Chapter 8

"Ican't believe I allowed this," Liam grumbles.

"I thought it was just signing a few fines and having my picture taken? It's not like I robbed a bank." He stands behind me while I fumble with my house keys, trying to unlock my door while still in cuffs. "If you'd take the fancy bracelets off, I'd be able to do this faster, Officer Half Inch."

"Back to Officer Half Inch?" he asks.

I look over my shoulder and smile the grin that I've used on other men. Liam's face flushes, and his lips part like inhaling through his nose isn't enough to take proper breath. "I wanted to impress your mother. She's nice. It's hard to believe that you came out of her vagina."

He makes a gagging motion and looks away. "Can we not talk about my mother's vagina?"

"Sure," I say. The key finally gives in the lock, and I open the door to the familiar smell of my house.

I inhale, enjoying the scent of the fudge I made earlier today and the vanilla candles and incense I use often. The combination makes my house smell like a candy store, and I smile at the thought of my own Willy Wonka house.

I smile now, even if I'm wearing handcuffs.

"I'll just let Bogey out of his kennel. It's in the laundry room. Do you need to escort me? You can't have me bolting out the back door."

Liam looks around my small bungalow like he's never been in a woman's house before. His neck cranes to the side, trying to look at the other rooms, and he walks over to my living room bookshelves to peruse the titles. "You like to read romance, too," he mumbles. "What is it with the filthy romance and women?"

"We like happy endings and strong men that fight for their women. What's wrong with that?"

"Huh, I took you for a feminist."

I frown and squint, blowing a bit of hair out of my face with a huff. "Actually, a lot of the women are strong characters and enjoy sex on their terms. Sure, there are some that aren't, but I don't read those. Why do you have to yuck my yum?"

"Yuck your yum?" He looks back to the shelf. "You're into vampires and werewolves, huh?"

A yip from the laundry room interrupts the words on the tip of my tongue, and I head to the back of the house to free my best friend from his kennel. I feel Liam behind me, but he doesn't keep up. Is he looking around my house as he walks through it, taking in my light-colored furniture and pastel walls in robin egg blue or butter yellow? Is he comparing it to his place? Part of me wonders if he has all black furniture and gray walls with black curtains on the windows. I bet his house looks like a jail cell.

Bogey wags his tail as soon as I open the door to the laundry room. His brown eyes light up, and he yips and paws at the kennel as I unlock the cage.

"Why do you put him in a kennel when you leave?"

"I only kennel him if I'll be gone more than a few hours. He has separation anxiety," I say, bending down and kissing Bogey's nose. He licks my cheek, and I giggle. Even though I'm being taken to jail in a few minutes, Bogey always cheers me up. "The vet said his kennel feels like a safe place for him. If I leave him out for too long, he eats through the drywall, probably trying to escape the house to come after me."

Liam approaches right behind me, and Bogey locks eyes with him. My dog instantly wags his tail like he does to all guests, and Liam strokes his head. "Do you like dogs?" I ask.

"Love them," he says sadly.

"Did you have one as a kid?"

"As a teen," Liam says, bending next to me. I catch another whiff of the soap smell I smelled the first time we met. The urge to bury my face in his neck and inhale is powerful, and I shake my head, remembering he's a cop and taking me in for mugshots.

"What happened?" I ask. I should keep my mouth shut, especially after that Amanda fuck up at dinner, but I can't help myself.

"My mom let me have one if I promised to take care of him." Liam ruffles Bogey's fur, and there's a hint of smile on the cop's face for the first time since he fake smiled at me the first time he harassed me. It's nice to see him somewhat happy. "I took care of him until he died right after I got out of the academy. It wasn't the time to get a new dog, much less a puppy."

"I think my dog likes you, but I need to get him outside so he doesn't excitement piss on the floor."

Liam stands, and I fumble to push myself up with only my thighs. I'd usually push off the floor with my hands, but getting up from the floor in handcuffs isn't as easy I thought it'd be. I roll onto my left thigh and try to heave myself up. Before I can push off the floor, Liam steps closer to me.

I'm still on the floor, and his knees are in front of my face. I look up into those damn brown eyes, and he puts his hand on my arm. "Let me help you," he says, pulling me up.

His hand is warm on my skin. Burning, really, and my breath leaves my lungs. His hand is only on my arm. What would it feel like on my breasts or sliding up my legs? Why am I even thinking that? This is a jerk that's taking me to the police station for permit violation paperwork.

Trembling, I get my legs under me and get off the floor as Bogey yips and runs to his leash on the wall hook near the back door. "Um," I say, trying to find the words. My voice trembles, and I clear my throat to get myself together. "Can you walk him while I watch from the porch? I don't want my neighbors to see the cuffs and think I'm a bad person if they're on their back porch or looking out the window."

Liam tilts his head and scowls. "They don't know you run drugs?"

"Run drugs? Those are strong words. I make baked goods with legal ingredients. If I go out in these cuffs, they'll either think I robbed a Target or that we're into some kinky shit since you'll be with me. They'll probably shake their heads and cluck something like, ‘I knew that Rogers girl was into some Fifty Shades shit.'" I hold up the cuffs and widen my eyes.

He blushes and runs one of his delicious, masculine hands up the back of his neck. "Are you into Fifty Shades stuff? I saw the Fifty Shades of Grey series on your shelf."

