Chapter Text
Tim Bradford sat at his desk, posture as rigid as always, pen scratching across a half-finished report. His eyes, though, were distant. The bullpen buzzed with the usual pre-shift chatter but for him it all blurred together.
Angela dropped into the chair across from him, tossing a folder onto his desk. “You look like hell.”
Tim didn’t bother glancing up. “Good to see your bedside manner hasn’t improved.”
She ignored him and took a good look at him. The shadows under his eyes weren’t just from lack of sleep. “How you holding up?”
His jaw tightened. He clicked his pen, then set it down with deliberate care. “Fine.” His voice was flat, but underneath was the weight of something frayed past repair. “Meeting with the lawyer was…anticlimactic. Just a formality, really. It’s been over a year. If she wanted to come home, she would’ve. She made her choice.”
Angela softened, leaning forward, lowering her voice. “Tim—”
He shook his head, cutting her off. “Don’t. She chose the drugs. Not me. Not us.” He swallowed, shifting in his chair like he could shrug the ache off his shoulders. “It’s time to move on.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Angela reached across, giving his hand the quickest squeeze before pulling back— a wordless comfort he didn’t quite acknowledge, but didn’t pull away from either.
Before she could say anything more, Sergeant Grey’s voice boomed across the room, “Let’s go everyone!”
The bullpen shifted like a tide, every officer filing into the briefing room. Tim straightened, pulling his emotional armor back into place as he went and sat beside Angela.
Grey surveyed the room, papers in hand. “All right, all right. Settle down. We’ve got some new blood this morning, and some pushing the expiration date,” he quipped. “But you’ll have to prove yourself to stay. The way we do things here matters. Protocol and tradition are what every cop in this city is made of.”
As Grey spoke, Angela nudged Tim, nodding subtly toward the cluster of rookies up front. “She’s cute.”
Tim cut her a look, deadpan. “Seriously?”
Angela smirked. “What? You’re the one who said you were ready to move on.”
He exhaled, shaking his head. “She’s a rookie. And I’m not exactly lining up to date another cop.” His tone was clipped, meant to shut her down.
Angela only grinned wider. “Didn’t hear you deny the cute part.”
Tim rolled his eyes and faced forward again, refusing to take the bait.
Angela shook her head, still grinning, just as Grey cleared his throat pointedly, looking at the two training officers. “May I continue?”
From the front row, Lucy Chen shifted her weight, eyes flicking back to the row of training officers. For the briefest moment, she caught one of the TOs mid-smirk, the edge of it softening the otherwise severe set of his face. Heat prickled her cheeks before she looked quickly away, forcing her attention back to Grey.
“Now, time for the Training Officer match game,” Grey continued. “Our contestants are: Lucy Chen, hotshot who made her first arrest before clocking in for work; Jackson West, legacy who broke all his dad’s records; and John Nolan, who was born before disco died.” A ripple of laughter moved through the room.
“And the winners are…Officer Lopez, you get our hotshot. Officer Bradford, you get our legacy. Leaving Officer Bishop to ride with the 40-year-old rookie. Now, hear me. Today is your first day. Don't let it be your last. Forget the Academy and listen to your TOs. They'll teach you the way it should be done. That's it. All right. Be safe out there.”
The rookies rose to meet their training officers. Tim remained seated, arms crossed, as Angela and Talia stood.
Lucy moved to approach Angela, nerves tucked neatly behind a determined smile. Her eyes swept the TOs once more, lingering just a beat too long on Bradford. For the briefest second, his gaze caught hers— steady, assessing. He told himself it was instinct, the automatic sizing up of a rookie. But something in the way her eyes held his sparked low in his chest, unexpected and unwelcome, gone almost as quickly as it came.
Angela noticed, filing it away with a knowing glance, before stepping forward.
Lucy smiled, extending her hand. “Officer Lopez?”
Angela gave her a once-over, already heading toward the garage. “That’s me. Come on, Chen— you’re setting up the shop. First lesson starts now.”
Lucy hurried after her, matching her stride.
~
The rookies’ first week had been pretty standard— noise complaints, traffic stops, a chaotic domestic— except for one moment that was anything but. Bradford had nearly taken a bullet, saved only when Lopez and her rookie arrived as backup. Chen was the one who spotted the gunman, shouting the warning that helped Tim move out of the line of fire.
By Friday night, the adrenaline had ebbed into exhaustion, and the whole shift had migrated toward the food trucks lined along the curb at the end of the day.
At one table, the training officers clustered together. Talia nursing a bottle of water, Angela halfway through a burrito, Tim with a beer he hadn’t touched. At another, the rookies stuck close, swapping stories like freshmen after orientation.
Angela wiped her hands on a napkin and leaned back. “Not bad for week one. Chen’s sharp, listens well. Honestly, I could get spoiled.”
Bishop arched a brow. “Nolan’s stubborn, but he’s not hopeless.”
Tim leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “West won’t shut up about his dad, but he’s competent enough. Could’ve been worse.”
Angela gave him a look. “That almost sounded like a compliment.” She grinned, leaning closer. “Especially from a guy who’d be six feet under if my rookie hadn’t saved his ass.”
Talia chuckled, shaking her head. “She’s not wrong.”
Tim shot Angela a glare, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth gave him away.
The group’s conversation drifted, and Tim’s focus moved elsewhere. Across the way, Chen sat between West and Nolan, fork moving absently as she laughed at something Jackson said. The neon glow from the truck lit her face, making her smile appear sharper, brighter.
He told himself he was just observing— Chen had done him a solid, after all. And he was… curious. But every time Lucy looked up, her eyes would catch his.
The first time, she looked away quickly. The second time, she let it linger. By the third, it was deliberate, a current pulling taut between them, invisible to everyone else.
Angela’s voice cut through the noise. “Bradford, you alive over there, or what?”
Tim blinked, dragging his gaze back to the table. “Fine,” he said, flat and clipped. But Angela’s smile said she’d caught more than he wanted her to.
Everyone lingered a while longer, but eventually the tables started to empty. Talia muttered about an early shift, Angela crumpled her burrito wrapper and headed off, and the rookies drifted toward the parking garage together— all except Lucy, who slowed her pace, letting West and Nolan move ahead.
Tim hung back, finishing his beer, not in any particular hurry. He was a little surprised when he noticed Lucy crossing the short distance between them.
“Officer Bradford.” Her tone was light, almost casual.
He glanced up, brows lifting. “Chen.” His tone was flat as always, but he straightened a little, meeting her eyes.
“I just wanted to say…I’m glad you’re okay. I—”
“Yeah.” He nodded once, cutting her off before she could stumble into awkward territory. “Me too.” A beat passed, his gaze steady on hers. “And…thanks. For spotting him.”
Lucy shifted, a small smile tugging at her mouth. “Just doing my job.”
