Against my better judgement

Chapter 2: man on the mind

Days pass in the new job and still she finds herself stopping on the sidewalk every morning, mentally preparing for what that new day holds. Against her better judgement, she takes Flip's advice. She reminds herself to hold her tongue, to think before she speaks, to never let her face show what her mind thinks. It's better like that. The officers like her to be seen and not heard. Though she knows that, the self-censorship weighs her down.

       "You're exactly how I like my women," one cop tells her one afternoon, hands clasped around her wrist as she passes him the sign out form, "pretty... and silent."

She doesn't let her eyes move from the ground as she collects herself.

       One. Two. Three.

She'll count as high a she can, every day she works here, if it makes things easier. If it stops her from yanking her hand free and slapping him around the face with it. Eventually, he releases her. Sweaty palm encasing the pen as he signs the sheet. Again, she keeps her eyes down as he leaves the room. There are plenty of moments in the day for her to collect herself, and for that, she is grateful. Without it, she might truly be pushed to her wit's end.

Each day she finds a new way to entertain herself. Whether its re-arranging the shelves, guessing a perp's crime or humming whatever she last heard on the radio, she will not allow inactivity to take over. Hours she could waste, sat behind the desk with her wandering mind. It's not so much the wandering that she minds either, it's where it goes that bothers her. It doesn't matter what she thinks about, where her thoughts take her, they always circle back. The same end point, every day.

       Him.

Not since their first meeting has she seen Flip, and despite the passing time, she still remembers his words crisp in her mind. Would be a shame to lose such a pretty face. She knows, in any other time, in any other place, being called a pretty face wouldn't matter to her. In all honesty, she's assured of her looks. Her features are sweet and youthful, her body shapely where it matters. She doesn't need the affirmation, and when she gets it, it usually doesn't stir her. It's his tone that bothers her, she thinks. He hadn't seemed interested in her at all, and she struggles to think that he might be even now. So why would he say it? Sure, the other men pay her what they may deem as compliments, but it's not the same. Patrolman Landers has a new 'compliment' for her every day.

       "If I weren't so busy I'd have you bent over that damn desk taking me all day long," he told her yesterday in that same drunken drawl she now associates with him.

His wrinkled face and boozy aroma sets her on edge daily, her body tensed with dread for whenever he decides to grope her in that moment. Today it's the lower back. Soon it'll be the ass. She doesn't like to think about it too much, filling her dull moments with activity.

The days are long enough as it is. 

                                    * * *

When the door first cracks open, she doesn't bother look up. Whoever it is, she has already decided she doesn't have the time for them. She will address them only when, and if, she has to.

       "Afternoon lady," a deep voice greets her.

The words shock her for one of two reasons. First, no one greets her in this job. They tell her what they want, harass her, and go. Not always in that order. A greeting would require the other person to have not only manners, but an ounce of respect towards her. Nobody has that here. Second, she knows before her eyes even flick up who it is.

       She clears her throat. "Afternoon."

Flip has to bow his head to come through the door, his large frame seeming all too big for the tiny room that encases them both. The navy blue shirt that hugs his shape today is worn, a faded brown plaid just visible against its dark counterpart. She keeps her eyes trained on it, rather than his face when he approaches the desk, as if from glancing at her he would know she had been thinking about him previously.

       "Sorry it took a while," he hands her the file, long fingers outstretched against the brown folder.

A meek "That's fine." is all she can manage to muster in response. She no longer feels threatened by him, but something about him makes her wary. A faint smell of cigarettes wafts towards her. Although it is not a smell she's unfamiliar with, it feels different when attached to him. She shifts her weight on her feet as she grabs him a check-in form, pen filling out the necessary details with ease now. His hand is waiting when she passes him the pen.

       "How's that attitude of yours coming along?" He raises a single brow at her, there's an almost tangible sarcasm to his tone.

She feels her mouth twitch at the side, but contains it before it can break into a smile.

       Her answer is diplomatic. "It's... under control... when it needs to be."

       "Hmm," the sound is a thoughtful murmur. "And when doesn't it need to be?"

His question catches her off guard. The smoothness and depth to his voice makes her think there's another layer to his statement. She tries to meet his eyes, to determine exactly what he means, but for once, his fails to return her gaze. She ignores the thought, pushes it aside. He is making conversation is all. If she carries on working here for too long she'll convince herself every man that shows her some kindness has other intentions.

       "Shouldn't you know that? You're the one who told me to watch it in the first place."

He lets out a chuckle, his strong features falling into a more welcoming arrangement that alters her whole perspective of him. Her eyes daren't leave him for a second, desperate to take in every ounce of this moment. For once in this new job, she feels comfortable. For once, she feels content.

       "I guess that's true," he rubs the base of his goatee with his fingertips. "I never said I didn't like it though."

Her smile this time is uncontained. The lack of reason to smile before makes it all the more wide, cheeks wrinkled with momentary joy. Seeing her smile gives Flip a similar sense of elation. Her plump lips formed into anything other than a hard-set line gives her a new found beauty, not that there was much left to be given in his opinion. He watches as she reels in her emotion slowly, returning to her previously sensible demeanour. As soon as the smile disappears, he finds himself craving it's return.

      "I'll keep that in mind." She promises, and she means it too.

The way he returns her gaze lets her know. Whatever intrigue she has towards him is mutual. He taps his fingers on the desk twice, reminding himself he has a desk and assignments to attend to. He doesn't know when he'll find an excuse to come back again. He'll think of something soon.

       "I hope that's true," he admits, walking backwards towards the door.

He gives her a final glance before he exits. She feels a slight sink as he leaves, turning around to rest her back on the desk, the wooden panel digging into the skin on her lower back. But her mind isn't on that.

       She thinks about Flip.

About his words, their conversation, the way his voice makes her feel at ease. In a few short minutes, she feels the barriers of censorship she's built up wearing down. Still, she's dubious about this new man. His words may be better strung together, but there's was nothing definitive to separate his intentions from Landers currently in her mind. She's still unsure what he wants from her. Hell, she doesn't even know what she wants from him. She trusts her gut. All she knows is that she wants to see him again, and for now, that is enough.