Chapter 1: Two Troopers, One Terrible Idea
The fluorescent hum of the gas station buzzed like a trapped insect against the night. Jess leaned against the cold brick wall, one heeled foot propped behind her, watching Dana's silhouette move through the glass doors toward the register. The parking lot sprawled empty except for a few sedans and the state trooper cruiser parked under the flickering security light, its white paint glowing sickly yellow in the intermittent buzz.
She'd had four drinks. Maybe five. The math got fuzzy somewhere after the third round of shots Dana had tried to cut her off from.
The night air smelled like gasoline and old coffee, that specific gas station perfume that clung to her work clothes no matter how many times she washed them. She should have gone inside with Dana. Should have grabbed her own damn snacks instead of standing out here like a idiot.
But then she saw them.
Two troopers, leaning against the cruiser like they'd stepped out of a recruitment poster. The shorter one—stocky, buzzcut, jaw like a brick wall—was laughing at something on his phone. But the taller one. Jesus.
He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, that navy uniform stretched across shoulders that seemed to go on forever. His jaw was clean-shaven, sharp enough to cut glass, and even from twenty feet away she could see the way his eyes scanned the parking lot with quiet vigilance. Dark hair, cropped short. A wedding band? No. She checked. No ring.
The security light flickered again, casting his face in shadow and then light, shadow and then light.
Jess pushed off the wall.
Her heels clicked against the cracked asphalt as she walked toward them, each step a small act of rebellion against every sensible thought screaming in her head. The shorter trooper looked up first, his eyes widening slightly. The taller one—Cole, she'd seen his name tag once when he'd come through her register line a few weeks back—didn't move. Just watched her approach with that same measured stillness.
"Evening, officers," she said, letting her voice slide into something honeyed and slow.
The shorter one smirked. "Evening, ma'am."
She ignored him. Her eyes stayed fixed on Cole, on the way his uniform shirt strained just slightly at the buttons, on the strong column of his throat above his collar.
"You know," she said, tilting her head, "it really shouldn't be legal."
Cole's eyebrows drew together. "What shouldn't?"
"For you to look that good in that uniform."
The words hung in the air, bold and stupid and exactly what she'd intended. The shorter trooper let out a low whistle. Cole went very still. Not tense, exactly. More like a predator deciding whether the thing in front of him was prey or just noise.
Jess laughed at her own nerve, the sound bright and reckless in the empty lot. She could feel the alcohol buzzing in her veins, making everything feel sharp and possible.
"Jesus Christ, Jess."
The gas station door slammed hard enough to rattle the glass. Dana stormed across the parking lot, her purse swinging, her face a thundercloud. She reached Jess in five furious strides and smacked her arm hard enough to sting.
"Knock it the fuck off," Dana hissed, her voice low and venomous. "You're drunk and you're being embarrassing."
"I'm being friendly."
"You're being a disaster." Dana grabbed her elbow, yanking her back a step. "I'm sorry, officers. She's had a long night."
The shorter trooper was grinning now, clearly enjoying the show. "No harm done, ma'am."
But Cole still hadn't moved. Still hadn't spoken. His eyes were fixed on Jess with an intensity that made her stomach flip, something unreadable flickering behind them. Like he was cataloging her. Memorizing her. Like she was a case file he'd just decided to open.
Dana pulled harder. "We're leaving. Now."
Jess let herself be dragged, but she couldn't help glancing back over her shoulder. Cole was still watching. His partner said something to him, low and amused, and Cole's jaw tightened. But he didn't look away.
The car door slammed. Dana started the engine.
"You are such a fucking mess," Dana muttered, pulling out of the lot.
Jess watched the gas station shrink in the side mirror, watched the cruiser and the flickering light and the tall trooper who looked too good in his uniform fade into the dark. Something warm and restless curled in her chest.
"Yeah," she said softly. "I know."
The road stretched ahead, streetlights flashing past like camera strobes. Jess pressed her forehead against the cold window and smiled, just a little, at nothing at all.
She woke up with her makeup smeared across Dana's pillow and a text from her boss asking if she was coming in or not. The afternoon sun cut through the blinds like an accusation.
Three hours later she was standing behind the register at the gas station, hair pulled into a messy knot, eyes still bloodshot, replaying the whole stupid scene in her head. The way he'd looked at her. That stillness. Like she was something worth studying.
She'd checked the schedule. Cole Barrett worked the night shift on Tuesdays and Fridays. It was Wednesday. She had time.
---
Five days later, Jess stood in front of her bathroom mirror and told herself she wasn't doing this for anyone.
The dress was new. Deep red velvet, lace panels at the sides that showed flashes of skin every time she moved. It dipped low in the front, low enough that her tits were practically spilling out of the top, the kind of dress that made a statement before she even opened her mouth. She'd bought it three days ago with money she didn't have, and she'd been waiting for the right night to wear it.
Tonight was the right night.
"Jesus Christ," Dana said when Jess opened the door. "You look like a walking felony."
"Thank you."
"I didn't mean it as a compliment."
They'd already been to the bar. Two hours of shots and bad decisions and Dana watching Jess like a hawk. The bar was loud and sticky and packed with people who didn't matter. Jess had danced with a guy who smelled like Axe body spray, let him buy her a drink, then ditched him when he tried to grab her ass on the dance floor.