For a moment, they just looked at each other. The hum of generators from the trucks, the muffled laughter of their coworkers fading down the block in the background. Something flickered in the silence between them, sharp and undeniable.
Tim cleared his throat. “Still…I guess I owe you one.”
Her brows lifted, playful now. “Hmmm…you do, don’t you?”
Tim blinked, caught off guard. Was she…flirting? With him? He had to be about ten years older, was jaded by life, and still half-married to a ghost. Whatever that was, it couldn’t be what he thought.
Lucy stepped back, smile lingering as she turned away. “See you around, Bradford.” And as she turned, walking back toward the lot lights, she glanced over her shoulder just long enough to make him wonder all over again if maybe…just maybe…she actually had been flirting.
~
A few days later, the shop hummed along the boulevard, the steady rhythm of the engine underlining the quiet of early patrol. Tim drove, eyes on the road, hands firm on the wheel. Beside him, Jackson West filled the silence like it was his job.
“Not to brag,” Jackson began— which of course meant he was about to— “but I set the record for fastest takedown drill at the academy. Five-point-two seconds. That’s like, elite level. My dad said—”
Tim cut him a side glance, flat and unimpressed. “Your dad’s not here. And records don’t mean squat in the real world.”
Jackson straightened, unfazed. “Still, it shows what I’m capable of. You’ll see.”
Tim exhaled through his nose, rolling his eyes. “Looking forward to it.”
Silence lasted all of two seconds before Jackson leaned back, folding his arms. His gaze flicked toward the curb where Lopez’s shop rolled past with Chen in the passenger seat, Nolan trailing behind them with Bishop.
“You know,” he said, leaning back, “I think Nolan’s got a crush on Lucy. The way he watches her? Pretty obvious.”
Tim’s jaw tightened. He didn’t engage in LAPD gossip— ever. “Keep your head in your own shop, West.”
Jackson grinned, undeterred. “Come on, you noticed it too. Everybody has.”
Tim kept his eyes on the road. He should’ve left it there, shut it down. But before he could stop himself, he muttered, “Chen’s out of his league.”
Jackson nodded. “Yeah, but Nolan thinks he’s got a shot— ’cause Lucy’s dated older guys before. It’s a thing with her.”
Tim’s grip tightened on the wheel, but he said nothing.
Jackson went on, oblivious. “Not that it matters. Lucy would never go for Nolan. She’s too focused on the job. Doesn’t want anything messing it up. Which is smart, honestly.”
Tim stayed silent, eyes locked on the road ahead, expression neutral. But his thoughts weren’t as disciplined.
Older guys. Which meant…what? That night at the food trucks, when she’d smiled at him…when she’d thrown that line about him owing her one…maybe she actually had been flirting?
His chest tightened. No. No, he was reading too much into it. She’s a rookie. She’s Lopez’s rookie. And she’s focused on the job— just like she should be. He needed to do the same. Focus on the job, on training West, on finalizing the divorce. That was what mattered.
Tim shifted in his seat, pulling his gaze harder onto the road ahead.
~
The rookies were now into their second month of training. Rachel sprawled across Lucy’s couch, scrolling absently through her phone while Lucy rifled through takeout menus.
“So,” Rachel said, voice lilting with curiosity. “How’s training going? Surviving the hazing?”
Lucy grinned, dropping onto the opposite end of the couch. “Barely. But honestly? I lucked out. Some of the other rookies got stuck with total nightmares.”
Rachel arched a brow, setting her phone aside. “Like who?”
Lucy hesitated, then lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Well…there’s this one guy. He’s brutal. Total hard ass. Made Jackson do 50 push-ups after every call last week. Stole his duty belt when he was in the bathroom. Made him walk along the shop until he knew where they were.”
“Sounds like a prick,” Rachel commented, reaching for the menu Lucy had tossed aside.
Lucy immediately sat up straighter, shaking her head. “He’s not a prick. He’s—” She caught herself, biting down on the word before it could finish. “I mean, he’s…strict. But not unfair. He actually cares. He just has high standards, and he doesn’t let people slack.”
Rachel blinked, then tilted her head slowly, a sly smile tugging at her mouth. “Wow. Look at you, jumping to his defense.” Rachel’s smile sharpened. “You’re the one who said he was a total nightmare. What—do you secretly wish you’d been assigned to him?”
Lucy nearly choked. “No! Definitely not. He’d be…distracting.”
Rachel’s head snapped up, eyes gleaming. “Distracting how?”
Lucy groaned, covering her face with her hand. “Forget I said that.”
Rachel laughed, delighted. “Oh my god. You think he’s hot.”
Lucy peeked at her through her fingers, finally letting out a reluctant laugh. “Okay, yes, he’s…objectively attractive.”
Rachel laughed, leaning in. “Well, he’s not your TO. What’s stopping you from having a little fun?”
Lucy shook her head, cheeks warming. “Because he’s…him. The guy practically bleeds policy. And while it’s not technically against the rules, I can’t exactly picture him toeing the line.”
Rachel’s lips curved into a smirk. “You make it sound like you’ve thought about testing that theory.”
Lucy’s head shot up. “What? No. I haven’t.”
Rachel arched a brow, unconvinced. “Uh huh. Sure. Totally not imagining what you and Officer Hottie would do if you got stuck on a stakeout together.”
Lucy rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered as she flipped open the menu, suddenly very invested in deciding between lo mein or sweet and sour chicken.
~
A month later, a routine domestic disturbance went sideways. Gunfire cracked down the narrow apartment hallway, the air thick with gunpowder, echoes still ringing in Tim’s ears as he and Jackson cleared the area.
Angela stood at the corner, weapon trained down the corridor, chest heaving. Lucy was on the ground, flat on her back, one hand weakly clutching at her chest.
“I think she took a round to the vest,” Angela snapped as Tim approached, not looking away from the direction the suspect had bolted. “Suspect’s moving down the hall.”
“I’ve got her,” Tim barked instantly. His tone left no room for argument. “You and West, go.”
Angela hesitated for a half-second, her eyes flicking to Lucy, then nodded. She took off, West on her heels.
Tim dropped to his knees, holstering his weapon without a thought. “Chen.” His voice was firm, controlled, though his pulse thundered in his throat. His gaze swept her vest, searching. “Talk to me. Where’d it hit?”
Lucy blinked up at him, eyes glassy, her brain struggling to catch up.
“Lucy,” he tried instead, softer this time.
Her lashes fluttered. A groan slipped out as she shifted her hand, showing the torn fabric dead-center over her sternum.
His hands moved fast, skimming the vest for warmth, for blood. His chest stayed locked tight until his fingers came away clean. “Vest held,” he muttered, the words rough with relief he didn’t bother disguising.
She winced, breath catching. “Still hurts.”
“Better than the alternative,” he said gruffly, one hand pressing to her shoulder like he could steady her pulse with his own.
