Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
He cocks his head to the side, fighting a smile. "Any other rules I should know about, princess?"
"Yes. Don't call me princess." I narrow my eyes on him. "And stop smiling at me like that."
His smile only grows. "So, no smiling in dispatch. No talking in dispatch. And no calling you princess. Anything else?"
"I never said you couldn't talk."
"Talking. Flirting. Same goddamn thing." He shrugs like he doesn't see the difference. I'm sure there probably isn't one, to him.
"Of course you're one of those," I mutter, rolling my eyes.
"One of what?"
I contemplate whether I want to answer him or not and then decide to go for it. "When women are only seen as conquests, we aren't considered worthy of actual conversation. We're something to win. For guys like you, talking and flirting are synonymous because you only talk to us for a singular purpose." I wrinkle my nose. "It's gross behavior, Easton."
"Huh," he murmurs, pulling a chair up next to my console and dropping into it. He slouches in a way that's infuriatingly sexy—one arm thrown over the back, legs slightly spread, leaning casually to the side.
"What does that mean?"
"It means you've made an awful lot of assumptions from one little comment, princess."
"You're the one who said it. And stop calling me that."
"Dispatch, show me out with Ms. Lula," Brian says over the radio.
"10-4." I lean forward, striking the key to mark him on-scene at Lula's house, before I flick my gaze back at Easton…only to find him staring at my ass. "Eyes off my ass, Ames."
"It's a gorgeous ass, Tessler." He smirks, completely unashamed. And good grief, it is wildly unfair how hot that little dimple in his cheek is every time he smirks.
"Oh my god." I spin to face him, growling. "You're proving my point!"
"No," he says, his gray eyes locking with mine in a way that makes my heart pound against my ribcage. "The only point I'm proving is that every goddamn word out of my mouth to you is shameless. You're painting me with broad strokes, assuming I'm guys like me. I'm not. I'm just me. And I'm only looking at you, princess. And frankly, I find you too goddamn beautiful to resist."
I stare at him for a long moment, grasping for a response. He almost seems…serious, like he actually means that. But then he leans forward suddenly, touching my cheek.
"Smudge," he mutters, humor in his gaze. And I know he's full of it. He may want me to believe he's not just like every other outrageously flirtatious cop I've met, but I'm not buying it. Easton Ames is trouble.
And the last thing I need in my life is trouble that looks like him.
"Touch me again and I'll fail you, Ames," I growl, scowling daggers at him. "Go sit at the other console. You don't need to be in my lap to learn."
"I'd much prefer if you were in mine." He hauls himself to his feet, chuckling when I growl wordlessly, my right eye twitching. I swear to God, he's intentionally trying to make me insane.
"Didn't anyone ever teach you not to piss off dispatch, Easton? We get to decide what calls to send you on." I hold his gaze, feeling slightly triumphant. "And in case no one filled you in yet…this is Silver Spoon Falls."
He throws his head back, laughing. "Bring it on, princess. I survived being shot in Dallas. I think I can survive whatever small-town bullshit you decide to throw at me."
I don't respond. I simply smile.
He's going to live to regret saying that. It's just become my new mission in life.
Chapter Two
Easton
One Month Later
"I need a favor."
I stare levelly at the sheriff, trying to decide if I want to shoot him in the knee or entertain whatever bullshit he's about to hit me with. Dillon Armstrong is a good man. He's also a fucking liar. When he hired me, he told me this job was easy.
I was dumb enough to believe him. Silver Spoon Falls is a small town. How hard could the job possibly be?
Ha. Working homicide in Dallas caused me less stress than the motherfuckers here. And I left Dallas after getting shot. So, yeah.
Every damn week, some new bullshit crosses my desk. And nine times out of ten, it comes complete with a motherfucker madly in love, willing to break eighty different laws just to protect his girl. I'm never drinking the water in this town. It turns everyone into crazy people.
"I don't think I want to do you another favor," I mutter. "My goddamn leg still hurts from the last favor."
His lips twitch. "No one said you had to chase the damn goats down Broadway, motherfucker. That was all you. Molly just told you to find them."
Ah, Molly.
The beautiful, brilliant bane of my existence in this goddamn town. I don't know if she tortures everyone who wears a badge or if I'm a special case because I pissed her off, but she's given me every shit call since I started.