Beauty and the Cop (Accidentally in Love #1)

Chapter One

Elsie

"What do you think of the new place?" Alice asks as I try to hang a picture over the mantle. Try being the operative word here. If I ram my boob into the corner one more time, I may Hulk-smash the whole mantle and start over. "Do you love it yet?"

Her voice crackles through my phone's speaker, her Southern drawl as familiar as it is loud. She sounds happy.

I grunt, balancing awkwardly on my tiptoes, one hand gripping the frame while the other flails uselessly for balance. The corner of the mantle jabs me in the boob again, sharp enough to make me wince.

"Why is moving such a pain in the ass?" I grumble.

"How should I know?" Alice laughs. "I'm never doing it. Does that mean you hate the new place?"

"No, I love it," I murmur while lifting higher to try to hook the frame onto the nail. Of course, the corner of the mantle gouges my nipple again. "Aside from the mantle currently trying to murder my boob, it's got great bones. And it's close enough to the school for me to walk to work."

"Uh, you better not be walking to work in Chicago. Are you crazy?" my best friend practically shouts at me.

I laugh softly at her panicked tone. "It's fine. I think my hot neighbor is a cop, so I'm safe."

"Oh, a hot neighbor!" she cries, immediately taking the bait.

If I know anything, it's Alice. Nothing distracts her faster than a gorgeous man and the prospect of her bestie finally getting laid.

"If you don't tell me that you've already borrowed sugar and found out his entire life story, we can't be friends anymore. Wait. He's a cop? Really?"

"Yeah." I finally hook the picture onto the nail and then step back to admire my handiwork, rubbing at my sore boob while I assess. The picture is so crooked, Picasso would be impressed.

A level would be nice…if I knew how to use one. Sadly, my home improvement skills end at macrame DIY and origami, not basic carpentry. I didn't even own a hammer until yesterday.

"At least, I think so. He drives an unmarked unit, but it looks like a cop car to me."

There's a pause on Alice's end before she speaks again. "So…let me get this straight. You've been living there for what? Three days? And you're already creeping on your neighbor's car?"

"I'm not creeping," I argue defensively, though heat rises to my cheeks anyway. I'm totally creeping. Am I admitting it to her? Hell no. I'm a creeper, not a mad woman. "I just happened to notice the car when he pulled into his driveway last night."

"And by 'happened to notice,' you mean you pressed your face against your window and stared at him like a lovesick puppy, don't you?"

"No!" My objection is too loud to be believable.

"Uh-huh." Alice bursts out laughing again. "You little liar."

"Shut up," I mumble, grinning.

"Seriously. It could just be a car, Elsie."

"Maybe," I say, straightening the picture.

By some miracle, the mantle doesn't attack me this time.

I kind of doubt the neighbor's car is 'just a car', though.

I'm not entirely sure, because I've only seen him at a distance, but I'm pretty sure he was wearing a Chicago PD T-shirt when I caught a glimpse of him while I was moving stuff in.

And by moving stuff in, I obviously mean I watched and gave out helpful commentary like, "Careful, that's heavy," while two guys with a truck moved stuff for me. I work smarter, not harder.

"You haven't met him?"

"Not yet. I think he works a lot." He's home at odd, random hours. Usually, by the time I look again, he's already gone again. Aside from the day I moved in, I've only set eyes on him one other time, and that was through his living room window when I was walking by.

He seemed harmless enough that time…in a ripped, shirtless giant kind of way. I may have stopped to tie my shoe. And by tie my shoe, I mean I discreetly creeped on him through the window. But again, not telling Alice that.

A girl's gotta get her thrills somewhere, and her business is her business. No need to involve anyone else.

"He could be in the mafia."

I snort with laughter. "In this neighborhood? I doubt it."

"You never know. You do live in Chicago now. I bet the mafia is everywhere."

I shake my head, smiling. One of my favorite things about Alice is her wild imagination. No one spirals into outlandish theories as impressively or as hard as she does. "You read too much."

"Says the teacher," she retorts, and she's got me there. I don't exactly teach the kind of books she reads, however. Oh my gosh. Parents would have literal aneurysms if I even mentioned those titles to their high schoolers.

Do Me, Daddy isn't age-appropriate for a sophomore.

Actually, I'm not sure it's age-appropriate for me, for that matter. But that's another reason why I love Alice. She's a smutty little devil who always comes through in the clutch with questionable decisions we both live to regret.

"Are you going to introduce yourself to him?" she asks.

"Should I? Do people do that in the city?" Back home, strolling up to introduce yourself to the neighbors was no big deal, but Porter, Texas, consisted of roughly nine hundred people, and five times as many cows. I think Chicago has more than that—people, not cows—in my neighborhood alone.

"How should I know? I've lived in Porter my whole life," she reminds me. "Everyone knows everyone here."

Alice could happily spend her whole life in Porter, gossiping with Ms. Lydia next door. Me? Not so much. I wanted greener pastures, and not the kind covered in cow pies and questionable mushrooms.

When the school here offered me the job, I leaped at the opportunity. The pay is terrible, but I don't mind. It's a chance to see something bigger than the same five square miles where I grew up.

I want excitement and adventure and…something new. I'm not entirely sure what I'm looking for yet. I just know that I have a better chance of finding it in Chicago than I do in Porter.

Back home, you could dream as big as the sky, but in Chicago, it feels a little like you can actually reach out and touch it. And that's not because of the skyscrapers. Dreams just seem possible here in a way they didn't back in Texas.

"Maybe I will—"

A sharp rap on the door cuts me off.

"Hold that thought. Someone is at the door."

"Did you order food again just because you can?"

"What? No." I laugh in protest, striding toward the door. "I only did that twice."

"I warned you that it was expensive."

