The Detective and Her Bachelor

Chapter 4

Coffee ran through my veins instead of blood. I was convinced that when I bled, it would run dark brown. A brew of my own genetic makeup, which consisted of adrenaline, bitterness, and hot stuff—both in temperature and attractiveness level.

So although the idea of drinking coffee at eleven o'clock at night was ridiculous. When you had to pull all-nighters like I was about to do, you shuffle into your twenty-four-hour local coffee shop and brace yourself for the long night and day ahead. You hunker down at the corner table and order coffees like you were running up a bar tab for fifty people.

I was deep into the assignment files, checking out each suspect slash contestant for what must have been the fifth time, my mind a blur of faces, names, and job titles that made little sense. What does it even mean to be a social media user, a celebrity eater, a yogi, or a socialite? How are any of these actual job titles?!? Who pays these people?

These people were my age but left me feeling old and out of touch in a world that was controlled by small screens where you spilled your guts to strangers hoping for small hearts as a reward. I stared at the pictures of all the beautiful women that I was going to spend six weeks with and suddenly felt like I was back in high school. Back at an age where the other girls would take one look at me, analyze me for weaknesses, and then use it to rip me apart.

I downed the rest of my coffee and ran my fingers through my hair, struggling to pull them through the tangle of curls at my temples. I stared down at the bare file of the Single Stud, trying to paint a clear picture of the single man all us women were supposed to fight each other for. Ugh. How barbaric. 

"Wow, must be some read," a man said to my left. I jumped, nearly falling out of my chair, embarrassed by how I had been so easily startled. Apparently, I was easy to sneak up on at four o'clock in the morning when I was deep in thought, half stuck in a past that had burned me.

"What?" I asked, shoving my reading glasses up my nose so they wouldn't drop right off my face, before shoving several strands of hair out of my face, and yanking it into a bun at the top of my head.

Snapping the folder full of papers shut, I turned to assess the guy who had dared to derail my thought process and stopped short. 

A stunning man sat at a small table nearby, long slender fingers nursing a cup of coffee. He wore a wrinkled deep blue, button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows, showcasing a set of tan, forearms. Dark stubble framed his sharp jaw, matching a wild mess of ink-black hair. A pair of ebony wooden glasses sat across his nose, framing a pair of beautiful greenish-blue eyes.

He took a long sip of coffee before turning to look at me, brow raised, his eyes sparking with curiosity. "That folder there. You've been glaring at it for a few minutes."

I leaned back in my chair, raising my own brow. "You've been... watching me for the last few minutes? That's a little creepy."

He shrugged, seeming unbothered by my response. "You could have been staring at it longer than that. But I wasn't really here so... " he took another sip of his coffee, flipping open a worn hardback book that was coming apart, long cracks wormed along the spine.

"I glare when I read," I replied, moving to shove the files into my bag.

A grin tugged at his lips, eyes still on the pages of his own book. "That could give you wrinkles."

I scoffed, amused by his terrible argument as I looked away and yanked the folder back onto the table before popping it open again. "Don't care."

"Everyone cares," he replied with a laugh.

"Really? So you've met everyone?" I asked, closing the folder again. "You've taken a survey on how everyone in the entire world feels about wrinkles?" I turned to look at him, making little effort to hide my annoyance with this chatty ken doll for his ridiculous attempt to yank me into a conversation. Seriously, what's his deal?