Officer Julian (Curves & Cuffs #1)

1. Savannah

1

SAVANNAH

I shudder beneath Julian's intense gaze, feeling the weight of his scrutiny pressing down on me. This wasn't my idea at all!

"Savannah Krish, is it true?" He adopts his authoritative cop voice, questioning me with an intensity that makes me feel as if I'm a criminal being interrogated rather than just his little sister's best friend caught in an awkward situation.

I bite my lower lip anxiously and steal a furtive glance at Heather, hoping for some kind of reassurance. I can't believe she was counting on me to find a way out of this mess; she knows full well that I tend to crack under pressure. Conveniently, Heather is glancing around, her demeanor that of a guilty child who just broke a precious vase and is desperately trying to avoid their mother's wrath. "Yeah, my birthday was last week," I grumble, my voice barely above a whisper as I let my gaze fall to the ground. After all these years, I thought Julian would surely remember when my birthday was, but I guess he doesn't pay as much attention to me as I do to him.

He narrows his eyes at me, a playful glint dancing in their depths, before shifting his gaze to his sister. "I think you two are up to something," he accuses, his tone light yet tinged with mock suspicion.

Heather rolls her eyes dramatically at Julian, her exasperation evident. "Okay, whatever. Now that I have an adult present, can we please just go shopping without an officer shadowing us?" The emphasis on "adult" is clear, and she doesn't need to look her brother up and down to underline the fact that his police uniform is turning heads and drawing unwanted attention.

Julian releases a heavy sigh, the sound a mix of resignation and frustration. I can see that he knows he’s been beaten in this playful sibling standoff. "Fine," he concedes, the single word escaping his lips like a half groan, half reluctant agreement. "But I'm going to be here until you're finished, patrolling, just in case your ex shows up." His eyes narrow slightly, the protective instinct of a brother kicking in, even as he tries to maintain a semblance of casual authority.

Heather's ex-boyfriend is kind of a stalker, a fact that has become increasingly unsettling over the past few weeks. Tobias didn't take their break-up well; his inability to move on has transformed into an obsession, manifesting in his constant presence in her life. Just recently, there was a particularly alarming incident where he slashed the tires of her dad's car, mistakenly believing it belonged to Heather. That reckless act of vandalism is what had put Julian on high alert, igniting a protective fire within him. Though they couldn't definitively prove it was Tobias behind the act, Heather was 99% certain he was the culprit, and the lingering unease had settled heavily over her.

"We'll be fine," she asserts, rolling her eyes in my direction this time, as if to dismiss the gravity of the situation.

But immediately, Julian glares at her with a mixture of concern and frustration, his voice firm as he says, "I saw that!"

"You were meant to!" she snaps back at her older brother, her tone sharp and defiant, unwilling to let him diminish her confidence or independence.

I grew up without any siblings, an only child in a household where my parents had made the decision to stop at one. They were one and done, as they liked to say, and while I appreciated the attention that came with being solo, there were moments—like now—when I couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy watching the easy camaraderie between Heather and Julian. Their playful banter and effortless connection stirred a longing in me for a brother or sister of my own, but that sibling bond just didn’t come to fruition for me. "You two are so cute," I say, forcing a smile onto my face to chase away the surly look I can feel brewing beneath the surface. "Are we free to go dress shopping now?"

Julian catches my eye, and the look he gives me is softer than the one he reserves for his younger sister, a mix of concern and brotherly affection. "Sure, I suppose, but call me if you guys see Tobias." His stern cop voice returns, filling the air with an authoritative edge that demands attention.

Heather responds with a playful mock salute, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she grabs my arm to pull me away. "Aye, aye, captain!" she yells back over her shoulder, her laughter ringing out as we start heading toward the dress store. "Okay, real talk, I'm thinking of going the short route."

Suddenly, we’re deep into a discussion about prom dresses, which, let’s be honest, is the entire reason we made the trek to the mall today. At a petite 5'1", Heather has been meticulously considering short prom dresses for two months now. She’s adamant about avoiding the long ballgown style that could make her appear stumpy; she wants to showcase her fun, vivacious spirit rather than feel swallowed by fabric.

In stark contrast, I find myself yearning for a flowy ballgown to help conceal some of my extra weight. The last thing I want is a dress that clings to my curves and highlights the unfortunate size of my thighs. I’m on a quest to discover something magical, something that will transform me into a real-life Cinderella; perhaps then, amidst the twinkling lights and swirling dance floor, I might just catch a glimpse of my Prince Charming.

"I'm thinking you should find something that really shows off the girls," Heather says with a cheeky grin, her enthusiasm infectious. She doesn’t even need me to respond; she’s perfectly capable of carrying on a lively conversation all on her own. "That way, you'll hook the men with the goods," she gestures playfully at my ample chest, a mischievous sparkle in her eye, "and then reel them in with your dazzling personality."