For a moment, neither moved. Her breathing steadied, her eyes finally meeting his. He stayed there, leaning over her, closer than he probably should have been.
Her lips curved faintly, dry but defiant. “This doesn’t count,” she rasped.
His brow furrowed. “What?”
“This doesn’t count as saving my life.” She shifted, wincing but keeping her gaze locked on him. “The vest saved me. Which means…you still owe me.”
For a second, he just stared at her, the tightness in his chest giving way to something dangerously close to a laugh. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head, relief loosening his grip on her shoulder. “Unbelievable,” he muttered.
Her smile lingered as she let her head rest back against the floor, eyes fluttering closed again.
Tim slipped an arm beneath her shoulders and eased her upright, steadying her until she found her balance. His hand lingered at her back. “Come on,” he said, the words gentler than he intended. “Let’s get you checked out.”.
~
A week went by before they ran into each other again. Lucy had ducked into the break room, rummaging through the fridge until she came up with a yogurt. She popped the lid just as Tim walked in, heading straight for the coffeemaker.
“You’re still milking that bruise?” he asked, glancing at the way she eased herself into a chair.
Lucy shot him a look. “Excuse you, it’s the size of Texas. You’d be milking it too.”
He allowed the faintest smirk. “I’ve taken worse.”
She gave him a pointed look. “Yeah, but you probably glared the pain into submission.”
He poured his coffee, lips twitching. “Worked better than dramatics.”
“You know, some people might consider nearly getting shot a big deal.”
“Nearly,” he countered, turning to lean against the counter. “Key word.”
She stuck her spoon in the yogurt, rolling her eyes. “Fine. Next time I’ll try harder to impress you.”
That earned the smallest laugh out of him, a quiet huff that made her smile despite herself. He moved past her to grab a napkin, and in the narrow space, his arm brushed against hers. Just a graze, but enough for her breath to catch.
Tim paused, too, like he felt it. His hand stilled on the napkin dispenser before he cleared his throat and pulled back.
Before either of them could say anything, the door swung open. Nolan stepped in, heading straight for the fridge. He shot Lucy a small smile as he grabbed a soda. “Hey, Chen. Glad to see you back on your feet.”
Lucy smiled back, easy. “Thanks.”
Nolan gave a little nod, popping the tab on the can. “Tough as ever.” He grinned at her once more before heading for the door. “Catch you out there.” And just like that, he was gone.
Tim eventually spoke, voice low. “He likes you.”
Lucy scoffed, rolling her spoon in the yogurt. “I’m not interested.”
Tim sipped his coffee, watching her over the rim. “Not into older guys, huh?”
Her gaze lifted, steady on his. A small, knowing smile tugged at her lips. “I didn’t say that.”
Something flickered across his face— surprise, maybe— but it was gone in an instant. Tim cleared his throat again, busying himself with straightening a stack of stirrers that didn’t need straightening. Lucy just kept eating her yogurt, that faint smile still playing at the corner of her mouth.
~
Later that day, the bullpen was thinning out, the day’s chaos winding down into paperwork and goodbyes. Angela and Talia lingered by the women’s locker room doors, keys already in hand. Tim stepped out of the men’s, his backpack slung over one shoulder.
“You two want to grab a drink?” he asked, his tone casual, like it didn’t matter one way or another. But the truth was, it wasn’t like he had anywhere else to be. Not like there was a wife waiting at home. These days, life outside the station was…quiet.
Angela shook her head. “Sorry, can’t. Court prep.”
Talia offered a faint smile. “I can’t either. I’m running on fumes.”
They waved on their way out, leaving Tim standing there alone. He tugged at his backpack strap as he tried to convince himself that an empty house and a reheated dinner didn’t sound too bad. Then a voice broke through behind him.
“I don’t have any plans tonight.”
He turned. Lucy was there, adjusting her jacket, eyes steady and a touch playful.
“And I could use a drink,” she added, stepping closer.
For a moment, he just looked at her. He shouldn’t. He knew he shouldn’t. “You don’t want to spend your Friday night at a bar with me,” he said flatly, tone firm, the kind meant to close a door.
Lucy didn’t budge. “Why not?”
“Because you’re a rookie. And I’m a training officer.” His voice stayed flat, firm, like each word nailed the boundary into place. “It’s not a good idea.”
“I’ve grabbed a drink with Lopez before.”
“It’s different.”
Her brow arched, a teasing spark in her eyes. “Why? Because I’m a girl and you’re a boy?” She slid her hands into her pockets, smile curving. “It’s just a drink. Besides…” her voice softened, light but knowing, “…you still owe me for saving your life. A drink seems fair.”
Tim’s jaw flexed, the protest sitting heavy on his tongue. This was a mistake. He should tell her no, walk out, go home to his empty house and a quiet night. That was the safe choice. The smart one.
Instead, his eyes swept the bullpen. Angela and Talia were gone, Grey’s office dark. No one watching.
“C’mon,” Lucy pressed, her grin widening. “Just one drink.”
Tim drew a long breath, already knowing he was going to regret this. “Fine.”
Her smile broke wide, bright with satisfaction.
And that’s how Tim found himself walking into a bar with Lucy twenty minutes later. He still wasn’t sure how she’d talked him into it. If he was honest though, he hadn’t needed much convincing. There was a pull with her, something he couldn’t seem to shake no matter how many reasons he stacked against it.
They found a spot tucked off to one side where the lighting was low, the noise of the crowd fading into the background.
Lucy leaned against the bar, her fingers smoothing over the counter before she glanced at him with a small, testing smile. “See? Not so bad.”
Tim slid onto the stool beside her, signaling the bartender with a lift of his hand. “Two beers.”
Her brows lifted. “You didn’t even ask what I wanted.”
“You wanted a drink. Now you’ve got one,” he said, his mouth tight, his expression controlled.
Lucy let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Efficient. But not exactly charming.” She sounded braver than she felt, and she took a breath to steady herself.
The bartender set two bottles down, and Tim pushed one her way. “Debt paid.”
Lucy lifted it, tapping lightly against his. “Cheers.”
For a while, they drifted through light conversation— complaining about the heat, trading sarcastic takes on traffic, and debating whether the break room coffee actually qualified as coffee. Every opinion seemed to spark another, the back-and-forth easy and unguarded. Nothing serious, nothing risky. Just the kind of playful banter that slipped into place so naturally it almost felt too easy. And it felt…nice.
Then a woman slid into the empty stool on Tim’s other side, casual smile in place. Tim gave her a polite nod. Her eyes flicked to him, then back to the bar. “Didn’t expect this place to be so packed on a Friday.”
“Guess it’s popular,” Tim said evenly, keeping his gaze forward.
She laughed softly, tilting toward him. “Honestly, I don’t usually like crowded places…but I think I can make an exception tonight.” Her eyes flicked toward him, just long enough to make the point.
