Page 5 of In Hot Water (The Hot Brothers #3)

CHAPTER FIVE

ISLA

Oreo’s perched on top of the bookshelf, a loaf of black-and-white judgment, and she immediately starts in with her wailing meow, like she hasn’t eaten in days.

Alfred, my crusty old Shih Tzu, musters a little half-bark from his donut bed by the couch but doesn’t bother actually standing up. I try not to take it personally.

I kick off my shoes, dump the cat food in the pantry, and set the takeout on the counter.

The Chinese place down the street knows my order by heart now—Kung Pao Chicken, chow mein, and a Diet Coke the size of my forearm.

I spend the next five minutes changing out of my uniform, carefully hanging it up because dry cleaning costs an arm and a leg.

After a quick detour to put Alfred’s arthritis meds in a piece of hot dog, I feed it to Alfred and give Oreo a scratch under her chin.

Then I head straight to the bathroom and turn the shower on until it’s one notch below boiling.

By the time I step in, my brain is so fried from the day that the hot water barely stings.

I tilt my head back, eyes closed, and count down from twenty, trying to let the scald burn off all the crap I dealt with on shift.

I spend an extra minute exfoliating my face, as if a little microderm can scrape away all the bullshit.

Spoiler alert, it can’t. As the only female deputy on the Riverbend Ridge Sheriff Department, I end up dealing with all the shitty assignments and all the bullshit a few male chauvinist pigs can throw my way. Over the last two years, I’ve perfected my mask of indifference.

My phone vibrates somewhere in the apartment. I ignore it until I’m done with my skincare routine. By then, the phone’s gone off twice more with texts.

I pad out to the kitchen and open the freezer, holding my phone between my shoulder and chin as I search for the last emergency ice cream bar. While I enjoy my frozen treat, I glance down at the screen and find there’s a text from an unknown number.

Unknown

How was your day?

I draw in a deep breath. Too deep. The next thing I know, I’m hacking up a lung. After my coughing spell, it takes me two tries to unlock the phone.

Me

Who is this?

Unknown

You can call me “Sir”

I roll my eyes to myself, knowing immediately who it is. It’s getting to be nearly impossible to ignore what I’m feeling for Dawson Hot. My mask of indifference slips big time whenever he’s around.

Me

Dawson?

Unknown

You know it.

Since I don’t have a good response, I decide to answer his earlier question.

Me

My day sucked. The highlight was saving Mrs. Leona’s cow from becoming hamburger on Route 3. How was your day?

Unknown

Ouch. My day sucked, too. It was too goddamn long since I saw you.

Oh man. I’m in so much trouble here. Biting my bottom lip, I stare down at the screen, trying to figure out how to reply. Luckily, he sends another message, saving me.

Unknown

I’m going to Houston for a conference on Wednesday and Thursday. My asshole brother signed me up for the conference as revenge for all the coffees and donuts. He’s had to hit the gym harder, and he’s blaming me for his sweet tooth. But don’t worry, I’ll be back in plenty of time for our date.

I stare at the screen for a solid minute, chewing on the end of my ice cream stick, before I realize I’m… disappointed? That’s the word I want? Because he’ll be out of town for two whole days? I’m going to miss running into him at the coffee shop every morning. Jesus, get a grip.

I try for nonchalant.

Me

Sounds like fun

Unknown

Not without you there.

Now I really have no idea how to respond.

Fudge. Oreo yowls for food again, interrupting my inner debate.

I slip my phone in my pocket and almost trip over Alfred as I walk to fill their bowls.

He gives me a look like, “you’re so pathetic,” which is rich coming from a dog who literally shits himself when the mailman rings the buzzer.

The next text comes in as I’m microwaving a heating pad for Alfred’s hip.

Unknown

I’ll be back Friday morning. I can’t wait for our date. I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.

Me

See you then.

The next morning sucks from the very moment I drag myself out of bed.

After a shower and the world’s fastest ponytail, I’m out the door and on patrol by seven-thirty.

The day’s tasks consist of recovering a stolen, slightly chipped, garden gnome, and responding to a call about “suspicious persons” at the library, which turns out to be two teens making out behind the nonfiction stacks.

Then I assisted in serving a warrant at a known meth house. Fun.

By the time I get home, I have three new texts from Dawson.

Dawson

How was your day?

I hope it was better than yesterday.

Are you avoiding me?

I’m not sure what motivated me to save his number in my phone under “Sir,” but now I can’t bring myself to change it. I pop a frozen dinner into the microwave and text him back.

Me

It double sucked. At least the meth house bust went smoothly.

Dawson

Are you okay?

Me

I’m fine. I can take care of myself.

Dawson

I know you can. I’m still shaking in my boots from the day you cuffed me.

I can picture him grinning as he types, cocky and knowing, and it weirdly makes me want to throttle him and kiss him at the same time.

I throw my uniform in the laundry for dry cleaning, change into leggings and an old volleyball sweatshirt, and crash on the couch with Oreo curled up in my lap while I balance my phone on my leg.

Me

I bet you are.

Dawson

You’re scary when you get all official, Deputy Merrill.

I laugh to myself, mortified at how fast my heart is pounding.

Me

I’m glad you think so.

Dawson

I do.

We continue our text conversations every evening after work. We really talk about nothing important, but I still feel myself falling deeper and deeper under Dawson Hot’s spell.