I ignore her…mostly because she's right. Ordering delivery is expensive. Who knew laziness was a luxury only the rich could afford? Rude.

I had to unpack my kitchen first, just so I could eat something that didn't cost forty dollars and my soul.

My heart leaps into my throat when I put my eye to the peephole and see the same man I've only spotted at a distance standing on my porch.

"Holy crap."

"What?"

"It's my neighbor!"

"The hot, probably-in-the-mafia guy? Don't answer it!" Alice cries in my ear.

"He isn't in the mafia. And he's holding cookies.

" I scrutinize him through the peephole.

"Christ on a cracker. He's hot." Seriously fucking hot.

Jesus. I knew he was ripped, but he has muscles for days.

He also has wickedly green eyes, hair so dark brown it might as well be black, and a full beard.

Police is emblazoned across the front of his tight blue t-shirt, which pretty much kills her mafia theory.

"Oh, I don't think the mafia would bring you cookies," Alice says. "I mean, not unless they want to lull you into a false sense of complacency so they can kidnap you to sell you, only to accidentally fall in love with you instead."

"You have got to stop reading so much," I mutter, mildly alarmed at the thought of that happening in real life. Surely, it doesn't…right? Maybe I'll ask the hot-cop neighbor. He'd probably know. "He's not in the mafia, and he doesn't want to kidnap and sell me on the black market."

"He could. You never know. Criminals pose as salesmen and service people all the time, and the next thing you know, you're tied up in the basement, hoping someone finds your body before the rats do."

"You really have to stop reading so much," I mutter, both disturbed and impressed by her imagination. "He isn't going to tie me up in the basement and leave me for the rats. I don't even have a basement, and he's a cop."

"He can also hear you," he calls from the other side of the door, amusement in his rough voice.

I squeak, jumping away from the door as his lips quirk into a panty-melting grin.

"I just wanted to introduce myself. Uh, I can come back later if it's not a good time?"

"Crap," I mumble, not sure if I'm talking to him, to myself, or to Alice.

I quickly run a hand through my hair, trying to tame it, but who am I kidding?

I've been unpacking all day. I'm wearing sweats that have actual writing across my ass and a T-shirt with paint stains that vaguely resemble baby poop. My hair is the least of my problems.

"What?" Alice demands.

"You got me busted." I'm definitely talking to her this time.

Maybe for the last time, depending on how the rest of this conversation with my neighbor goes.

I may have to disown her, change my name, and move again.

I'm going to be cranky if I have to repack everything I just put away.

I didn't even want to put it away the first time! "I gotta go."

"If you don't call me back in ten minutes, I'm calling the cops. The real cops, not the fake one at your door."

"Oh my god," I groan, hanging up on her before I attempt to smooth my hair again. I shoot a rueful look at my outfit, decide there's nothing I can do about it now, and then unlock the door.

The hot neighbor is even more gorgeous without the distorted peephole between us. He towers over me, still grinning.

"Hey," he smirks.

"Um, hi." I grimace, pretty sure my cheeks are volcano red. "Sorry about…all of that."

A wicked laugh rumbles from his lips, striking against my womb. Lord, have mercy.

"It's all good, sweetheart. I just wanted to stop by and introduce myself. Noah Kirk. I live across the street from you." His green eyes dance with humor as he nods in the direction of the tidy Craftsman across the street. "You can tell your friend that I'm a detective."

"Elsie Cameron, nice to meet you, Noah. And she'll be disappointed to hear that," I mumble. "Reading is making her delusional. I'm fairly sure she was hoping you planned to kidnap me into the mafia so I could become a crime boss."

Another loud rumble of laughter spills from his lips. Jesus. That sound is sexy.

"Do not recommend," he chuckles. "Prison is a bitch, and since you just moved in, you probably don't want to have to move into a cell and become someone's prison wife right away."

"I don't know. I think I'd make a pretty good prison wife."

His gaze runs up and down my body before he grins again. My heart turns a flip in my chest when he doesn't even linger on the paint stains. He does linger on my boobs, though.

I'm not mad about it. They deserve a little love after the mantle rudely abused them.

"Um…" I drop my gaze to the plate of cookies in his hands. "Not to be presumptuous or anything, but…cookies?"

"Ah, fuck." He thrusts the plate toward me. "Forgot I was holding the motherfuckers."

"They look delicious." I take the plate from his hands, fighting a shiver when our fingers touch, and a little jolt goes through me. "Wait. These aren't raisins masquerading as chocolate chips, are they?"

The right side of his mouth quirks up. "I said I was a cop, not the spawn of Satan, sweetness."

"Thank God. Only a monster brings oatmeal raisins as a welcome-to-the-neighborhood gift."

He throws his head back, laughing loudly.

"Oh, God. That probably sounded so entitled and rude. I'm sorry." My cheeks flame with mortification. This is all Alice's fault. Somehow. "I promise I'm not a heinous bitch. I actually think it's really sweet that you brought me cookies."

His gaze drifts down my body again, his lips still curled into a smile. "There's nothing heinous about you at all, Elsie Cameron."

My stomach does a flip this time.

"Um, I…"

His phone rings, cutting me off before I can think of a suitable response that doesn't involve explaining that those stains aren't actually baby poop, I don't have a baby, and my boyfriend runs on batteries. That's probably too much information for a first meeting, right? Right.

"Shit," he growls, pulling it from his pocket with a grimace. "I gotta go. But if you need anything, feel free to knock on my door any time. I'm right across the street."

"Thanks, Noah. Same to you."

He winks at me before turning to jog down the steps. I stand there for a long minute, watching him like a total creeper. When he turns around and catches me staring at him, I squeak and hurry inside.

He's still laughing when the door closes behind me.