Lucy’s fingers tightened just slightly around her bottle, though she kept her face neutral.
Tim didn’t bite. He took a sip of his beer, offering nothing.
Undeterred, the woman leaned her elbow on the counter, chin in her hand. “So, want to buy me a drink?”
“No,” Tim said directly.
Lucy had just taken a sip of her beer and nearly choked on it, setting the bottle down fast as her eyes flicked toward him.
The woman let out a nervous laugh, mistaking his bluntness for coyness. “Okay, fine. I’ll buy your next round then.”
Tim turned then, eyes sharp. “No, uh…I’m good. I’m married.”
That landed like a brick. The woman’s smile faltered, then disappeared altogether. She mumbled something about finding her friends and slipped back into the crowd.
Lucy coughed into her sleeve, still half-laughing, half-stunned. “Nice one. Saying you’re married to get rid of her. Effective.”
Tim’s gaze stayed on the label of his beer, thumb picking at the edge. “That…wasn’t a line.”
Her smirk softened, her breath catching just slightly at the weight of that. “Oh.” She fumbled, lifting her bottle and taking a quick sip. “I just— I didn’t see a ring, so I assumed…” The words slipped out before she could stop them, and her eyes widened as she realized how it sounded. “Not that I was, you know, looking.” Heat rushed to her cheeks. “Forget I said anything.”
“Chen.” His voice cut through clean, steady, stopping her before she could spiral further. A small, almost amused smile tugged at his mouth. He liked seeing her flustered. “I am married. But only on paper at this point. Divorce in process.”
Relief bloomed in her chest so fast she had to hide it behind another sip, gaze dropping to the bar top. But almost immediately, guilt followed—because if he was in the middle of a divorce, that meant he was already carrying more than most. Heavy things. And here she was feeling lighter because of it. She cleared her throat, tilting her head his way. “Do you…want to talk about it?”
Tim took a long drink, set his bottle down, and finally met her eyes. “Not really. If that’s okay with you.”
Something in his tone— firm but gentle— made her nod without pushing. “Yeah. That’s okay.” A moment passed, the quiet between them threatening to turn heavy. Lucy broke it with a quick sip, then tilted her bottle in his direction, smile tugging. “I think we’ve earned another round, don’t you?”
The corner of his mouth twitched, reluctant. He shook his head, but when the bartender passed by, Tim lifted two fingers. “Two more.”
The fresh beers gave them an excuse to linger, and before long the weight of the earlier exchange had faded. Their talk slid into easier territory— Lucy telling some half-embellished story from the academy that had Tim shaking his head, Tim countering with a dry one-liner that made her laugh louder than she meant to. They batted quips back and forth, the kind of rhythm that felt natural, unforced, like they’d known each other longer than a couple of months.
By the time the second round was gone, the crowd around them had thinned. Tim set his bottle down, glancing at the time. “We should call it.”
Lucy stretched, slow, like she wasn’t ready to give up the moment. “Guess so.”
They stepped into the cool night air, the noise of the bar exchanged for the hums of traffic. For a moment, neither moved. The glow from the streetlamp cut across his profile, and Lucy found herself watching the way the light softened the sharp lines of his face.
She shifted a little closer, her shoulder brushing his sleeve. He glanced down at her, and their eyes caught— steady, lingering, too long to be casual.
Lucy’s chest tightened with something that felt dangerously like anticipation. She leaned in, slow but certain, closing just enough of the distance to test him. She could feel the warmth of his breath now, see the flicker of something unguarded in his eyes.
Tim didn’t move at first. His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth, and for a split second, it felt inevitable. He wanted to, she could feel it. The temptation was radiating off him.
And then he stopped it. A sharp inhale, a faint shake of his head, and he eased back just enough that the moment dissolved. Not a rejection, not really. More like a choice he was forcing himself to make.
His voice was low, rougher than before. “Get home safe, Chen.”
Lucy blinked, her pulse still racing, heat crawling up her neck. She masked it with a small, crooked smile, pretending the air hadn’t just shifted between them. “See you tomorrow, Bradford.”
She turned toward her car, but the charged air lingered, following her every step. Behind her, Tim stayed rooted on the sidewalk, jaw tight, fists flexing once at his sides before he finally turned the other way.
~
The weeks that followed the night at the bar blurred into the usual grind— calls, reports, long shifts. Except Tim had gone out of his way to keep things strictly professional with Lucy. Not cold, not rude. Just…distant.
Lucy noticed. Of course she noticed. So when she rounded the corner at the station one afternoon, balancing a file in one hand and nearly colliding with him, she seized the chance.
“Oh, hey,” she said, steadying herself with a wry grin. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were avoiding me.”
Tim froze for half a beat, then shifted just enough to the side to let her pass. “What makes you assume I think about you that much?”
“Touché.” Her grin lingered as she tilted her head. “Well…for the record, if you ever wanted to grab another beer, I wouldn’t say no.”
For a second, the idea tempted him more than it should have. He could picture it too easily— their banter, her smile, the way she’d leaned in that night. His chest tightened with the want of it. But reality pressed harder.
Tim drew a slow breath, grounding himself. “Lucy…maybe I’m picking up the wrong signals here. But I’d be remiss if I didn’t say something. We can’t—” He paused. “We can’t do this. Not while you’re a rookie. If people see us hanging out, it doesn’t take much for talk to start.”
Lucy blinked, then forced a casual shrug. “Didn’t realize there was a this to even worry about.” Her smile was practiced, easy.
Tim searched her face, then gave a short nod. “Guess I read more into it than I should’ve. Sorry.”
Lucy’s smile stayed steady. “No big deal.” She said like it was the most casual thing in the world. She sidestepped him with a quick grin, disappearing down the hall— while Tim stayed rooted there, telling himself he’d done the right thing.
~
Another month slipped by. Now, the sun hung low over the water, streaks of gold spilling across the waves as Lucy and Jackson jogged side by side along the beach. Their breaths came in rhythm, shoes pounding against the packed sand. For a while, it was just the sound of the ocean and their steady pace.
Lucy adjusted her ponytail, trying for casual. “So…how’s it going with Bradford?”
Jackson shot her a look, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Oh, come on. That was the most casual non-casual question I’ve ever heard.”
Lucy’s cheeks warmed, but she kept her gaze forward. “I’m just asking.”
“Uh huh.” Jackson shook his head, grinning. “You two have been weird for weeks, then you suddenly drop his name mid-run? Please.”
Lucy groaned. “It’s not weird.”
“Sure it’s not.” He nudged her with his elbow. “So, what happened?”
She stumbled a step in the sand, caught herself, and shot him a glare. “Nothing. I mean—well—” She blew out a breath, slowing just slightly. “Fine. I…might’ve had a crush. But it was stupid. He shut it down, and he was right to. So—” she lifted a shoulder, forcing a lightness she didn’t feel, “—end of story.”
