The ass-chewing was the result of me pulling a hotshot move that not only put me in danger but my team as well. I should’ve waited, but the skinny, nineteen-year-old kid who’d barricaded himself in his parents’ house after he’d robbed a grocery store had run out the front door guns-a-blazin’. He’d practically ran into me and I made my move without thinking. Lucky for him, his parents weren’t home and he was in the house alone so there were no hostages. Unlucky for me, my captain was unhappy. As in displeased I’d bum-rushed the kid, and took him to the floor while he was still armed. As they say, all’s well that ends well but it could’ve ended a different way—with me being shot or someone on my team taking a round because my head was jacked-up. That last part was according to my captain and he was giving me a short leash to untwist myself before he took action.
I thought some time at the range would help clear my head. And normally it would’ve helped but today I had two things working against me. I was a little banged up from last night’s activities. Just because the kid was skinny didn’t mean he didn’t fight before I got him to his stomach and J.D. “Gordy” Gordon got to my side to help subdue the suspect. Again, par for the job, so I couldn’t blame my crappy shooting solely on my bruises.
Luke was the more likely cause of my poor concentration. Technically, my concentration wasn’t lacking. I was hyperaware Luke was close. I was acutely cognizant of Luke’s presence and had been for the last hour. But it was just in the last thirty minutes since we’d left the pistol range that my focus wavered. It was a strong possibility this shift happened when he told me to “assume the position and get yourself right.” He gave the order in a light-hearted, teasing manner which seemed to be Luke’s way. It also wasn’t an abnormal order, as Brady had also issued the same with a slight variation—minus the teasing tone—when it was time for me to get on my belly in the dirt and square up with my rifle.
I couldn’t deny it; Luke’s way of delivering the command made me feel all sorts of tingles in places that shouldn’t be tingling. Not only because I was supposed to be practicing my long-distance shooting skills but because the tingle had long since stopped tingling.
That was by design. I worked in a male-dominated field with uber-alpha men and I had to be on top of my game at all times. Deviation from that could be fatal. I worked my ass off to be taken seriously by my fellow officers. I’d worked double-hard to make it to SWAT. Nothing was going to derail my dreams. And feeling the tingle would be a distraction I couldn’t afford. So I no longer felt it. I was solo-sexual. Meaning I only had sex with myself. The unfortunate part was I sucked at it. So I’d given up that, too. So really, I was a practicing nun. That was if nuns worked in law enforcement and shot people, which I didn’t think they did.
“Shiloh?” Luke called.
“Huh?”
“Where’s your head?”
Without thinking I answered, “I was wondering if nuns masturbated and carried weapons.”
“Come again?”
Shit.
Side note: growing up with three older brothers, no mother, a shitty father, and working in—as mentioned—a male-dominated field, I had a bad habit of blurting out stupid stuff. Blame my faulty filter. I cursed too much. I had a dirty sense of humor and a competitive gene that could get ugly when I lost. Not because I had a chip on my shoulder and had something to prove to my male counterparts. This was hardwired in my DNA as a result of growing up with three older brothers who were high achievers. I hadn’t worked out which one specifically was responsible for my overactive competitiveness.
So needless to say, my shitty performance in front of Luke didn’t make me happy. And now my minimal filter was on the fritz.
“Never mind. I spaced out for a second. Sorry.”
“Yeah, no.” Luke chuckled and my gaze went from the rock in the dirt I’d been staring at to Luke.
Boy-oh-boy, the man was good-looking. Strong masculine features that screamed he had superior genes and would one day pass them down to his kids, which would mean the mother of his children would not see herself in her sons or daughters