The Feel Good Factor(46)

I do my best to ease the tension once and for all. “It’s not odd in the least. I’m an awesome snuggler.” I demonstrate, tugging her closer and dropping kisses to her forehead, her hair, her jawline. Because fuck weirdness. Screw labels. I like having her in my arms, plain and simple. We don’t need to discuss it. We can just do it.

She sighs happily, relaxing again and reminding me it’s best if we keep whatever this is on an easy level. “So you’re good at snuggling, you’re willing to participate in my man zoo, and you have a magnificent dick. You’re a prize, Derek.”

I blow on my fingers. “You haven’t even mentioned my awesome sandwich-making skills or my chicken stir-fry talents. See? I do have special abilities for my man zoo exhibit.”

“You sure do, because you’re pretty amazing in the kitchen.” She pats my stomach. “And watch it. If you keep talking about food, I’m going to make you go whip something up in the kitchen.”

“And would you wait here for me?”

“Would you serve me in bed?”

“If you wanted me to, I’d serve you in bed.”

Because I want you to stay here so I can have you again, I think to myself.

Propping herself on an elbow, she returns to exploring my body, her fingertips trailing over the ink on my arms. “What’s the story with all your tattoos? When did you get them?”

She continues tracing the canvas of sunbursts. This is a conversation that’s easy to have. I don’t need to worry about hidden meanings or the secret language of women. “As soon as I turned eighteen,” I tell her.

“You were jonesing for ink?”

“Absolutely. I’ve always been drawn to it. Probably because my father had a lot of tattoos.”

“What did he do?”

“He was an EMT. Like father, like son. He actually took me to get my first tat.”

Her chin drops. “That’s unusual.”

“I know, but he said if I was going to get one, he wanted me to go to the best, to a shop he trusted and an artist he liked.”

“And which one was the first design?”

“The sunbursts.”

“What do they mean to you? Do they represent anything special?”

“Good question. They can mean a lot of things, but in most cases, and for me, they mean life and energy. And that’s what I want to focus on. Both in my job and in how I live every day. Fully, with light and with vitality.”

She smiles, the kind of smile that spreads nice and slow, like she’s enjoying learning this detail. “I love it. I love that it’s not some dark reason. But it’s one that matters to you. A personal mantra.”

“Exactly.”

She draws her fingers over the bird silhouettes. “These are sort of unusual. Why birds?”

“Birds are awesome. Think about it—how much would you like to fly?”

Laughing, she answers, “Flying would be rad.”

“Exactly. Whenever someone asks what your superpower would be, flying has to be up there on the list. Wings are the best. They give you freedom to make choices.”

She tilts her head, raising a questioning eyebrow. “What held you back from making your own choices? Did you have a good relationship with your parents?”

I smile, glad I can answer that one painlessly. “I had a great relationship with them. I’m a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of guy. As for the birds, I believe in freedom, but I don’t mean it in some crazy gung ho way. I mean, we should all be free, all humans. To pursue our dreams, to be the best people that we can be, to live in peace.”

“I like peace,” she says in a Californian surfer drawl. “Is it odd being a cop who likes peace?”

“No. I would imagine that’s exactly why you’re a cop.”

“Sometimes I wish we weren’t needed, but we are, and I feel like ultimately that’s what I’m striving toward. To keep the peace.”

“Did you always want to be a cop?”

She nods against my chest. “Arden, Vanessa, and I used to play cops and robbers, and I was always the cop.”

“You were never the robber?”

She shakes her head. “Never. Not once. I remember this one time, they pretended to break into a jewelry store, but it turned out Vanessa was the owner and needed the insurance—”

She stops talking, blinks, and says, “Holy shit.”

I sit up straight. “What is it?”

She stares at me, her eyes widening as she sits up in bed too. “I think I know who broke into the jewelry store a few months ago.”

My brow pinches. “Vanessa?”

She shakes her head, then launches into a rocket-fast explanation of a jewelry store theft that has bedeviled the chief. But she gives no details about who she thinks is behind it.

“I’m not following. Should I be following?”

Laughing, she shakes her head. “No. I can’t go into the specifics, but I think I’ve got it figured out.”

“Do you need to go write this down? Call the chief? Or go arrest someone?” I roam my gaze down her bare body, savoring her curves and praying she won’t have to leave my bed anytime soon.

She points at the dark window. “Yeah, I’m going to go knock on doors and haul in bad guys right now.”