2. Anders
2
ANDERS
W hen her mom rises from the bench and begins to stride purposefully toward her car, Mollie hurriedly scrambles over to my side, her gaze darting nervously between me and her mom, as if she’s weighing the implications of her next words. "You got a piece of paper, officer?" she blurts out, her voice tumbling over itself in a rush, the syllables blending together in her excitement.
I retrieve my phone from the back pocket of my jeans and open my Notes app, handing it over with a mix of curiosity and caution. Normally, I wouldn’t think twice about keeping my phone out of reach of a teenage girl, but something about her urgency piques my interest.
"My mom's name is Elaina Taylor. She’s thirty-five, and she’s been single for like, three years," she continues, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "She likes pizza, plants, and she absolutely kicks my uncle's ass at pool. Do whatever you want with that information." With a confident grin, she returns my phone, and I glance at the screen to find her mother’s name, Elaina Taylor, accompanied by a phone number neatly typed out.
"What am I supposed to do with this?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at this audacious teenage girl who’s trying to play matchmaker between her mother and me. Does she truly grasp how awkward it would be for me to reach out to her mother?
Mollie simply shrugs, her demeanor nonchalant as she turns to walk away. "Don't know, don't care," she tosses back over her shoulder, a hint of playful defiance in her tone. "But I expect more than that from an officer of the law."
Her insinuation leaves a slight sting, a mixture of embarrassment and amusement. I slide my phone back into my pocket, my mind racing with the possibilities of what comes next. Is it a text? A call? Or perhaps a thorough background check to ensure there are no hidden surprises lurking in her past? I don't have the answers right now. I’ll sort it out later, when the line of eager customers waiting for their cars to be washed isn’t pressing so closely around me.
A s the day winds down and the sun begins its descent, the guys gather in small groups, shooting the bull and sharing stories that range from amusing to absurd. Dave, ever the boastful one, proudly announces that he’s pulled four numbers today, a fact that brings a gleam to his eye. Most of the younger guys are single, decent men, and they’ve eagerly seized this charitable day as an opportunity to dress down and pursue a little charity of their own in the form of potential dates. Given that we raised a couple of thousand dollars for little Johnny Jameson, I can’t bring myself to begrudge them this small indulgence.
"I saw Hemingway chatting up a pretty blonde himself," Dave calls out across the sprawling parking lot, his voice booming as he playfully outs me to the other guys. "He stole her out from under me, but it's cool. I’m into the older ladies, but she was a little too big for my tastes."
The heat of his comment makes my blood boil, and I could easily kill him for that disrespectful remark. "Dave, sweetheart," I retort, my voice dripping with sarcasm as I call back to him, "you couldn't handle that woman's curves." To soften my words and show that I’m teasing, I blow him a kiss, a playful gesture meant to rein in my anger. How dare he talk about Elaina that way, reducing her to mere dimensions rather than the vibrant woman she is.
Dave rolls his eyes dramatically, a smirk playing on his lips, and he tosses a rag my way; it falls short by ten feet, landing uselessly on the asphalt. "I like my girls a little more petite, you know what I mean?" he quips, clearly enjoying the banter and the attention of our coworkers.
I consider telling him that I know he means he's looking to get his ass beat because that's precisely what his obnoxious words are encouraging me to do. But I also recognize that this is all just locker room talk, a ritualistic dance among the guys who do it all the time with different ladies. Only this time, the stakes feel a bit higher; I happen to know the woman they’re objectifying, and I’ve been mulling over the idea of calling her up and asking her out for a while now.
"Maybe you're into the BBWs, Anders. That's fine by me. Means we won't be competing for ladies anytime soon," Dave says with a laugh, his tone laced with mockery as he leans back against the wall, clearly reveling in the attention of our fellow officers.
My jaw ticks as I grind my teeth, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. He’s a little punk who deserves to get his face kicked in for his insensitivity. I can feel my fist tingling, the urge to retaliate surging through me. I haven’t punched a fellow officer in my entire career, but today, I’m seriously contemplating breaking that streak.
"Give it a rest, Dave," one of the other guys chimes in, delivering a firm slug to Dave's shoulder. "Just because you can't handle a real woman doesn't mean the rest of us can't. Hemingway packs a bigger cock than you anyway. This ain’t a dick-slinging competition just because you've got a tic-tac in your pants, buddy. So shut your mouth and help clean up." The camaraderie in his voice is palpable, a shared defiance against the casual disrespect that Dave has been dishing out.
My anger melts into laughter, blending seamlessly with the other guys in the crew who were fortunate enough to come out today. Dave thought he had one hell of a mouth on him, but as it turns out, he certainly wasn't the most foul-mouthed of the group. The banter flies around us like a well-choreographed dance, each quip sharper than the last, and it feels good to let the tension ease in such a comradely atmosphere.
This unexpected smackdown gives me a jolt of courage, encouraging me to call Elaina and see if she’d be interested in getting to know me any better. After all, I did save her from having to endure the likes of Dave, and maybe that counts for something.
I step away from the guys, their laughter trailing behind me, and pull out my phone, dialing the number that Mollie had so graciously provided. It rings three times, each tone amplifying my anticipation, before a curious "hello" breaks through the line. "Hey there. Is this Elaina Taylor? This is Officer Anders Hemingway. I know you're probably wondering how I got your number, and, well, your daughter gave it to me. I was just wondering if you might want to go out with me this evening. Or tomorrow night, if you're busy tonight."
What I had intended as a simple hello, a friendly introduction to jog her memory about who I was, quickly transforms into a flood of words. Once I started talking, I found it hard to stop. But I guess all my cards are face-up on the table now. She can see my hand, and it’s up to her to decide if she wants to play this game with me.