Jackson raised a brow, hearing the weight she was trying to brush off. “Hmm. Funny thing is…he’s asked about you too. Casually. Like, way too casually.”
Lucy’s head snapped toward him. “What?”
He smirked. “Relax. No sonnets, no grand declarations. Just a casual, ‘Chen keeping up with the workload better than you and Nolan?’ Like it was business. But the way he asked? Yeah…definitely not just business.”
Lucy fought the smile threatening at her lips, shaking her head quickly. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Mmhmm.” Jackson grinned, letting it drop— for now.
~
The bullpen buzzed with the usual shuffle of officers before roll call. Tim slid into his usual spot near the back, pen and notepad ready, posture stiff as ever. He’d gotten good at it these past few weeks— staying professional, staying distant. Chen was Lopez’s rookie, not his. Keeping that boundary had been pretty easy.
Grey stepped up to the podium, papers in hand, and the room quieted. “All right, listen up. We’ve got a slight shuffle today. Bishop’s tied up in court, so to make sure everyone still gets their hours in, we’re doing a rookie swap. Lopez, you’re taking West. Bradford, you’ve got Chen. And Nolan, you’ll be with me. Consider it a chance to see different training techniques.”
The words hit like a punch. Tim’s stomach dropped. He didn’t flinch outwardly, but his grip on the pen tightened just enough for the plastic to creak. He’d been careful and now Grey was handing him twelve hours in a shop with the one person he’d been trying hardest not to think about.
Across the room, Lucy’s head snapped toward him. Their eyes met— just a flash— but it was enough. She’d been excited at first, but the realization hit her too, and her smile faltered into something smaller, more complicated. How the hell was she supposed to sit beside him all day and pretend she didn’t feel what she felt?
From the row ahead, Lopez twisted in her chair, grinning like a cat. “Have fun, Bradford.”
Angela’s laugh rippled across the room, and a few others chuckled with her. Tim didn’t react, face locked in its usual scowl. But the sound made his pulse tick faster, heat prickling under the collar of his uniform.
Grey cleared his throat pointedly. “If the peanut gallery’s finished, we’ll get back to the schedule.”
Tim forced his eyes back to the podium, pen poised, posture ironclad. Twelve hours. He could do twelve hours. He had to.
But the weight of Lucy’s gaze lingered all the same.
~
The shop rumbled steadily down the boulevard, the hum of the engine filling the silence that neither of them seemed willing to break. Tim kept his eyes locked on the road, hands at ten and two, posture so rigid it could’ve been carved from stone.
Beside him, Lucy sat with her hands folded too neatly in her lap, eyes flicking between the passing storefronts and the reflection of her own face in the passenger side window. The silence pressed heavier with each block they passed. She could feel it— awkward, stilted, like every thought she wasn’t supposed to have was suddenly magnified by the lack of sound.
Finally, she cleared her throat. “So…” Her voice came out thinner than she meant. “How’s, uh…West doing? Still quoting his dad every five minutes? He did that all the time in the academy.”
Tim’s jaw flexed. “He’s fine.”
Lucy winced inwardly. Not exactly a conversational slam dunk. She tried again, words tumbling out before she could stop them. “I mean, you know, you’ve got the patience of…like…a monk or something to deal with that.” She gestured vaguely at him, words tumbling out before she could stop them. “Not that you look like a monk. Obviously. You look…” Her mouth snapped shut a beat too late, cheeks flaming. “…professional. I meant professional.”
Tim’s head tilted, just slightly, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. His brow arched, and for a moment she thought he’d shut her down completely. But instead, the corner of his mouth tugged upward— just barely, a small smile, quick and unguarded. Then Tim added, “Yeah…West could use some humbling.”
Lucy blinked, glancing at him. It wasn’t much. Barely a crack in his armor. But it was enough to spark a small, reluctant smile at the corner of her mouth.
She turned back to the window, letting the silence settle again— different this time, not quite as suffocating.
Eventually they responded to a call. It had been nothing flashy, just a small disturbance that wrapped quickly. Lucy handled it with the same steady confidence she always brought. Tim stayed back, watching her work through the steps exactly as she should. No shortcuts. No panic. Just precise, methodical effort.
He found himself studying her a moment longer than he meant to. She was sharp, focused, everything he wanted to see in a rookie. And maybe something more, something he shouldn’t linger on.
“You hungry?” he asked as they walked back toward the shop.
Lucy glanced at him, surprised by the casualness in his tone. “Sure.”
He jerked his chin toward the street. “There’s a place nearby.”
A few minutes later, they slid into a booth at a little corner spot. The kind of place with chipped laminate tables and menus that hadn’t changed in twenty years. They ordered quickly— two burgers, fries, coffee for him, diet coke for her— and then found themselves in that awkward gray space between work and personal.
Lucy toyed with her straw wrapper. “So…what do you do for fun?”
Tim blinked at her, like the question had been asked in another language. “Nothing.”
She laughed. “Come on. There’s gotta be something.”
“No.” He wasn’t being evasive, just honest. His expression didn’t shift. "Just work."
Lucy studied him, her smile faltering a little at the bluntness. For a beat, she hesitated, debating whether to push. Then she straightened, voice lighter as she said, “Well…I’m in this rec league for paintball. We could use more people who can actually hit a target. If you’re interested, I could get you on the team.”
Tim’s brows lifted. Paintball. He hadn’t thought about that in years. He remembered the rush of it, the sharp focus, the way strategy and instinct had blended together in a way that felt alive. He’d loved it. Until Isabel. She’d rolled her eyes, called it childish, told him to grow up.
His chest tightened at the thought. In thirty days, the divorce would be final after six months. She hadn’t even responded to the filing. Probably off somewhere high, somewhere incoherent. Thirty days, and then it would all officially be over.
He looked back at Chen. Her eyes were steady, waiting, hopeful but not pushing.
“You know?” His voice was low, almost surprised at himself. “That sounds like fun.”
Lucy’s grin broke wide. “Really?”
Tim nodded, more firmly this time. “Yeah. Why not.”
He told himself that was fine. They wouldn’t be hanging out one-on-one. It wasn’t personal. Just a team activity, and something to help him start his new life.
~
The weeks slipped into a rhythm. Every Saturday afternoon he was off, Tim found himself lacing up for paintball. At first, he’d told himself it was just a distraction, something to fill the empty hours off-shift. But the truth was, he’d been having more fun than he’d had in years. The adrenaline, the strategy, the team dynamic— it lit something in him that he hadn’t realized had gone dark.
Lucy was right there with him. Her laugh carried across the field, bright and free in a way he rarely heard at the station. And it didn’t hurt that paintball meant he got to see her outside the uniform, week after week, without their coworkers and the threat of rumors following them.
