for it. Which I haven’t.” She’s got a poker face that could win nationals, but her ears are turning the faintest shade of pink. Victory.
I can’t help myself—I take another step, closing the gap so we’re basically toe-to-toe. “Are you always this prickly in the morning, or is it just me?”
She doesn’t back down an inch. “You’re a special case.” The barista hands Isla her coffee, and the gorgeous deputy spins on her heels and mutters, “See you around, Mr. Hot.” She disappears before I’m able to get my head out of my ass and come up with a reply. This round goes to Deputy Merrill, but I’m already planning my next move as I watch her walk away. This isn’t the end. Now that Isla Merrill is in my sights, I’ll do whatever it takes to make her mine.
CHAPTER FOUR
DAWSON
I’ve become a fucking cliché.
It’s Friday morning, and I’m parked outside Black Gold Café, waiting for my daily dose of Isla. I don’t know if I should be impressed or ashamed that I’ve turned into one of those guys who just happen to be at the same spot every goddamn morning. It’s not a secret. The barista knows. I know Isla knows. She knows I know she knows. This is Riverbend Ridge, after all. Secrets die here faster than a raccoon on the highway.
Today, I’m not even pretending to be here for the coffee. I’m here for Deputy Isla Merrill. I know from her Instagram that she starts her shift with a “caffeine mission” every weekday at seven. I have time to kill, so I scroll her profile again, trying not to think about how I’m skating a thin line between suitor and stalker.
At seven on the dot, I head inside. The bell over the door is obnoxiously loud, echoing in the empty café. I stop at the counter and order my usual—black coffee for me, half a dozen donuts, and a mocha with extra chocolate shots for my asshole brother. Yes, I’m enjoying feeding the fucker more sugar than any human should consume. I grab my order from the end of the counter and head for my typical seat. I haven’t even gotten comfortable before I hear cop shoes clicking brisk and sharp across the tile.