With senior prom only a couple of weeks away, I seriously doubted that I would find a sweetheart this close to graduation. After all, I had spent nearly all of my high school years without a boyfriend, save for a brief one-month stint during my sophomore year when I dated my English partner. That ended quickly after I realized he was more of a tool than a prince. "I'm not sure I'm the right size for high school boys," I tell Heather for what feels like the millionth time in our high school career, my voice tinged with a mix of frustration and hope. "College is where I'm going to shine." At least, I hope so. I'd really like to experience my first kiss before I hit my twenties, before the pressure of adulthood fully sinks in.

"Do you think Julian will make us leave if he's called to an accident or something?" I ask, glancing over my shoulder to see if her brother is following us. He's not in my line of sight, but that doesn’t mean he's not lurking around here somewhere, keeping an eye on us like a hawk.

Heather shrugs and, with a determined tug, pulls me into a nearby store. "Who knows? Tobias is relatively harmless, but after that whole tire-slashing incident, Julian's been over-protective," she replies, her tone laced with exasperation. She lets go of my arm and begins rummaging through a vibrant rack of dresses, her eyes searching for one that will fit her perfectly. "Honestly, it's getting kind of annoying." The sound of fabric swishing fills the air as she tosses aside a few options, clearly eager to find something that will make her feel like a princess for the night.

I wish someone was protective of me, too. For years, I endured relentless teasing about my weight, the kind that gnaws at your self-esteem and leaves scars deeper than any physical mark. The only defense I had was the wall I built around myself, a fortress of indifference and sarcasm. I never had an older brother to stand up for me, to intimidate my bullies with a fierce glare or, later, to have the authority to take action when they crossed the line. "I think he really cares about you, Zo," I say, trying to push my own insecurities aside as I begin to sift through the dresses that are more my size and colour preferences.

"Wow, this would look great on you!" Heather exclaims, her eyes lighting up as she snatches a fire engine red dress from the rack, holding it up for my inspection. The fabric flutters like a flag of celebration, and her enthusiasm is infectious. "You're going to be the talk of prom, babe."

The dress is strapless with a flowing skirt that promises to hide my Jupiter-sized behind, flattering in theory but not quite matching my personal aesthetic. Still, the vibrant red hue is almost blinding. "Red is very... attention-grabbing," I say, wincing at the admission as I picture all the eyes that would be on me. "I don't really want attention. I just want to have a fun night—maybe not look like a refrigerator standing next to you—and hopefully hit up a nice after-party if it all goes well."

I keep scanning the rack in front of me, my eyes darting over the myriad of fabrics and styles while I consciously try to avoid glancing at Heather, who’s still holding up the dress like it’s destined for a red carpet.

"Honey, this dress is gonna make you pop. You're trying it on," she insists, her voice bubbling with excitement as she slings the vibrant red number over to me before moving on to the next rack of dresses, her enthusiasm unwavering.

The dress feels heavy in my arms, its weight likely due to the voluminous skirt designed to cleverly conceal my enormous behind. I admire the way it looks, its design undeniably striking, but the brilliant color makes my stomach twist with anxiety.

It only takes Heather another ten minutes to sift through the racks and unearth half a dozen dresses she insists are must-tries, her eyes sparkling with determination. Meanwhile, I manage to find just one—a mermaid skirt in a deep, dark blue. It’s a far less attention-grabbing color, which is a relief, but it’s definitely not tailored for my shape. With a resigned sigh, we head to the changing room, our conversation flowing effortlessly as we chat about the prom venue and all the excitement it promises.

For some reason, the senior class deemed it fitting to host prom in the most extravagant hotel in the city, a decision that has sparked a mix of excitement and unease among us. Heather mentions that she’s only been there once for a wedding, and she recalls it as a place dripping with elegance and sophistication. The idea of such a glamorous location ignites her enthusiasm, but I can’t shake my lingering concerns about what it means to have prom in a hotel.

“Even if I do find a date,” I say, my voice slightly strained as I wrestle to pull the dark blue dress over my head, “they’re going to have expectations of ending the night upstairs in a room. As a girl who’s never been kissed, let alone experienced anything more intimate, that doesn’t sound like the way I want to lose my virginity.” The thought sends a wave of anxiety through me, tightening my chest.

Just then, Heather knocks on my door, a clear signal that she’s eager for my opinions on the first dress she’s trying on. “You don’t have to go upstairs if you don’t want to,” she reassures me, her voice bright and unwavering. “And if anyone pressures you into it, I’ve got a taser. I’m not afraid to bring a man to his knees.” Her fierce loyalty and humor lighten the mood, reminding me that I’m not alone in navigating this complex world of expectations and first experiences.

