I travel to the car's passenger side and wait for him to open my door. I want the whole experience since this never happens—date night.

  He is sly and grins as he clicks my seatbelt on for me, invading my space. I can feel the chemistry between us, but I am on a critical mission and can’t be distracted. It could cost me my freedom. Once he starts the car, he turns down the blasting 80s rock music.

  “Soo, do you have a sushi restaurant in mind?” he queries. Hoping for a quiet place where he could get to know her better. She was a surprisingly small bombshell of a package with a smart mouth. She was just his type.

  Indeed, I do, since I had this all planned beforehand. “How about the place on Crawford Street? It’s not too far in case you have a curfew.”

  “No curfews here. I know the place. They have excellent food. A woman with great taste. Lucky me.”

  The trip is only a few minutes long, and we are quiet the whole way. It seems strange, but the silence is not awkward or nervous energy. Once seated at a quiet table, I let him start with the conversation to indicate what track his mind is fixated on: a one-night stand, a chatting friend type, or more.

  “Rochelle, pretty name. Tell me about yourself.”

  Oh, chatty type, no flirting. This might be harder than I figured. Disappointed at the beginning of this conversation, I drone on about my made-up admin position, telling him funny stories of make-believe. I paused and followed up with him on the same question.

  His side is not that exciting. I may have to improvise and fawn a little to have him digging deeper. “What is the worst case you have had to work?”

  Dwayne doesn’t miss a beat but relates the story of a gruesome serial killer he brought to justice.

  This sucks and is not going well. Yuck, why would he give those details on hideous murders? “Well, not my cup of tea. Have any lately that are intriguing?” trying desperately to change the subject matter. I may never walk around this town at night again.

  “There is a difficult one with no witnesses, no forensic evidence, and no details to explain what happened. But since it is an ongoing case, I can’t talk about it.”

  “Well, sounds to me like there is nothing to talk about anyhow,” I giggled. Trying to relax the tension of this weird date. At the very least, I now know they have no information pertaining to me. I can relax for the moment.

  “I’m still curious about that tattoo of yours. Can I hear its story?” he asks with a melting smile. Speaking like we are telling each other our most private secrets.

  I can usually read people quickly, but he throws me off balance. Maybe that is how he handles his suspects. It might be so ingrained in him that he doesn’t even realize he is doing it. I may have to keep up this charade and whittle away his defenses. His trusting me will provide the upper hand, and I’ll glean his mind for the info I need.

  “The story of a misspent youthful mistake on my part is not interesting. When I was eighteen, my boyfriend turned out to not just ride motorcycles but was the leader of a young biker gang. They had only been together and recruiting for a year, trying to raise their ranks. I think they had all watched Sons of Anarchy, but obviously not to the end. The motorcycle garage had been passed down from his dad and turned a small profit. His dreams were bigger.

  My folly was seeing a good-looking bad boy and forgetting the other half of the equation. It wasn’t until two months into the relationship that it was apparent I was way in over my head. We were drinking one night, and Trey decided we needed new tats. Ladies before gentlemen, my foot. He picked the tat and the location for it. Blitzed out of my head on tequila, I agreed with everything. The following day, my ass was on fire. I was trying to see why when, in the mirror, I saw what it said and went ballistic.

  When Trey came over the next day, he said, ‘Let me see it, baby.’ As he laughed. I was livid. Marked by my own boyfriend like a goddamn dog. Needless to say, we broke up, and I left the gang.” My face was red from anger, thinking about it all over again. The weeks of not being able to sit, the humiliation of being marked by ownership, and the fight to leave with my lungs filled with air. It's good that they were all boneheads, not a brain between them all.

  “So, what was tattooed?” he curiously asked.

  “I can’t tell you. I’m too upset right now and want to drop the subject.” My improv skills were kicking in; I looked like I was about to cry. Keep them coming back for more.

  “No worries. Another time.”

  How sweet was that? Unless he ghosts me, I will get another date out of this sob story. “The dinner was great, and the company was good, too. Thank you. It was unexpected to run into a gentleman.”

  “The pleasure was all mine. Are you ready? I’ll drive you back to your car.”

  “I am. It was a very pleasant evening. I’m glad I caught you reading my ass.” I flirted, a reminder to make sure he’d ask for my number and call me later.

  He expresses his desire once we return to the bar but is holding back for some reason: “I would love to see you again. I have this Friday night off. Would you like to do something special?”

  “Yes, I think I would enjoy that. Thank you for tonight. It was an unexpected diversion.”

  “Great, I'll pick you up. Can I have your phone number? And you can text me the address.”

  “No, I'll meet you wherever we go. I don't know you well enough to bequeath you my address yet. But you can have my phone number and my ink message.”

  “Finally, I thought you may have forgotten my curious nature of your ass tats.”

  “Or maybe I’ll let you wait and read them for yourself. Which is it?”

  “Damn, baby. That is cruel. On the one hand, I do want to see it, but that makes me presumptuous. And on the other, if you tell me, I’ll dream about your ass. I will be a gentleman and let you pick.”

  “Are you sure you're for real?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “I didn’t think any more gentlemen were left in this city. And especially not a handsome one who is unattached. You are single?”

  “Yes, I am married to my job. But that doesn’t mean I don’t keep an open mind.”

  “I will bid you a good evening, Mr. Open-mindedness.” I sass as I reach for the door handle.

  “Wait, let me,” he says as he jumps out of the car and runs to my side.

