The following is a work of fiction. All participants are over the age of 18. If you like what you read, please take the time to vote, and drop me a line. Your feedback is greatly appreciated.
*****
I was lounging on the couch in my media room, watching NASCAR on the big screen. There was a commercial on right now, and my mind was wandering. A knock on the front door brought me back to reality.
As I approached the front door, I heard a radio squak outside. I tried to peek through the sidelight glass, but it was frosted, so all I could see was a shadowy form close to the door, and a flashing coloured light in the background. Police? Why?
I cautiously opened the door. The officer had his back to me.
No
. A pony tail of dark brown hair hung down to the middle of
her
back.
Ladycop
. About 5'9".
Tall Ladycop
. Her uniform pants were snug, but not really complimentary. Gun belt, bulletproof vest... Not very feminine. She said something into her radio and holstered it. I quietly braced for her to turn around, expecting a butch, unattractive look. She turned.
Whoa! Was I wrong!
Even without makeup, she was stunning. Full lips, high cheekbones ... very nice. But was her eyes that made the biggest impression. They positively sparkled. Somewhere between brown and hazel, and surrounded by long dark lashes. Even though she didn't smile, her eyes did.
Officer... Brewster, it said on the velcro patch of her vest. Officer Brewster explained that the reason for her visit today was due to the escape of a prisoner in the area. She asked if it would be alright for her to come in and check around the back yard.
"Of course. Please do." I stepped aside.
Officer Brewster followed me through to the sliding doors of the patio. "Please, stay here," she said as she unsnapped the holster for her Glock. "I wouldn't want to shoot you by accident," she added with a smile, giving me a quick scan with her beautiful eyes. She slid the door aside and went out.
I watched from the doorway while she did her Rambo routine, checking the shrubbery, corners and utility shed, her right hand always on her right hip holster. She was all business, but she moved with such cat-like grace, it was pretty hot to watch.
Satisfied that no one was hiding, she relaxed, and said something into her radio. She was closing the holster for her gun when she returned.
"All clear. Thank you for you cooperation," she said pleasantly as she stepped back in. She asked a few questions about how long I have lived here, which neighbors I know, etc. She finished with "and how many people live here with you?"
"Actually, I live here alone". That was met with a mild look of surprise, then a tiny hint of a smile. I began to walk her out, while my brain was wracked, trying to judge the risk of hitting on a woman who carries a semi-automatic weapon. I decided on the subtle but direct approach.
"Officer Brewster, may I ask
you
a question?", I asked as we reached the front door.
"As long as it doesn't pertain to the case, then yes". Still all business.
Okay, here goes nothing
. "Is there a 'mister' Officer Brewster?"
Nothing. No reaction, no answer... nothing. Then I saw the sparkle in her eyes, for just a second, before she put her sunglasses back on.
"You have a nice day, sir" she said with a smile as she shook my hand and left. I watched her walk back to her cruiser. When she turned and saw me watching her, she smiled again, shook her head a little, and waved.
I closed the door. I really would have liked to see what was under that body armour. Oh, well.
About 2 hours later, I was again interrupted by a knock on the door. I opened it.
"Officer Brewster! What can I do for you?"
Perhaps I was premature in writing her off.
"I just thought you might want to know that the escapee is back in custody", she said, professionally. She still had her sunglasses on. She extended her hand again. When she ended the handshake, I found myself with a folded piece of paper in my hand.
I was a bit taken aback. By the time I recovered, she was back at her cruiser. She paused, tipped her sunglasses down, and winked. Then she smiled, and was off.
I closed the door and quickly opened the note. "Call me. 8 p.m. 555—1221". I looked at my watch.
Three hours. Three hours?! What am I going to do for three hours?! Shit.
I went back to the media room and started a movie from my extensive collection, hoping it would distract me. Good idea but mostly ineffective. I couldn't get her eyes out of my mind.
At 7:59, I dialed her number. It rang three times.
"Hello?" Wow, that was not the 'cop voice' I heard earlier in the day. This voice was like honey.