We stare at each other for seconds, and the only sound in the room is Bogey's paws against the wall as he tries to get his leash. I shake my head a little like I'm shaking cobwebs from my ears. "Did you just ask if I'm into BDSM?"

Liam blushes, and it surprises me. Who knew he could be embarrassed? I thought him devoid of actual human emotions. "I'm sorry," he mumbles. "I don't know where that came from."

"What the fuck, Liam?"

He pinches his nose and looks down, and I walk away, heading to the door and clipping Bogey's leash on him. When I turn back around, Liam's at my side, his eyes only on Bogey. "Do I need poop bags?" he asks, obviously trying to change the subject. It's on the tip of my tongue to fuck with him and tell him I really do like to be spanked, but I don't know what that would do to him, and I'm mildly afraid of what it could lead to.

I grab a roll of compostable poop bags from the shelf above my head and hand them to Liam. He takes them, his fingers touching mine again, and he opens the door as I try to ignore the fluttering in my stomach.

I head out behind him and stand on my small back deck. Liam looks around as Bogey circles his feet. "What the absolute fuck?" He stares at my makeshift greenhouse made of PVC and clear plastic on the deck. It's the size of an old outhouse and full of marijuana plants. Liam's mouth drops open, and he blinks about five times before he gasps like he just found a money laundering ring in my basement. "Are you kidding me?"

"Do you want to see my grower permit?" I ask, completely calm since I know that I'm in perfect compliance here. "Where did you think I get my goods?"

He stares at the greenhouse and then looks back to me. He looks between the greenhouse and me a few more times like he's watching a rousing game of ping pong. "Want me to unzip so you can look? It's a pretty sweet setup, and I make sure that I don't use any pesticides or any other chemicals. All of my baked goods are one hundred percent organic."

I straighten my shoulders and stand up straight. I'm proud of how I run my business, growing my own plants and infusing the cannabutter in my own kitchen. I've even had the health inspector at my house and in the food truck. I keep my nose clean, and I love rubbing it into Liam's face. The look on his face is priceless, and I wish I could take a picture. He looks positively nauseated.

Bogey pulls on the leash, and Liam tears his eyes away from the greenhouse long enough for my dog to lead him to a patch of grass and unload a torrent of pee on the nearby oak tree. Liam bends down to pat Bogey and whisper something to my dog. I strain my ears, but I can't hear what he says. Probably something like, "Good dog."

"Do you want to see my kitchen while you're here?" I ask. I'm pretty proud of my kitchen, but I'm also stalling. I'm not looking forward to a police station visit. "You can see that my place is clean so you won't send the health inspector out."

Bogey squats in a poop position, and Liam flicks his eyes away from my dog to give the animal privacy. "Sure. You've had dinner with my mother, and I've taken your dog to the bathroom. May as well make a night of this."

Liam takes care of Bogey's poop with the bag I gave him, and I point to the bins at the side of the house. As soon as Liam's back, I pick up Bogey, give him a kiss, and wave Liam into the house. "You can wash your hands in the bathroom if you want," I say, waving in the direction of my bathroom and walking to the kitchen, Bogey yipping at my heels. "I need to give Bogey his treat."

As I rummage through the treat bag, pat Bogey, and tell him he's a good boy, I hear the water run in the bathroom as Liam mutters something to himself about a lot of pink in the bathroom. He's probably referring to my homemade soap and my pink hand towels neatly stacked on the farmhouse sink.

When he walks back into the room, I wave my hands like I'm Vanna White on Wheel of Fortune. Well, as much as I can in cuffs. "Welcome to where the magic happens."

Liam's eyes dart around my kitchen that's decorated in the matching colors of my food truck, my industrial fridge, my three white mixers on the counter, and my stools under the snack bar. "Want a cup of tea?" I ask, pointing to the stools.

He shrugs. "Why not? You won't put weed in it, will you? No poison?"

"Nope. It's simple green tea," I explain, turning and grabbing the kettle from the stove. "Are you this accommodating to everyone you bring in?"

"Absolutely not."

I laugh a little and put the full kettle on the stove before turning on the burner and getting the mugs from the nearby cabinet. "Why are you allowing it now?"

"I'm interested in what makes you tick." The words shock me, and I spin around so fast some of my hair slaps my cheek. He's interested in me? "If I know how you work and what motivates you, maybe I can get you to stop this and become a model citizen."

"I am a model citizen."

"Right," he scoffs.

"What makes you tick?" I ask. "Amanda's death?"

"Maybe a little. I've already told you, though. How did you start doing this?"

I lean over the counter, and my V-neck opens a little again. I don't hide it. He's in my house, and he's already seen my bra. His eyes move to my cleavage, and he licks his lips. Good to know the fine officer is a breast man. "Are you asking for my villain origin story, Officer Lane?" I ask, my voice husky.

"Yes, Ms. Rogers." His eyes move to mine again, and they're dilated into dark, wide holes. I wonder if mine are the same for him. It's been a long time since I've had a handsome man in my home or in my bed, and his bedroom eyes make my stomach queasy. "I want to know all about…" His voice trails off, and his chest moves up and down. He grips the counter, and the whites of his knuckles show again. "I want to know all about how you chose this for yourself."