At the courthouse
Dean's pov
It's like a loser parade in this place. God I hate comin' here. Once again, I'm the best lookin' one in the joint. Hold up, who do we have here? A new contender just entered the race. I couldn't help staring a little too long at the fox that just walked in. I mean, I think I'm still in first but we definitely have a lock on second place now.
"Hey," I greeted her.
She gave me the once-over before curtly replying, "Hi."
Despite the fact she turned away, essentially brushing me off, I decided to continue pursuit.
"So, what did they get you on?"
"Excuse me?!" She looked at me like I was nuts.
"What brought you in?" I want to make sure she's not like a meth-head or something.
"Work," she replied sharply.
"Ohhh, I get it," I said, nodding my head in understanding.
She wrinkled her brow at me, looking both confused and annoyed.
"Did you proposition a cop? Cuz I think you might be able to claim that's entrapment," I suggested helpfully.
She looked like she was about to say something but they opened a second line for screening so we got separated before she had the chance. Oh well, I wouldn't pay for it anyway. Never have, never will. The Deanmeister should be the one charging admission, not the other way around. I am premium grade afterall. You need the VIP wristband to get on this ride.
Nine hours later
After sitting through what felt like a gazillion court cases, I was finally able to leave the courthouse. Heading out to my car, I saw her again, just a few yards in front of me. Probably parked in the same lot. I never park in the one closest to the courthouse when I'm not driving the squad car and I'm not about to pay the exorbitant fees the private lots charge for all day parking. I guess workin' girls gotta save money too.
"Hey," I called out to her. "How'd your case go? Were you able to get off?"
Stopping on a dime and turning around quickly, she glared in my direction.
"EXCUSE ME?" she huffed. "Get off!?" She looked at me with such distaste, like I was fresh dog crap she just stepped in and had to wipe off her shoe.
Realizing the double entendre of my chosen question, I quickly rephrased my query.
"I mean, were you able to get the charges dropped? You know, weasel out of it?" I smiled brightly, optimistic the judge didn't see fit to put that fine piece of ass behind bars. Now if she was in our holding cell, well that would be a whole different story. A raunchy, racy, depraved story. Desperate broke hooker can't make bail so she strikes a rather unorthodox deal with the sheriff's buff devastatingly handsome deputy to negotiate release.
"Are you ok? You're not like having a stroke or something, are you?" she asked, feigning concern.
"Huh?" I replied, now snapped back to reality and unfortunately, out of my lewd daydream.
"You had this really spaced out look on your face and you were grinning like an imbecile."
"What? Oh uh, no, I was just thinking, that's all. Um, no stroke, I'm in perfect health," I reassured her.
Frowning at me with suspicion clearly at the forefront of her mind, she replied icily, "Oooookay, good to know I guess." She wrinkled her brow at me, ever so cutely.
Goddamn, she's adorable. I just want to scoop her up in my arms and lay her in the backseat of my car and fu...
Interrupting me, she continued, "And to answer your previous question, no, I did not get off," she replied in disgust. "And exactly what charges would I presumably need to have dropped, mister...?"
"Dean," I replied smiling. "Please call me Dean. And uh, it's okay, I'm not on the clock or anything. I mean, I'm just asking out of curiosity, making conversation ya know. I'm not trying to get you to incriminate yourself or anything." I looked her up and down, and not subtly I might add. "I'm not judging you. There's no shame here. We all gotta make a living, ya know. Put food on the table and all that." I tried to make her feel at ease. Maybe then I'll get a freebie. I figure that would be ok cuz I wouldn't be breakin' the law or anything if I didn't pay for it, plus my ego would never let me fork out money for sex. I got plenty of tail lined up, just beggin' for a night with the Deanmeister.
"What the Hell is wrong with you, Dean?" She spat my name as if it were wretched bile, burning her throat upon regurgitation. "You never answered my question. Why do you think I was at the courthouse today?" Hands on her hips, with a whole lotta attitude, she sneered at me, awaiting my response.
Clearly I struck a nerve. Who knew working girls were so sensitive about their chosen profession?
"Like I said, it's okay." I paused, captivated by the mischievous twinkle in her gorgeous green eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name," I said, hoping to disarm her indignation a tad.
"That's because I didn't give it to you," she snapped, quite rudely in my opinion.
We'll definitely have to fix that attitude of hers if we're gonna make this work. I have a few ideas in mind already that are sure to change her tune. A little etiquette lesson taught by yours truly, complete with homework and detention if necessary. I grinned wickedly, lost in my head again as I fantasized how this little scenario would play out.
Eyeing me now with curiosity more than derision, she said, "It's Amy. My name is Amy," she repeated, as if I wouldn't catch it the first time.
"It's nice to meet you, Amy." I smiled warmly, trying to lay on the charm, nice and thick but smooth. Always smooth. "Like I said before, I'm not on duty and I'm guessing you're not as well. Unless you're heading to your corner and not your car?" I questioned in a panic, worried her pimp might be nearby, charging me by the minute for this little interaction.
"The corner?" she questioned, as if I had two heads. "What?" Suddenly the lightbulb seemed to appear as she shook her head and chuckled derisively. "Do you think I'm a hooker?!" she asked, with a mixture of disgust and amusement permeating her tone.
"I'm sorry, do you prefer the term working girl, or lady of the evening?" I offered up helpfully. "Hey, it's okay. I'm not judging you or anything." Man, she sure is touchy about her chosen career path.
"Oh my God! I was joking before," she gasped in shock. "But you actually do think I'm a hooker." She swung her purse at me, hitting my arm. "What the Hell is wrong with you?" she asked, as she continued to pummel me with her purse in such an adorable, yet inconsequential and ridiculous manner.
I mean her purse couldn't have weighed more than a pound and her pathetic attempts at striking me couldn't have hurt a fly. So precious, like getting kissed by a butterfly, despite the anger and indignation behind every blow.
"Well, aren't you?" I asked in all seriousness, not wanting this exchange to end.
Stopping the barrage for a minute, she responded, "NO, YOU IDIOT! I'M A COURT REPORTER, NOT A WHORE!"
"In all fairness, I never called you a whore," I replied smugly.
"Wipe that stupid grin off your face," she ordered, trying to sound stern but coming off as nothing short of docile.
"It was an honest mistake, I mean..." I gave her the once over again. "...just look at you. How was I supposed to know you're a court reporter? In all my years in law enforcement, I've never met one under the age of eighty, and certainly not one as hot as you."
"Am I supposed to be flattered by that? You Neanderthal, sexist, idiotic pig."
"You certainly should be," I replied, with a wink and a smile. Reel her in slowly big boy, you don't want this one gettin' off the hook and back in the water. God, the curves on her. It's taking every ounce of self-restraint I have right now not to touch the merchandise.
"You're disgusting," she retorted, scowling at me.
"And yet you're still standin' here, enjoying my company." I moved in for the kill. "Give me your number so I can take you out sometime and..." I paused, my gaze apparently lingering a little too long at her more than ample breasts, the tops of which were peeking out of her rather low cut blouse.
"My eyes are up here, Dean," she snapped, literally. She actually snapped her fingers in my face as she admonished me.
"You shouldn't put the goods in the display window if you don't want people to stop and shop."
"Asshole!" she yelled, turning abruptly to continue on her way.
I enjoyed the view from behind, watching her hips sway as her heels clicked noisily atop the sidewalk. I've got her right where I want her, I thought to myself, smiling smugly.
That all happened just three months ago, I mused, as I exited the jewelry shop, carefully placing the ring box in my pocket, whistling all the way to my car.