s.
Shoving eggs around on my plate and drinking coffee to clear the cobwebs from my sleep deprived brain, I feel irritable. And I know why.
The moment I laid eyes on Alaina Colby at Oma r’ s last night I felt it, the attraction. Instantaneous. Strong. I ca n’ t shake the mental images tailing me from last night. Her hair. The crazy harem outfit. Those breasts.
In a very good way, i t’ s torture. Let it go. Roll with it.
But I ca n’ t. Women do n’ t get under my skin.
“ Aidan, is something wrong with your eggs ? ”
“ No, the y’ re . . . nice . ” I plunge my fork into a swollen yolk and stare, but i t’ s images of Alaina Colb y’ s taught breasts I keep trying to push from my brain. Most men would argue this is a good quandary, the sweetest form of torture. I just do n’ t happen to feel that way, not this time. Something feels very different, unsettling as hell.
DeeDee soaks up adoring stares cast by Arne e’ s customers and then launches a smile at me across our table. I do n’ t bother hiding my frown. Best she starts getting to know I’ m not the easy mark sh e’ s apparently got me figured for. Just because women draw a bead on me does n’ t mean I’ m easy. Still, sh e’ s got assets . . .
I sneak another glance. Sh e’ s blessed doubly. Cup size and a family that wields local power: DeeDe e’ s got both. Her grandmother was Newpor t’ s reform mayor, Irene Blackmoore. Irene chased the bars, and the B-girls and prostitutes and naked dancers, out o f“ Sin City ,” Newpor t’ s name back in the day. Thanks to Irene, the only topless dancing bar left in Newport, other than Oma r’ s, is the Brass Ass. The PC police have moved in, so everyone calls it the Brass Mule nowadays, except the old timers, who simply call i t“ the Ass . ”
“I’ m privileged to be sitting across from you ,” DeeDee says.
“ Oh ?” I yawn. “ Wh y’ s that ? ”
“ Yo u’ re only Newport P D’ s youngest ever lead homicide investigator ,” she says.
“ Glad you feel that way ,” I agree, lying bastard that I am. I turn the problem in my mind. I’ m saddled with a rookie who has more political clout than sh e’ s earned and more blonde hair and plastic boobs than a Barbie doll. “ Wish I had my old partner back ,” I grumble.
“I’ ll pretend I did n’ t hear that and just keep thinking about how lucky I am . ”
Is she serious? Or is she truly acknowledging her good fortune to be working with me? Does n’ t matter. I’ m stuck with her. W e’ re working the case o f“ Megalo Don ,” our serial biter, who brutalizes young girls, literally chewing and eating them, and then dumps them in the alley behind Oma r’ s. So I’ ve got to deal with her. “ Glad to have you on board ,” I mumble, about as glad as I’ d be to rewrite the Ohio Revised Code.
“ I t’ s a chance in a lifetime for me ,” she says.
Yep. The case is a career maker for anyone, much less a rookie like you.
Former Miss Kentucky and a former freelance reporter for the Cincinnati Enquirer , DeeDe e’ s a well-heeled hothouse flower. She quit her work at the Enquirer when NPD hired her. HR bitched about the conflict her work as a former stringer posed, but since her mama is Newpor t’ s mayor, they shut up quick. Never mind the political conflict: no one in Newport gives a shit about that, not even HR. But DeeDee wo n’ t last. When she gets bored dabbling in murder, sh e’ ll do NPD the favor they deserve and move on.
I prep myself mentally. How shall I deal with DeeDee now?
Got it. Same as I do all women. Women want equality. I’ ll give it, even though I wish there were one female left on Earth wh o’ d let me be on to p— just once. For now, I’ ll mentor DeeDee the same as I would a man. No breaks.
“ I eat here because I do n’ t have time to cook ,” I say, hoping to straighten
Shoving eggs around on my plate and drinking coffee to clear the cobwebs from my sleep deprived brain, I feel irritable. And I know why.
The moment I laid eyes on Alaina Colby at Oma r’ s last night I felt it, the attraction. Instantaneous. Strong. I ca n’ t shake the mental images tailing me from last night. Her hair. The crazy harem outfit. Those breasts.
In a very good way, i t’ s torture. Let it go. Roll with it.
But I ca n’ t. Women do n’ t get under my skin.
“ Aidan, is something wrong with your eggs ? ”
“ No, the y’ re . . . nice . ” I plunge my fork into a swollen yolk and stare, but i t’ s images of Alaina Colb y’ s taught breasts I keep trying to push from my brain. Most men would argue this is a good quandary, the sweetest form of torture. I just do n’ t happen to feel that way, not this time. Something feels very different, unsettling as hell.
DeeDee soaks up adoring stares cast by Arne e’ s customers and then launches a smile at me across our table. I do n’ t bother hiding my frown. Best she starts getting to know I’ m not the easy mark sh e’ s apparently got me figured for. Just because women draw a bead on me does n’ t mean I’ m easy. Still, sh e’ s got assets . . .
I sneak another glance. Sh e’ s blessed doubly. Cup size and a family that wields local power: DeeDe e’ s got both. Her grandmother was Newpor t’ s reform mayor, Irene Blackmoore. Irene chased the bars, and the B-girls and prostitutes and naked dancers, out o f“ Sin City ,” Newpor t’ s name back in the day. Thanks to Irene, the only topless dancing bar left in Newport, other than Oma r’ s, is the Brass Ass. The PC police have moved in, so everyone calls it the Brass Mule nowadays, except the old timers, who simply call i t“ the Ass . ”
“I’ m privileged to be sitting across from you ,” DeeDee says.
“ Oh ?” I yawn. “ Wh y’ s that ? ”
“ Yo u’ re only Newport P D’ s youngest ever lead homicide investigator ,” she says.
“ Glad you feel that way ,” I agree, lying bastard that I am. I turn the problem in my mind. I’ m saddled with a rookie who has more political clout than sh e’ s earned and more blonde hair and plastic boobs than a Barbie doll. “ Wish I had my old partner back ,” I grumble.
“I’ ll pretend I did n’ t hear that and just keep thinking about how lucky I am . ”
Is she serious? Or is she truly acknowledging her good fortune to be working with me? Does n’ t matter. I’ m stuck with her. W e’ re working the case o f“ Megalo Don ,” our serial biter, who brutalizes young girls, literally chewing and eating them, and then dumps them in the alley behind Oma r’ s. So I’ ve got to deal with her. “ Glad to have you on board ,” I mumble, about as glad as I’ d be to rewrite the Ohio Revised Code.
“ I t’ s a chance in a lifetime for me ,” she says.
Yep. The case is a career maker for anyone, much less a rookie like you.
Former Miss Kentucky and a former freelance reporter for the Cincinnati Enquirer , DeeDe e’ s a well-heeled hothouse flower. She quit her work at the Enquirer when NPD hired her. HR bitched about the conflict her work as a former stringer posed, but since her mama is Newpor t’ s mayor, they shut up quick. Never mind the political conflict: no one in Newport gives a shit about that, not even HR. But DeeDee wo n’ t last. When she gets bored dabbling in murder, sh e’ ll do NPD the favor they deserve and move on.
I prep myself mentally. How shall I deal with DeeDee now?
Got it. Same as I do all women. Women want equality. I’ ll give it, even though I wish there were one female left on Earth wh o’ d let me be on to p— just once. For now, I’ ll mentor DeeDee the same as I would a man. No breaks.
“ I eat here because I do n’ t have time to cook ,” I say, hoping to straighten
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