I zip up the dress as far as I can manage, feeling the fabric strain against my body, and step out of my dressing room. The reflection in the mirror reveals an unfortunate sight: I look like a sausage, hopelessly squeezed into a dress that clearly doesn't fit. Heather, however, is the picture of elegance in a stunning silver number that hugs her curves perfectly. "I don't want to have to rely on you to save me though," I explain, trying to muster some confidence despite my outfit. "And you look beautiful. That's definitely a contender."

She wrinkles her nose in playful disapproval at the dress I’ve chosen for myself. "Um, unfortunately, I can't say the same," she quips, walking around me to get a better view. After circling me, she shakes her head, her expression a mix of concern and honesty. "You're gorgeous, babe, but that dress is not the one. Where's the red dress I gave you?"

I let out a frustrated sigh and retreat back into my changing room, letting the door slam shut behind me with more force than intended. "All of this cleavage is going to be wasted," I grumble to myself as I slink out of the dark blue dress, feeling its tightness release its grip on me. I reach for the red dress my best friend had picked out, hoping it will feel like a better fit—both literally and figuratively.

"I mean, you can take Julian," she suggests with a playful smirk. "He probably won't pressure you into going upstairs. Unfortunately, I don't think I'm allowed to use a taser on him."

My heart skips a beat at the thought of taking her older brother to prom. At twenty-two years old, Julian is likely too mature for the high school antics of a prom night. "I don't know," I hesitate, tugging at the red dress as I attempt to fit it snugly around my bosom, the fabric feeling both foreign and familiar at the same time.

I hear the sound of Heather calling someone, her voice filled with excitement. The ringing on the other end is muted, but in the stillness of the dressing room, it resonates like a buzzing bee trapped in a jar. "Zo? What are you doing?" My heart kicks into overdrive, a mix of anticipation and dread swirling within me. I suspect she’s up to something mischievous, just like Julian said, but I have a feeling it’s not the same scheme he had in mind.

"Hey." She says into the receiver, her tone casual yet laced with an undercurrent of mischief. "No, we're fine. Just trying on dresses." Heather pauses, her face lighting up as she listens to the voice on the other end, which I have a sneaking suspicion belongs to her brother. "We've been thinking about prom, obviously. With Tobias likely going, I think you should come just in case." The excitement in her voice is palpable, and I can almost picture her animated gestures as she speaks.

I strain to catch Julian's mutterings from the phone, pressing my ear against the dressing room wall like a clandestine spy. While I can't decipher his words, the warmth in his tone suggests he’s receptive to whatever Heather is proposing.

"No, not as a police officer, you idiot." She scoffs into the phone, her voice dripping with playful exasperation. "I'm thinking you could be Sav's date." The implication hangs heavy in the air, and a wave of annoyance washes over me.

I could kill her. I could swing open the door of my changing room, storm into hers, and unleash my fury. Except Julian's on the phone, and with my luck, I would be suspect number one in whatever chaos ensues. "Heather!" I growl through the wall, my voice low but seething with indignation, "Stop that this instant!"

"Shush, Savannah Krish," she whispers back at me, her tone conspiratorial yet teasing. "No, not you, Julian. I still want you to be Sav's date." The words ignite a flare of panic, and I can feel my cheeks flush with a mix of embarrassment and disbelief.

Murder is starting to feel like a more appealing option the longer she talks. If she hadn’t driven us here, I would seriously consider walking out and leaving her behind in her whirlwind of chaos.

"Great!" Heather squeals with uncontainable excitement, her voice ringing through the air like a bell. "I'll let her know. She'll be wearing red, by the way. You know, so you can match or get her a corsage or something cute."

I feel lightheaded, as if the room is spinning around me. My cheeks flush deep crimson, and I have to steady myself by sitting down. Julian agreed to be my date? The realization sends a rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins. I've fantasized about him for years, ever since he developed those delicious muscles at sixteen and transformed into a certified hottie who could make any girl's heart race. I know he’s coming under the illusion of protecting Heather, but would it be wrong of me to feel a flutter of excitement at the thought of possibly dancing under the soft, twinkling lights with a stunning police officer? This is beginning to shape into a delightful reality, and my pounding heart is unsure if it can handle the exhilarating rush.

Heather hangs up the phone and knocks on the wall with a playful rhythm. "Babe, you're going with my brother. I think he sounded genuinely excited, actually. Just imagine—if you two really hit it off, start dating, and maybe even get married one day, you and I would be sisters!"

My head starts to spin with the whirlwind of possibilities. This is what I've always dreamed of; I just never imagined it would unfold while I was wide awake, caught in the unexpected thrill of it all.