should have never done that. You were on duty...you’re a cop and I put you in a compromising situation.”
Clawing a length of hair from out of my eyes, I stared at him and said, “Look, Michael, let’s just forget about what happened between us. No one needs to know what happened.”
With his own curly hair blowing about the sides of his handsome face, he looked at me, and said, “I can’t forget about it.”
“You’re gonna have to!” I barked, feeling the urge to scream at him. Michael reappearing wasn’t something I had planned for. What would my father say or do if he knew there was someone else who knew I’d been drinking prior to the accident yesterday? It could ruin everything – it could ruin my father’s plans – and him – now that he had lied for me.
“Michael, just do us both a favour and forget about that accident, because that’s all it was. The police are dealing with it now,” I said and turned away, leaving him standing alone, waves crashing about his boots.
“It’s not the accident I can’t forget about,” he called out. “It’s you, Officer Sydney Hart, that I can’t forget.”
“Oh, please,” I said, looking back at him over my shoulder. “You don’t even know me.”
“I’d like to get to know you,” he said, staring straight back at me. “That’s if you would like to get to know me better.”
Without saying anything, I faced front and started to walk away from him again. Half of me was screaming to keep on walking and not to look back – to forget all about Michael. H e could complicate things. He knew I’d been drinking regardless, my mind started to reason.
No! Keep right on walking ! the rational part of my brain screamed, as I pictured my father.
But the irrational side – the side that always got me into trouble – threw-up memories of what had happened between me and Michael and how good it had felt. I could feel his hands on me again – the warm sensation I had felt...
...promise me, no more screw-ups , I heard my father whisper in my ear.
Pushing the sound of his voice away, I glanced back one last time at Michael and said, “Do you like pizza?”
With a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, he said, “I can’t get enough of it.”
Together we walked back along the shore towards my apartment.
Chapter Nine
I took the pizza from the oven and cut it into slices. Michael lent against the frame of the kitchen door, watching me. He had opened the bottle of wine and poured two glasses. I handed him a plate with some of the pizza on it, and in return, he passed me a glass of the wine.
“Thanks,” I said, brushing past him and stepping into the living room. I sat at one end of the sofa and he took a seat at the other. We had talked little on the way back from the beach. I don’t know if it was me, but there was a kind of nervous tension between us – almost like we had unfinished business between us. I guess in a way, we did. Michael was fit, and there was no denying I was attracted to him. What woman wouldn’t be turned on by his strong determined features, soft curly hair, green eyes, and well-defined chest and arms? His butt was good too – firm-looking beneath his jeans.
With a sudden imaginary flash of me gripping that butt as I pushed him into me, Michael looked up and said, “What you thinking about?”
“Huh?” I said, pushing that image of him between my thighs from my mind.
“You look deep in thought,” he said, then took a bite of his pizza.
Trying to think of something to say, I flushed scarlet and said, “What I don’t understand is how I’ve lived in this godforsaken town my whole life but haven’t seen you before until the other day?”
“How old are you, Sydney?” he asked.
“Twenty-one in a couple of months,” I told him, sipping my wine.
“Okay, so I would have been about the same age as you when I left Cliff View,” he said, as if working out a sum in his head. “So I’m thirty now, that
Clawing a length of hair from out of my eyes, I stared at him and said, “Look, Michael, let’s just forget about what happened between us. No one needs to know what happened.”
With his own curly hair blowing about the sides of his handsome face, he looked at me, and said, “I can’t forget about it.”
“You’re gonna have to!” I barked, feeling the urge to scream at him. Michael reappearing wasn’t something I had planned for. What would my father say or do if he knew there was someone else who knew I’d been drinking prior to the accident yesterday? It could ruin everything – it could ruin my father’s plans – and him – now that he had lied for me.
“Michael, just do us both a favour and forget about that accident, because that’s all it was. The police are dealing with it now,” I said and turned away, leaving him standing alone, waves crashing about his boots.
“It’s not the accident I can’t forget about,” he called out. “It’s you, Officer Sydney Hart, that I can’t forget.”
“Oh, please,” I said, looking back at him over my shoulder. “You don’t even know me.”
“I’d like to get to know you,” he said, staring straight back at me. “That’s if you would like to get to know me better.”
Without saying anything, I faced front and started to walk away from him again. Half of me was screaming to keep on walking and not to look back – to forget all about Michael. H e could complicate things. He knew I’d been drinking regardless, my mind started to reason.
No! Keep right on walking ! the rational part of my brain screamed, as I pictured my father.
But the irrational side – the side that always got me into trouble – threw-up memories of what had happened between me and Michael and how good it had felt. I could feel his hands on me again – the warm sensation I had felt...
...promise me, no more screw-ups , I heard my father whisper in my ear.
Pushing the sound of his voice away, I glanced back one last time at Michael and said, “Do you like pizza?”
With a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, he said, “I can’t get enough of it.”
Together we walked back along the shore towards my apartment.
Chapter Nine
I took the pizza from the oven and cut it into slices. Michael lent against the frame of the kitchen door, watching me. He had opened the bottle of wine and poured two glasses. I handed him a plate with some of the pizza on it, and in return, he passed me a glass of the wine.
“Thanks,” I said, brushing past him and stepping into the living room. I sat at one end of the sofa and he took a seat at the other. We had talked little on the way back from the beach. I don’t know if it was me, but there was a kind of nervous tension between us – almost like we had unfinished business between us. I guess in a way, we did. Michael was fit, and there was no denying I was attracted to him. What woman wouldn’t be turned on by his strong determined features, soft curly hair, green eyes, and well-defined chest and arms? His butt was good too – firm-looking beneath his jeans.
With a sudden imaginary flash of me gripping that butt as I pushed him into me, Michael looked up and said, “What you thinking about?”
“Huh?” I said, pushing that image of him between my thighs from my mind.
“You look deep in thought,” he said, then took a bite of his pizza.
Trying to think of something to say, I flushed scarlet and said, “What I don’t understand is how I’ve lived in this godforsaken town my whole life but haven’t seen you before until the other day?”
“How old are you, Sydney?” he asked.
“Twenty-one in a couple of months,” I told him, sipping my wine.
“Okay, so I would have been about the same age as you when I left Cliff View,” he said, as if working out a sum in his head. “So I’m thirty now, that
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