Hot Cop

The Seattle heat was unbearable, thick and humid, pressing down like a physical weight. Sweat traced a path down the back of your neck as you knelt behind scratchy bushes, the rough leaves scraping your skin. This was Brooke's idea, of course, another one of her questionable plans you'd reluctantly agreed to.

“What are we doing?” you hissed, your voice a little too loud, drawing annoyed glances from passing pedestrians. Brooke just shushed you, a devious smile playing on her lips.

“You’ll see,” she promised, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement. You grumbled, pulling a twig from your unruly curls, already regretting this. This wasn't how you wanted to spend your day off from the diner.

Just as your patience wore thin, a final, frustrated tug to free yourself from Brooke's grip sent you tumbling out of the bushes, landing heavily on something solid. A groan escaped your lips. You looked up, brushing dirt from your eyes, and found yourself staring at a dark-haired man in a police uniform, his expression amused.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, his voice deep and smooth. And then Brooke gasped from the bushes, “Hot Cop!”

Right. You knew exactly who you'd been waiting for now.