Frisk Me(2)

A month ago, Sawyer Lopez could have gotten the attention of just about any woman he wanted. With the dark skin and jet-black hair of his Latino father, and the pale blue eyes of a Norwegian mother, he was never short on female company.

Then Luc had become an overnight sensation, and now Lopez had to work twice as hard for his share of female attention. Luc would be gloating if the whole situation hadn’t been so damned annoying.

“Excuse me, Officer, could you help us for a second? We’re trying to find the Hilton—”

Luc turned to the tired-looking couple dragging around enormous suitcases and a cranky-looking toddler. Their expressions were more exhausted than star-struck, and he smiled when he realized they didn’t recognize him.

He’d nearly forgotten how good it felt to be anonymous.

By the time Luc pointed the tourists to their hotel, his partner had finally managed to recapture the blondes’ attention.

“Oh God, no,” Lopez was saying. “Listen, you want real New York pizza, you’re going to walk a bit. I’d recommend—”

Ah, shit. Once Lopez got started talking about pizza, he could go on for hours.

And since Lopez only shared his “pizza secrets” when he was trying to get laid, experience told Luc he was on the verge of being roped into a double date with a couple of Arkansas tourists.

“Lopez. Let’s move out,” Luc snapped.

The two women blinked in surprise at Luc’s sharp tone, and he felt a sting of regret for being a complete and utter dick.

He used to be good around women. Back when women had liked him for him. Back when he’d been just regular Luc, not Super Cop Moretti.

But then everything had changed. Thanks to a couple of tourists with camera phones and impeccable timing, Luc’s life had become a damned carnival.

Luc gave a slow smile to soften the blow of his irritation. “Sorry, ladies. Duty calls.”

His partner grunted something that sounded like horseshit.

Lopez had a point. Luc’s excuse was a load of BS. The only duty they had at the moment was making sure Broadway didn’t turn into a stampede.

But the women nodded in wide-eyed understanding at Luc. “New York’s so lucky to have a cop like you.”

Luc heard the words like a jab to the jugular, although he forced himself to smile through the wave of darkness that rushed over him. These women didn’t have a clue just how undeserving of praise he was. Nobody did.

Pushing the haunting thoughts away before they could fully take hold, he gave the women a wide smile before dragging his partner away.

“I need a disguise,” Luc muttered.

“Nah. Embrace it, man. Get yourself a cape. I’m thinking velvet,” Lopez said. “I bet Clark Kent knows just the place to get that shit dry-cleaned.”

“Hilarious. I haven’t heard a million superhero jokes from my brothers, so please, bring it on.”

Lopez grinned unabashedly. “I bet the Moretti cop clan is loving their little bambino being all famous and shit.”

“You have no idea,” Luc muttered.

Luc was the youngest in a family of cops. He couldn’t even get in the door to Sunday dinner without his brothers bursting out of the bushes, pretending to be the paparazzi.

Generally speaking, his bambino status was hell, but he’d happily go back to taking shit about being the baby over this latest brush-with-fame crap.

Lopez skidded to a halt beside Luc, his eyes boring through the crowd as he slowly extended a warning finger. Luc followed his partner’s glare to a sulky teen boy in saggy jeans and greasy hair parted down the middle. The kid was seconds away from attempting to ride his skateboard down a very busy midtown sidewalk.

Lopez said it all with one finger and look. Not cool, kid. Don’t make me come over there.

Luckily the kid correctly interpreted the warning and had enough sense to keep his board tucked under his arm until he got to a less crowded part of the city. Or at least until he got out of sight of cops.

“Wish they were all that easy,” Luc said as they resumed walking.

Lopez grunted before turning his attention back to Luc. “So how’s your dad reacting to your newfound celebrity? I bet Big T’s either disgusted at the circus or thrilled at the prestige.”

“A little of both,” Luc said, tossing his coffee cup in the trash. “He’s always thought cops were supposed to be unsung heroes, but he’s not above wanting the Department to look good.”

“Even now?” Lopez asked. “He’s retired. He’s not supposed to care about anything other than sports and annoying your mom.”

“Especially now,” Luc replied.

“Ah,” Lopez said, nodding in understanding. “He bored?”

Luc grunted as he surveyed the crowd out of habit. “Just last week he threatened to take up paint-by-numbers if one of us didn’t go over there to watch the game with him.”

“Can’t be easy for the guy,” Lopez replied. “One day you’re head of the f*cking NYPD, the next day, bam, you’re looking at a future of mundane arts and crafts projects.”

Lopez had a valid point. Just a year ago, Tony Moretti had stepped down as police commissioner. The adjustment to retirement had been a rough one, made easier only by the fact that four out of four sons were cops to carry on his legacy.

Or so Tony liked to claim.