Now they were in the parking lot of the gas station. Again.
The blunt was Dana's idea. Something to smooth the edges, she said. Jess had taken two hits and passed it back, the smoke curling into the cold night air like a secret. The security light was still flickering. The same cracked asphalt. The same neon signs promising cheap cigarettes and lottery tickets and a better life.
Her heels clicked against the ground. The velvet of her dress caught the light and held it.
"You ready?" Dana asked, stubbing out the blunt on the side of a trash can.
Jess didn't answer. She just walked toward the doors.
The fluorescent buzz hit her like a wall. Same stale coffee smell. Same shitty music playing from a tinny speaker somewhere overhead. She made a beeline for the hot food section, grabbing a pre-made sandwich and a bag of chips, her stomach growling loud enough that Dana heard it.
"Classy," Dana said.
"Fuck off."
There was a line at the register. Jess waited, her eyes scanning the store out of habit. The magazine rack. The energy drinks. The coffee station by the front windows where—
Her heart stopped.
Two troopers. Same cruiser in the lot, same uniforms, same everything. The shorter one was pouring himself a cup of coffee, steam curling up around his face. And Barrett. Cole Barrett. Standing there with his own cup, adding creamer, his back half-turned to her.
Jess didn't think. She never did.
She handed Dana her sandwich. "Hold this."
"Jess. Jess, what are you doing. Jess—"
She was already walking.
The linoleum was slick under her heels. The overhead light caught the glitter in her hair, the sweat on her chest, the way the velvet hugged every curve like it had been sewn onto her body. She could feel Barrett's partner notice her first. His eyes went wide, then amused. He nudged Barrett with his elbow.
Barrett turned.
And there it was again. That stillness. That measured, unreadable gaze. His eyes traveled from her face to her chest to the dress and back up again, slow, deliberate, like he was reading a report he didn't quite believe.
Jess smiled. Wide and bright and full of trouble.
"Hello, Mister Officer," she said, stopping close enough that she could smell the coffee on his breath and something else underneath it, clean soap and warm skin. "I see we meet again."
His partner snorted into his coffee cup. Barrett didn't flinch.
"You still look very nice in your uniform," she continued, tilting her head, letting her eyes drag down his body with deliberate slowness. "It's really not fair."
Dana was somewhere behind her, probably dying. Jess didn't care. The whole store could have caught fire and she wouldn't have looked away from those eyes.
"Miss," Barrett said, and his voice was low and even and something about it made her knees feel weak. "You're drunk."
"I'm tipsy. There's a difference."
"Is there."
She stepped closer. The toe of her heel brushed against his boot. "I'm just being friendly. You remember friendly, right? I was friendly last time. You seemed to like it."
His jaw tightened. That flicker again, something behind his eyes, something that wasn't quite professional and wasn't quite irritation either. His partner cleared his throat.
"I'm gonna... go check the cruiser," the other trooper said, already backing away with a shit-eating grin. "Take your time, Cole."
The door chimed as he left. Jess and Barrett stood alone except for Dana, who had apparently decided to hover by the chips, arms crossed, watching the whole trainwreck unfold.
"You work here, don't you?" Barrett asked. Not a question. A statement.
"Sometimes. When I feel like it."
"Your boss know you're in here drunk on your night off?"
"You gonna tell him?"
Their eyes locked. The fluorescent hum filled the silence between them. Jess could feel her pulse in her throat, her chest, between her legs. She was playing with fire and she knew it, and that only made it sweeter.
Barrett set his coffee on the counter. Slow. Controlled. He took a step toward her, close enough that she had to tip her head back to keep his gaze. Close enough that she could see the shadow of stubble along his jaw, the faint lines at the corners of his eyes.
"You should go home," he said quietly. "Before you do something you regret."
"What makes you think I'd regret it?"
His lips pressed together. Something shifted in his expression, something almost like warning. "You don't know me."
"I could."
The words hung there, brazen and stupid and honest in a way that twisted something in her chest. She hadn't planned to say that. Didn't even know if she meant it. But it was out there now, floating between them like smoke.
Dana's voice cut through the silence. "Jess. We're leaving."
Jess didn't turn. Didn't look away from Barrett. "In a minute."
"Now."
The spell broke. Barrett stepped back, picked up his coffee, and walked toward the door without another word. The bell chimed as it swung shut behind him. Through the glass, she watched him climb into the cruiser and sit there, still as a statue, staring straight ahead.
Dana grabbed her arm. "What the fuck was that?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know? You just threw yourself at a cop. Again."
"I didn't throw myself at him. I was being friendly."
"You were eye-fucking him in a gas station."
Jess finally looked at Dana. Her friend's face was a mixture of fury and worry, the same expression she'd worn a hundred times before.
"Let's just go," Jess said.
They paid for the food. Walking out, Jess couldn't help glancing at the cruiser. The window was dark. But she felt his eyes on her anyway, tracking her across the parking lot like she was something he couldn't quite let go.
The engine rumbled to life as Dana pulled out.
"You're gonna get yourself in trouble," Dana said.
Jess pressed her forehead against the cold window. The same pose, the same road, the same streetlights flashing past. But everything felt different now. Sharper. Heavier.
"Maybe," she said.
And she smiled.