My whole life I’d been attracted to both men and women, from a very early age, I remembered struggling to pick one over the other. When I hit my teens, I realized what that meant. I was bi, but as an adult living in small-town America, I typically chose women for partners. Mostly because I didn’t find any of the single men available attractive or interesting enough to bother with.
Or I worked with them. And that was an icky situation I didn’t want to find myself in.
I mean, actually, I kind of kept to the cardinal rule of avoiding the five P’s.
Police.
Physicians.
Paramedics.
Pilots.
And Phirefighters.
Yeah, I know that one didn’t make sense, but I was a quick learner and tried to keep myself from repeating someone else’s mistake. And I’d seen it play out time and time again, and most of the women who dared to date one of the five P’s ended up heartbroken, bitter, and on antibiotics.
No thanks.
But with Tanner—there was something different about him, even though he was a cop. For years, I’d teased him for the fun of it, picking on him like I did the others, but harder. And he never rose to the bait; he never clapped back or joined in.
I used to think it was because he wasn’t interested in me, not even enough to joke around. However, after learning more about who he was, the man under the uniform, I finally figured him out.
He was a gentleman through and through. An honorable man, with a deep-rooted sense of respect. Something about his tightly laced composure made me want to break through it though, I wanted to tear it open and see what kind of animal lay beneath the uniform.
Did he ever let loose? When he was at home, with his girlfriend or date, alone in bed, did he let it all go then?
“You’re not what I expected.” I said, suddenly aware of how close we were standing.
“Yeah?” His eyes flicked to mine. Watching me. Measuring me. “What’d you expect?”
I hesitated, then shrugged. “The golden boy cop with a hero complex. Probably smug. Definitely territorial.”
He didn’t argue with my assessment. He just watched me, with that same impassive, unreadable look on his face. Paired with that infuriating patience that made me feel like I was saying more than I meant to.
“And now?” he asked, giving me his full attention.
“Now,” I looked away across the street, as if it would be less intimate if we weren’t making eye contact. “You’re not the enemy. And I don’t think I like that.”
He smiled softly, almost arrogantly. “Neither are you. And neither do I.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that. I wasn’t sure why it felt like a truce and a confession at the same time. There was a long pause, it was heavy, but not intense.
“You’re good with her,” I breathed.
“So are you.” He replied evenly.
My jaw flexed in time with my fingers in my jacket pockets.
He tilted his head just a bit, “This isn’t a war, Rhea.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yeah,” he said simply, looking back down at his paperwork, “Because if it was, I’d already be losing it.”
That hit harder than it probably should have. Not because he was comparing us and our fight for Goldie’s attention that started out for fun and had morphed into something deeper. But because I didn’t want him to lose anymore. I didn’t want to lose either.
I had to stop treating him like a threat and start treating him like an ally. Looking down at the file he had in his hand, then out across the desolate parking lot toward the bakery across town, I changed tactics. “We should hit them back. Hard.”