  “Ever the notorious man of honor,” I said, grinning. A look of horror traveled across his face. He was great fun, witty, and had manners. It was truly a phenomenal experience for one who didn’t date. As he opened my car door, he reached his hand in to help me out.

  Stolen story; please report.

  I don’t know what possessed me, but I kissed his cheek and whispered seductively in his ear, “Thank you. It was fun.”

  He actually blushed, thinking about what he wanted to kiss. It wasn’t the same cheek locale he had experienced from Rochelle. “Can I have your phone number? I’m serious about Friday night if you want to go out again.”

  I actually wanted to. And that was dangerous for me. But I had to know about the case, so I had no choice. I had to balance the fine line between getting involved and staying true to myself. Damn, this was going to be difficult as I glanced into his eyes and saw sincerity. I rattled off my phone number as he typed it into his phone. He stood right there and punched the phone symbol. My phone rang in my purse, but I ignored it, knowing it was him.

  “Aren’t you going to answer it?”

  “Why, I know it’s you calling.”

  “Please??”

  I rummaged in my bag and answered the phone. “Okay, I answered it.”

  Laughing, he says, “Thank you for a lovely evening, beautiful. Now you have my number; don’t be shy.”

  It was my turn to blush; he really meant it when he called me beautiful. Most men use it to get women’s pants off, so I usually ignore all the pet names men evoke. But the light shining in his eyes, even at night, was awe-inspiring, not lustful. I didn’t know what to make of it. I waved and walked towards a car, not mine. Then, I changed direction and entered the bar to use the ladies' room.

  Sitting there, I wasn’t quite myself. I was in serious doo-doo. He was handsome and, at six feet, towered over me; his dirty-blonde hair needed trimming; it was below his shoulders. But I like long hair on guys because running my hands through it does something to my core. Picturing it was doing something to me now. Stop!! No thinking about it. I need a cold shower. I wash up and go to leave. As I opened the door, guess who was standing there?

  My insides melt. His eyes gaze from top to bottom and slowly back up to look into mine, and I know what he is thinking; I know what he wants. It’s the same thing I want. To feel alive. But I also know if I get too close, I will burn, not in a good way.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask. I already know, but I can’t help but play the game.

  “Wanted to make sure you got to your car, okay.”

  “Um, was that all?”

  “No?”

  He left it as a question, leaving it up to me. Damn, the man. I kept repeating in my head, don’t, don’t, don’t, but my body had other ideas. I fling myself up into his arms, clutching my legs around his waist, knowing he will catch me in those rock-hard muscles. Then I smacked my lips onto his, touching and locking into place as if we had done it a million times before. For a first kiss, it was magic, like coming home. It was an experience of melting the mind, body, and soul, where we became one. It heated quickly. Electricity can fry you; it happened right then to my brain. Once our lips touched, I completely forgot everything, including my name and the purpose of our relationship. For the first time in my life, I felt wanted, like I belonged, but it was an illusion because Detective Dawson was a stranger. But his warm mouth tasted of mint from the restaurant. Yum. I wanted to eat him. Dwayne turned me around so my back was to the wall, but enough of an angle where no one from the bar could see me. Proverbial.

  The kiss ignited something animalistic in him because he growled and took over the kiss. His tongue slid into my mouth and caressed mine. Running it over the roof of my mouth, imitating my nether regions, lighting me on fire. I felt the tide turn to one of carnal desire and wasn’t going to be able to stop until we were both naked. I reluctantly let my legs drop, and he let me slide down the front of his huge bulge. Telling me what my effect on him was after one kiss. On one side of the equation, it was gratifying to know I could be a turn-on, but on the other, it was a disaster. I am supposed to be grilling his brain, not his mouth or body.

  “Sorry, I don’t know what came over me. I have never done that before,” I said, mortified at my actions.

  “Nothing to apologize for darlin. We have chemistry, obviously. Something we should explore?” he asked in a tentative voice.

  I couldn’t tell if he was happy or sad about this development. He was neutral, like the wrong answer would hurt him, and he wouldn’t let himself hope. It was very enlightening watching the emotions play over his face, waiting for my answer. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t sure what to do or what to say. Surprised at myself, I blurted out, “We should find out what this is between us.” Why would I say that?

  His brilliant smile shined on me, and my belly clenched, my panties grew damp, and I didn’t know what to make of these new desires running rampant. No one had noticed me before; I was invisible, but Detective Dwayne Dawson saw ME! A blessing or a curse; I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to be seen with all my heart. I wanted to experience this new energy, enlightenment, and hell; I just wanted.

  “So, Friday night is a GO, then?” he whispered in my ear.

  A shiver ran through my body, lighting it up again. God, what am I doing? I am going to burn up and be thrown in jail for sure. But like a moth to a flame, I couldn’t stop myself. A breathless “Yes” escaped from between my lips.

  He touched my back and walked me out to my car. The foggy brain syndrome was in working mode, but I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him goodnight anyway—a peck. I wasn’t sure I could control myself if we kissed again. My car was not big enough for a rendezvous with his lanky six-foot frame. Why would I think that? My mind is totally in the gutter over this man. I did not intend to get involved; I just wanted to retrieve information. I’ve made an absolute mess of this situation. How the fuck did this happen?

  I slid into the driver's seat and started the car. “Good night, Dwayne.”

  As I pulled out of the parking lot, I stopped and saw no oncoming vehicles on the road. I looked in my review mirror at him, standing right where I had left him. Hitting the gas, I heard this horrific crash, and then nothing; I blacked out.