Their team had just clinched another capture-the-flag match, and the energy was high as they regrouped. Tim had come in clutch, sliding out from cover to lay down fire, clearing the way for their captain to sprint the flag back across the line.
The team captain clapped Tim on the back, grinning ear to ear. “Man, that was incredible. Seriously, thanks for inviting your boyfriend, Lucy. He’s been the best addition we’ve had all season.”
Lucy froze, wide-eyed. “Oh— uh, he’s not my boyfriend,” she rushed out, a nervous laugh tumbling after her. “He’s my coworker. A fellow officer from the LAPD.”
The captain’s grin faltered. “Oh. My bad! I just thought—” He caught himself, backpedaling fast. “Nevermind. Coworker. Got it. Either way, glad you’re here, Bradford.” With another clap to Tim’s shoulder, he wandered off to join the others.
That left them standing alone, helmets in hand, paint streaked across their vests. The awkwardness settled between them.
Tim adjusted his grip on his mask, finally breaking the silence. “Could be worse. At least he didn’t call me your dad.”
Lucy let out a startled laugh, covering her face with her hand. “Oh my god, don’t even joke about that.”
He smirked, the tension easing but soon followed by his phone buzzing in his pocket. He slipped it out, glancing at the screen before answering. “Hey, Lopez.”
Lucy drifted a few steps away, giving him space, but her ears couldn’t help picking up the soft shift in his tone.
“Hey,” Angela’s voice came through, warm but hesitant. “So…listen, I know we said we’d hang tonight. But this guy just asked me out— cute, smart, a little cocky. Pretty much my type. He says tonight’s the only night he’s free for the next few weeks. But look, if you need me, I’ll cancel in a second. You gonna be okay on your own?”
Tim’s brow furrowed. “Angela—”
“I mean it, Tim. I wouldn’t ditch you tonight, not if you—”
“Stop.” His tone was firm, cutting her off. “I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.” He forced a dry chuckle. “What, you think I can’t survive one night without my babysitter?”
Angela snorted, though her voice softened. “I just don’t want you sitting alone on a night like this.”
“Yeah, well. I’ll manage.” A beat passed, then his mouth tugged wryly. “This guy better be worth it.”
There was a pause on the other end before Angela admitted, almost reluctantly, “I feel like I’m committing a felony or something.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s a defense attorney.”
That snagged him. “Wait— you’re ditching me for a lawyer?” His voice pitched with mock outrage. “Lopez, fraternizing with the other team? Really?”
Angela laughed. “Relax. It’s just one date. I doubt I’ll even like him.”
“Uh huh. Next thing I know, you’ll be helping him file motions to tank half our cases.”
Angela cackled. “Bye, Bradford. Don’t drink all the whiskey without me.”
“Have fun with the enemy,” he shot back before the line clicked dead. Tim slid the phone into his pocket.
When he looked up, Lucy was watching him, eyes curious. “Lopez is going on a date with a defense attorney?”
“Apparently.” He adjusted his grip on his mask, deadpan. “Guess we’ll have to disown her.”
Lucy laughed softly, shaking her head. “So, you two had plans? Ouch. Here I was thinking I was special.” Her smile lingered, but it faltered when she noticed he wasn’t laughing.
Tim glanced at her, his mouth twitching like he almost wanted to smirk. “Uh…yeah. She didn’t want me to be alone tonight.”
Lucy tilted her head in curiosity. “Why?”
Tim was silent for a moment before offering a small smile. “Paperwork came through this morning— divorce is official.” He shrugged like it was nothing, though the words carried too much weight to hide.
Lucy’s smile faded. “Tim…”
He cut in quickly, forcing another shrug. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just get drunk alone. Pretty fitting, actually.”
The words landed heavy between them. Neither of them spoke. The shouts and laughter of their teammates filled the space around them, but it all felt distant, muted.
Lucy shifted, glancing down at her mask before looking back at him. “You know…if you want company…” Her voice steadied. “I’m here.”
His eyes snapped to hers, caught off guard by the directness. “Lucy—”
“I’m serious.” She crossed her arms, her chin tilting just enough to challenge him. “Text me your address. I’m coming over, and I’ll bring dinner. Lopez was right. You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
He opened his mouth, but she cut him off before he could dismiss it.
“Don’t argue. Just send me the address. I’m coming.”
For a long moment, he just looked at her. The determination in her eyes was steady, unflinching. And for the first time all day, the tightness in his chest eased. “Okay,” he said finally, the word rough but honest.
Lucy’s expression softened, her lips curving into a small smile. “Good.”
Tim shook his head, but a smile tugged at his mouth. He told himself it didn’t mean anything— that she was just being kind. But deep down, he knew better. Not many people pushed back when he put up walls. Not many people even noticed when he needed them to. But Lucy had. And instead of feeling cornered, for once, he didn’t mind.
~
Tim stood in the kitchen, staring at the divorce papers spread across the counter like evidence in a case file. The final stamp, the signatures— all neat, all official. Just like that, twelve years of his life reduced to a stack of paper.
He should’ve felt relief. Or grief. Or something clearer than the dull ache that had settled in his chest. Instead, all he felt was the emptiness pressing in.
And then there was tonight. He’d agreed to let Lucy come over. A rookie. A colleague. A woman he maybe didn’t not have feelings for, though he’d sworn to himself he wouldn’t cross that line.
He rubbed a hand over his face, jaw tight. What kind of man had another woman over on the night his marriage ended officially? What kind of man let himself even want the company? But the alternative— sitting here alone with a bottle of whiskey— suddenly felt unbearable.
A few minutes later, he heard a knock. When he opened the door, Lucy was standing there, a pizza box balanced in one hand and a six-pack in the other. “Dinner delivery,” she said with a little shrug, like showing up at her friend’s training officer’s house was the most casual thing in the world.
Tim stepped back to let her in. “Come in.”
Lucy brushed past him into the house, setting the pizza on the dining table and the beers beside it.
“You didn’t have to—” he started.
“I know,” she said quickly, shooting him a look. “But don’t even try to argue.”
Tim huffed a laugh. He reached for the six-pack, fingers brushing the cardboard before he let out a short breath and shook his head. “Thanks for bringing beer. But if we’re really doing this tonight, we’re gonna need something stronger.”
He crossed to a cabinet and pulled down a bottle of whiskey, setting two glasses on the table with a clink.
Lucy arched a brow, leaning against the table. “You know, I’m more of a tequila girl.”
A faint smirk tugged at his mouth as he poured. “Figures.”
She tilted her head, smiling as she picked up the glass he slid her way. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Tequila’s trouble,” he said. There was a flicker of warmth behind the words.
Lucy raised her glass, her eyes catching his. “Is it, now?” She tapped it lightly against his, the clink loud in the quiet house.
