The day is halfway over, and it’s been uneventful. Sometimes work is like that, though. But the saying no news is good news stands when you’re an officer.
Logan and I sit in the patrol car on the corner of Broadway and Freeport listening to dispatch. Once we’re hungry, we grab food then drive around the city. After a few traffic stops and an arrest for domestic violence, we head back to the station. My mind has been in a different place all day, and Logan is the type of partner who doesn’t pry. He listens and offers advice when asked. He’s the older brother I never had.
“I’m thinking of applying to become a detective, too,” I tell Logan, and he turns his head and looks at me as I turn off the squad car. He’s been on the force for a few years longer than I have, and while I have no intentions of leaving my partner, Logan has voiced wanting to train for a detective promotion. Maybe we’d still be paired together if I pursued it as well.
“The training will kick your ass, Fisher. But if that’s what you want to do, I’ll support it. You’ll be on standby for critical situations. It’s a fuckload of long hours—working during holidays and weekends. Investigating scenes that will make your stomach turn. Sure your woman will like all that?”
I give him that look that tells him we aren’t together anymore—again.
“Damn. Sorry, man. How many times is this now? Five? Six?”
“You sound like Travis,” I groan. “I’ve lost count.”
“You should move on. There are millions of fish in the sea. I was going to make some joke about seaman but lost it. Anyway, there are plenty of women that’d make you a happy man, just have to give them a chance.”
“This time is going to be different,” I say with a small smile.
“Oh yeah?” Logan lifts an eyebrow at me.
“For once, I’m not going to run after Mia like a little, lost puppy with his dick tucked between his legs.”
“Well if you need a partner for drinks, let me know.” Logan opens the door, and I follow him inside. I grab my gym bag from my office and drive to 24-Hour Fit to work out before heading home for the night. I have a lot of pent up frustration inside me, and if I’m serious about applying for a promotion in the future, I’ll need to make sure I stay in great shape.
I put my earbuds in, crank my music, and start running on the treadmill, barely breaking a sweat when I get a text from Courtney.
C: I’m baking chicken and asparagus with a side of cookies if you’re hungry.
I can’t help but smile. I have to eventually stop avoiding her, I guess.
D: Perfect. I’ll be home soon.
It’s hard to not think about her since that dream, but I try and force myself to run harder. By the time I’m finished, an hour has passed, and I’m soaked with sweat, but instead of showering at the gym, I drive home. As soon as I walk in, I smell sugar. The music is cranked loud, and I can hear cabinets opening and closing followed by the oven.
I walk past the kitchen and glance over and see Courtney in a sports bra and yoga pants. Oh, fucking hell.
When she turns around, she’s eating raw cookie dough from a spoon and smiles. I swallow hard because I’ve avoided her for a week, and this is the first time I’ve made an effort.
“I’m making fat-free, sugar-free low calorie chocolate chip cookies.” She’s basically screaming over the music and then laughs as she finishes off the raw dough. She places the spoon in the sink once she’s finished. Her blonde hair is wild on top of her head as she sets the timer then begins dancing around the kitchen.
“You’re not supposed to eat raw cookie dough; you know that, right?” I say.
She smirks. “I’ve been doing it since I was five. I think I’ll live.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Her blue eyes search my face, and there’s a slightly awkward moment.
“Honestly, the statistics of eating raw cookie dough goes down whenever you use pasteurized eggs. See?” She opens the fridge, shows the liquid eggs, then closes it. “I’m well aware of my chances, and I understand that one out of twenty-thousand eggs will be contaminated. And don’t get me started on the statistics of consuming raw flour.”
“Are you sure you’re not the one that’s really related to Viola?” I laugh.
“Oh, God. Did I just transform into optimus nerd?”
I nod. “And you tried to make a transformer joke. Cute, Court.”
She playfully rolls her eyes at me, and I take that as my cue to take a shower.
I have a feeling it’s going to be a long one.
My mama always said my mouth could talk itself out of a hostage situation or into a fight, not that it’s necessarily a bad thing. There are times when Viola’s personality leaks out of me. I like to think it’s because we’re both too smart for our own good.