Witch(4)

“Legal for what?” I played along.

“To handle a weapon,” he laughed.

“I don’t carry a gun,” I said, looking up at him, to see a boyish grin stretched across his face.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said.

“Are you always like this?” I smiled, closing my notebook.

“Like what?” he said, unfolding his arms and stepping away from the sink and coming across the kitchen towards me.

I looked back down at my notebook, my heart speeding up and mouth turning dust-dry. I didn’t usually feel like this in the presence of a guy. It was me who usually shot back the cute one-liners as I stood before them, brimming with a confidence that most considered to be bordering on arrogance. So to claw back some ground, and not wishing to come across like some inexperienced schoolgirl, I said, “Why are you being so full on?”

“I’m just being friendly – that’s all,” he shrugged just inches from me.

I reopened my notebook wrote his name, my usually neat handwriting looking now like a spidery scrawl.

“Do you want my number to go with that?” he asked.

“I think I’ve got your number,” I said with a wry smile.

“What else would you like to know about me?” he said, taking another step closer.

Michael came to stand behind me, but just an inch too close. From where he stood, I could smell the shower gel he’d used on his body and the shampoo he had washed through his untidy hair. My heart started to race faster, and I knew I needed to take back some ground – after all, I was the one in authority here – wasn’t I?

“Please step away,” I asked, turning to meet his stare.

“Why?” he said, as if completely clueless as to what he was doing.

“Because I’m meant to be working here,” I shot back.

With his eyes almost seeming to sparkle, he continued to stare at me for what seemed like the longest time. Slowly, Michael stepped back from me and said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable, officer.”

“That’s okay,” I murmured, feeling as if I could breathe again – as if I was back in control.

Turning to face me, he said, “Look, I’m really busy right now...”

“Busy doing what?” I sighed, just wanting to take down as much information as I could to complete the crime report back at the station.

“Why don’t you come back another time?” Michael suggested, heading towards the back door.

“Like when?” I asked, knowing now for sure that he was messing with me and enjoying it. Deep inside me, there was a part that liked the fact he was doing this. It kind of turned me on.

“How about Wednesday, officer?” he said, opening the back door for me. “I’m free all day.”

I mentally scrolled through my shift pattern and knew I was on a middle shift on Wednesday – two ‘til ten. “I could make the report out right now...” I started.

“Wednesday will be good,” Michael smiled back at me, the door still wide open and the sound of the rain beating against the saturated ground outside.

Raising the collar of my coat about my neck, and placing my cap on my head, I stepped out into the rain. I looked back again, but Michael had already shut the door. I hurried down the path, dodging the puddles as best I could, and climbed into my patrol car. Inside I sat and listened to the sound of the heavy rain drumming off the roof above me as it beat in time with my racing heart. I looked back at the farmhouse in the distance and pictured Michael in his spray-on tight T-shirt and scruffy jeans. With that picture of him at the forefront of my mind, I started the engine and drove the patrol car down the lane.





Chapter Two

Of course I went back to the farmhouse on the Wednesday – I had to. Since meeting Michael, I hadn’t been able to get him out of my head. I had never met a guy so in my face before. At first I wondered if I hadn’t imagined how he had come on to me; had I read too much into the situation? I knew I hadn’t. Michael had flirted with me – he had made it so obvious that he liked me, and I liked him, too. To be honest, since leaving the farmhouse on that bleak afternoon, I had been unable to stop wondering what it would feel like to have those short, sharp bristles and rough hands all over me.

That very afternoon, after getting off from work, and unable to get him out of my head and shake off those feelings of wanting Michael, I paced between the bedroom, living room, and kitchen of my poky apartment. My skin felt hot and flushed, and I had a warm, needy, sensation in the pit of my stomach. I busied myself by ransacking my wardrobe, pulling out dresses and skirts for an evening of clubbing with my friends. In the end I didn’t go out, I had an early night instead, lying alone in the dark, one hand between my thighs, fantasizing about Michael.