Tim watched her take her first sip. He’d thought having her here tonight would feel wrong, messy, dangerous. Instead, he didn’t feel quite so alone. And that realization unnerved him more than the whiskey ever could.
He motioned for Lucy to sit, and he took a seat next to her. Tim flipped open the pizza box, the smell of pepperoni and mushrooms filling the house. His face soured immediately.
“Mushrooms?” he muttered, looking at her like she’d just committed a crime.
Lucy grinned. “You’re welcome.”
“They don’t belong on pizza,” he said flatly, grabbing a plate like he might refuse to touch it otherwise.
“They absolutely do,” Lucy shot back, sliding a slice onto her plate. “It’s called being sophisticated.”
“It’s called eating fungus,” Tim countered, nudging the box away from him like it was contaminated.
Lucy laughed, taking a big bite just to spite him. “Delicious, earthy, grown-up fungus.”
Tim shook his head, grabbing a slice but meticulously plucking each mushroom off before taking a bite. “You know, you’d save us both a lot of trouble if you just admitted you have terrible taste.”
She pointed her pizza at him. “Says the guy drinking whiskey like it’s water. At least mushrooms won’t rot your liver.”
He smirked faintly, raising his glass. “To bad habits.”
Lucy clinked her slice against his glass, grinning. “To fungus.”
An hour slipped by in an easy rhythm— pizza disappearing slice by slice, the whiskey bottle inching lower between them. They had started out side by side at the dining table, chairs angled toward the food. But as the conversation deepened, their chairs edged closer, legs brushing, until at some point they weren’t facing the table at all— they were facing each other.
Conversation drifted to paintball, specifically last week’s game where Lucy had gone down hard after tripping over a tree root.
“You know,” Tim said, swirling the whiskey in his glass, “most people don’t manage to tackle themselves playing paintball.”
Lucy groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I was so close! If that stupid tree hadn’t jumped out at me—”
“—we’d have actually won,” Tim finished, shaking his head. “Meanwhile, I’m stuck on the sidelines, watching our flag walk away while you’re rolling around in the dirt.”
She laughed, cheeks pink. “Okay, fine. I blew it. But admit it— you’ve been having fun.”
Tim’s smirk softened, his glass pausing midway to his lips. “Yeah. I have.”
“Me too. A lot of fun, actually. And we could’ve had more if you hadn’t said we couldn’t do this.”
Tim paused mid-sip, his brows knitting. “Couldn’t do what?”
She blinked at him, skeptical. “Don’t play dumb. The hallway. A few months back. When you said we couldn’t hang out because of rumors.”
Recognition flickered across his face. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed. Low and amused. “That?” He shook his head. “Lucy, it didn’t matter. You even said yourself I’d read into it too much.” He gestured toward her with his glass. “And look— we did end up hanging out anyway. Paintball, fungus pizza…”
Lucy’s lips curved, but her gaze stayed steady on him. The whiskey did its work, her words slipping freer than they might have otherwise. “You weren’t reading into anything, Tim.”
His smile faltered, the humor in his eyes dimming as her words landed, heavier than either of them expected. He leaned back in his chair, glass turning slowly between his fingers. “Chen…”
Lucy let out a short scoff, shaking her head. “There it is. Not Lucy. Chen. Walls back up.” Her tone wasn’t sharp, more tired, like she’d seen this dance before. She leaned back, folding her arms. “You do that a lot. Flip the switch, push me back.”
Tim exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening as he looked away, then back at her. “I have to.” He tried to make it sound firm, final. “That line— it’s there for a reason.”
Lucy leaned in, her eyes sharp. “Yeah. A line you drew. Not because of some rule, not because anyone told you to— but because you decided my reputation needed protecting.”
His brows furrowed, but he didn’t argue.
She gave a small, almost defiant shrug. “I can protect myself. I don’t need you doing it for me.”
For a moment, he just stared at her, glass turning slowly in his hand. The words stuck in his throat, because she wasn’t wrong. He had drawn the line. For her. For himself. For both of them. But hearing her say it like that— like maybe she wouldn’t regret crossing it— left him unsteady. He shook his head. “You really don’t let up, do you?”
“Not when I know I’m right.”
Tim tipped his glass back, buying himself a moment. He told himself to hold the line, to keep the walls up. But as she sat there across from him he felt that flicker of something dangerous, something he wasn’t supposed to want.
And God help him, he liked it. He liked her pushing back. Tim’s thumb traced absently along the rim of his glass, but his eyes stayed on her.
She didn’t look away.
“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he said finally, his voice rough, honest.
Her laugh was soft, but her gaze lingered on him, warming the space between them. “Guess that makes us even. You frustrate the hell out of me.” Lucy leaned in, closing the space between them without quite meaning to. Her fingers brushed the edge of his glass and neither of them moved away.
Tim’s gaze dropped to where their hands lingered, then back up to her eyes. His thumb twitched against the glass, sliding just enough to graze her knuckles.
Lucy didn’t pull back. Instead, she let her fingers curl, brushing lightly against his. “See? It’s nice when you stop pretending.”
He huffed, low and unsteady, the kind of sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “You always have to push.”
Lucy tilted her head, eyes steady on his. “Does it bother you?”
Tim hesitated, wondering if he should retreat behind the line again. But he didn’t move his hand. Didn’t let go. “No,” he said finally. His gaze stayed locked on hers. “It doesn’t bother me.”
Lucy smiled, soft and certain. “Good.”
Tim blinked. The house was too quiet, the whiskey too warm in his chest, her hand too steady beneath his. He felt the tug of every line he’d ever drawn— and how badly he wanted to erase them.
Before he could stop himself, his fingers slid fully over hers, no longer pretending. She didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. If anything, her breath hitched, her eyes brightening as she leaned just a fraction closer.
“Lucy…” His voice came out rough, strained, like he still meant to warn her. But when she didn’t back off— when she held his gaze like she dared him to follow through— the rest of the words died on his tongue.
He shifted, closing the distance. His free hand braced lightly against her cheek as his forehead almost brushed hers, the scent of whiskey and pizza and her shampoo pulling him under. He waited, giving her that split second to stop him.
She didn’t.
So he kissed her.
It wasn’t hard, not at first— just a careful press, testing, tasting, like he wasn’t sure if this was real. But Lucy answered without hesitation, her lips parting, her hand tightening around his.
Tim exhaled through his nose, the sound rough, like something inside him had finally broken loose. His hand slid from her cheek to the back of her neck, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss. The glass between them fell to the floor, neither of them caring.
Lucy leaned into him, the kiss growing hungrier with each second. She had imagined this before— the steady press of him, the way he’d taste, the way he’d hold her like he wasn’t letting go— but reality was worse, better, overwhelming.
Her fingers slipped from his hand, finding their way to his forearm, then up to his shoulder, gripping the solid line of him like she needed the anchor. Tim’s lips moved against hers with a restraint that kept unraveling, every brush and pull giving away how long he’d wanted this.
“Lucy…” he murmured against her mouth, but it wasn’t a warning this time. It was a plea.
She answered by closing the distance completely, sliding out of her chair and into his space. Tim caught her waist, tugging her forward until she was in his lap, the kiss burning hotter, deeper.
Her laugh broke between them when his scruff scraped her jaw, but he swallowed the sound with another kiss, firmer, hungrier. His hands clung to her hips, thumbs pressing into her through the fabric like he couldn’t get close enough.
Lucy’s fingers threaded into his hair, tugging just slightly, and he groaned against her lips. That sound, low and unguarded, set her pulse racing. She pulled back just enough to look at him, breathless, their foreheads brushing.
Then he kissed her again. The kiss turned hungry, all restraint burned away. His mouth claimed hers, parting, tasting, answering the months of tension they’d both buried under rules and reason. She tilted her head, deepening it, her fingers fisting in his shirt like she never wanted to let go.
When his lips trailed along her jaw and down to the curve of her neck, she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulder. His breath was hot against her skin. “Lucy…” It was half a warning, half a prayer. His forehead pressed against hers, his breath ragged.
Her eyes met his, pupils blown, cheeks flushed. “Don’t stop.”
And God help him, he didn’t. His mouth found hers again, harder, rougher, their kisses messy now, desperate. She shifted again, and he groaned, his grip sliding lower. Tim’s mouth crashed against hers again, hotter, hungrier, like all the months of silence and restraint had finally ignited at once.
Lucy melted into him, her fingers curling into the back of his neck, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them.
His chair dug into the floor as he shifted beneath her, his hands sliding up her sides, over the line of her ribs, before skimming just beneath the hem of her shirt. His fingers brushed bare skin, and Lucy gasped into his mouth, shivering at the contact.
“God, Lucy…” His voice was rough, ragged, like he’d fought this too long.
Her only answer was a soft, breathless moan as she tugged at the collar of his shirt, nails scraping his chest through the fabric. The sound he made in response was low, a sound that had her pressing even closer, her thighs tightening around him.
Tim’s hand slid higher, his thumb grazing the edge of her bra, his lips trailing fire down her throat. Lucy arched back, eyes fluttering shut, and for a moment it was all heat, all need, all the tension they’d been drowning in finally breaking free.
And then a sharp buzz of his phone cut through the quiet.
Both of them froze. The screen lit up on the table. Lopez.
Lucy’s breath was uneven, her cheeks flushed as she glanced at the name. “Ignore it,” she whispered, fingers still tangled in his shirt.
Tim closed his eyes, fighting a groan. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can,” she murmured, lips brushing his as she spoke.
He shook his head. “If I don’t answer, she’s gonna assume the worst. Think I’m drunk…maybe did something stupid. She’d be at the door in ten minutes.”
Before he could move her off, Lucy reached sideways, snatched the phone, and slapped it into his hand. “Fine. Answer it.” She leaned back just enough to smirk at him. “But don’t expect me to make this easy.”
Tim shot her a warning look as he swiped to answer, one hand braced tight on her hip. “Hey.”
Angela’s voice came through, brisk but concerned. “You didn’t text me back. You okay?”
“I’m fine,” Tim said, his tone even, though Lucy had started pressing slow, deliberate kisses along his throat, her hands curling into his shoulders.
Angela wasn’t convinced. “Fine as in you’re not drinking yourself stupid, or fine as in you’re not currently face-down on your kitchen floor?”
Tim cleared his throat, fighting to keep his voice level. “Not face-down anywhere.”
Lucy smiled against his skin, biting lightly just below his ear. He gripped her hip harder, warning, but she only rolled her hips once, slow and sinful, making his breath hitch.
Angela sighed. “You sure you’re okay?”
Tim’s jaw clenched, words grinding out. “Yes.”
Angela kept talking, oblivious. “So, this date? Not a total bust. Cute. Smart, a little self-righteous, but in a way that kind of worked. Honestly, I should’ve rolled my eyes when he started quoting case law at me, but…ugh, his face. I don’t know. I might actually see him again.”
Tim shut his eyes, jaw clenching as Lucy leaned in, her mouth trailing down his neck, teeth grazing just enough to make him inhale sharply. “Good for you,” he said, hoping she’d take the hint.
Angela paused, suspicion creeping in. “…You sound weird.”
Lucy’s hands slid under his shirt, nails grazing lightly up his chest. He gritted his teeth, clamping down on her wrist to still her. “I’m fine,” he said quickly, his tone rougher than intended. “Just tired. Long day.”
Angela hesitated, then softened. “Alright. I’ll let you go. But if you don’t sound better tomorrow, I’m coming over.”
“Night,” Tim muttered, hanging up before she could say more.
The phone hit the table with a dull thud as his chest rose and fell hard. Lucy was still straddling him, eyes bright, lips curved in a smug little smile.
“You’re impossible,” he growled, his hand tightening on her waist as he pulled her back into a kiss that erased any thought of control.
They crashed together again, mouths urgent, hands desperate. Lucy kissed him back with the same hunger, fingers sliding into his hair, tugging until he groaned against her mouth. His palms skimmed her sides, settling at her hips, and she pressed into him, heat spiking all over again.
But then Lucy stilled, just enough to break the rhythm. She pulled back, breathless, her forehead still pressed to his. “As much fun as this is…” Her lips curved into a teasing grin. “I don’t sleep with anyone who hasn’t bought me dinner first.”
Tim blinked, caught between frustration and reluctant amusement, his thumb stroking against her hip. “I can order another pizza.”
Lucy laughed, the sound breaking the tension without dimming the spark in her eyes. “Nice try.”
She leaned in for one last quick kiss, soft this time, then slid off his lap. Her absence left him aching.
Tim sat there for a beat, his pulse still racing. Slowly, his brain caught up to his body, and the fire in his chest met a wall of reason. They were both buzzing from whiskey, adrenaline, want. As much as every part of him screamed not to stop, he knew better.
“Good call,” he said finally, his voice steadier than before. “We shouldn’t…not like this.” Tim exhaled, running a hand down his face before glancing at her keys on the counter. “And you shouldn’t drive.”
Her lips quirked. “Relax. I knew drinking was part of tonight’s plan. I ubered here. I’ll uber back.”
That tugged another reluctant smile from him. Of course she had thought ahead. Still, his chest tightened as he stood, guiding her toward the door. Every step felt too fast, too final. When they reached it, she turned to him, expectant but not pressing. He hesitated only a moment before leaning in, brushing his mouth over hers. Slow this time, lingering, like they both needed each other to know that stopping didn’t mean they wanted it any less.
When they parted, Lucy’s smile was small but sure. “See you around, Bradford.”
His hand hovered at the doorframe, reluctant to let her go. And then she was gone.