Shotgun Wedding to the Cop
Our text exchanges are about as personal as a chatbot’s.
[On a stakeout. Won't be home. Lock the door.]
[He got away. Still on it. Not coming home. Lock up.]
[Stakeout. Door.]
[K.]
Finally, unable to bear the crushing loneliness any longer, I decided to go out with my best friend and find a little fun for myself.
I texted him first, just to be safe.
[Still chasing bad guys tonight?]
Apex_Predator: [Yep.]
Perfect, I thought. If he’s busy chasing criminals, he can’t be busy chasing a cheating wife.
The next thing I knew, I was in a private club, happily watching a male model work a dance pole, when the door burst open.
“Vice raid! Everybody down!”
My world went black.
Turns out, the person he was busting tonight… was me.
1
Day 32 of my new marriage.
My best friend, Maya, had sent me ten straight thirst-trap videos. I stared at the parade of sculpted abs on my screen, swallowing hard.
“So,” she texted, “how do they stack up against your Detective Cole?”
I stared up at my blank ceiling. “I’ve… never actually seen him with his shirt off.”
Her reply was a string of shocked emojis. “Are you serious? Ginnifer, if you don’t jump his bones soon, his gun is gonna get rusty.”
Believe me, I wanted to. I was practically starving for a taste of him.
I met Nate Cole on a blind date. The moment I saw him, I was a goner.
He was walking testosterone—a police uniform stretched tight over broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and impossibly long legs, topped off with the kind of intense, chiseled face that screamed alpha. He was handsome, but with a wild, dangerous edge.
“You don’t mind that a detective’s work schedule is crazy?” he’d asked.
“Not at all!” I’d shaken my head, probably a little too enthusiastically, trying not to drool. So what if he was busy? I loved an ambitious man.
I didn’t realize “busy” meant he’d be so absent I’d practically turn to stone waiting for him.
On our wedding night, before our lips even had a chance to properly meet, his phone rang. He shot out of bed like he’d been ejected. “Emergency call. Got a lead.”
I spent the night tossing and turning, waiting.
The next morning, my period arrived before he did.
Nate was always either chasing a suspect or on his way to chase one. Usually, I was asleep by the time he got home, and he was gone before I woke up. He knew I was a grump in the morning, so to avoid disturbing me, he’d just sleep in the guest room.
A month into our marriage, and we were like strangers who’d matched on a dating app three states apart.
His response time to texts was glacial, and the content was as robotic as it gets.
(Monday)
Barely_Breathing: [Coming home tonight?]
Apex_Predator: [On a stakeout. Won't be home. Lock the door.]
Barely_Breathing: [Package at the front desk. Pickup code 5210.]
Apex_Predator: [I’ll get it when I’m back.]
(Tuesday)
Barely_Breathing: [Did you get him?]
Apex_Predator: [Ran. Still on it. Not coming home. Lock up.]
Barely_Breathing: [Package pickup: 5456]
Apex_Predator: [K.]
(Wednesday)
Barely_Breathing: [Home?]
Apex_Predator: [Stakeout. Door.]
Barely_Breathing: [Package pickup: 5678]
Apex_Predator: [K.]
Apex_Predator has sent you a transfer of $3000. Memo: Paycheck.
(Thursday)
Barely_Breathing: [?]
Apex_Predator: [K.]
Barely_Breathing: [Package pickup: 6785]
Apex_Predator: [K.]
I swear… I felt like I had married a ghost who moonlighted as an unfeeling delivery bot.
2
I poked at the two new stress pimples on my chin, a restless heat simmering under my skin.
Maya forwarded me an article titled: The Dangers of a Sexless Marriage.
Her text followed immediately after: [If you don't get some action soon, you're going to turn into a nun.]
Attached was a video of a guy with washboard abs opening a beer bottle with his belt buckle.
[I got a private room and invited all your favorite streamers.]
[Get over here! My treat!]
That was all it took. The words “my treat” obliterated what little marital fidelity I had left.
“Screw it!”
I ripped off my pajamas and threw them on the bed. Out came the short skirt and the spaghetti-strap top.
“Tonight, Mama’s gonna be an outlaw!”
Still, just in case, I sent Nate a quick text.
[Still chasing bad guys tonight?]
This time, he replied almost instantly.
[Yep.]
Perfect. A man busy chasing criminals had no time to chase a cheating wife.
[Okay, have fun! I'm heading to bed then~]
It was Maya’s birthday party. She was beautiful, well-connected, and wild. She’d assembled a small army of male models and influencers. The moment I walked into the private club room, I was surrounded by a sea of shirtless, sculpted young men.
“Wow, you’re so beautiful.”
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“Can I dance for you?”
“You can touch my abs if you want.”
By the time the tenth chiseled boy-toy leaned in and called me “ma’am,” I finally understood what it must have felt like to be a Roman empress.
“Wanna feel?” a silver-haired kid with wolfish eyes asked, lifting the hem of his shirt. Eight perfect abdominal muscles glistened under the dim lights. “Just started working on my V-line…”
I swallowed hard and tried to lean back, but my fingers had a mind of their own, inching forward.
Damn it, a woman works hard. She deserves a night like this.
The sight of his muscles, half-hidden beneath his shirt, made my head spin.
“Ma’am? Are your hands shaking?”
Of course they were shaking. At this very moment, my husband’s hands—the very hands that catch criminals—were probably wrapped around the grip of his service weapon. Meanwhile, my hands were about to grope another man’s waist.
Just as the endless chorus of “ma’am” had me floating on cloud nine, the door to our private room was kicked open with a deafening crash.
“Vice raid! Hands on your head, get down!”
3
That voice. It was so familiar it sent a jolt of ice through my veins.
I looked up and there he was. Nate Cole, standing in the doorway, his uniform buttoned to the collar, a leather belt cinching his lean, powerful waist.
His eyes swept over my tiny skirt and barely-there top, and I saw his Adam’s apple bob.
Our gazes locked. My hand shot behind my back as if it had been burned.
“Honey, I… I can explain…” I stammered. “They all ordered a guy, I didn’t… I didn’t even touch him, I swear! I didn’t even look!”
A young officer next to him snorted, trying to stifle a laugh. “Detective Cole, here’s the surveillance footage…”
He handed Nate a tablet.
I watched in horror as the screen played back a crystal-clear video of me, drooling over a set of abs like an idiot. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole.
It got worse.
Nate hit pause.
Then he zoomed in, enlarging the image of my trembling fingers, hovering just inches from the model’s stomach.
“Ginnifer.” He tapped the screen with a knuckle, his wedding ring making a sharp, metallic sound against the glass. “Care to explain this particular… gesture?”
My knees went weak. I nearly collapsed right there on the floor. “Honey, listen to me! It was… art appreciation!”
Nate gritted his teeth. “Take them away.”
He strode past me, the long legs of his uniform trousers practically radiating fury. I suddenly remembered our first date, how I’d stared at his uniform and my mind had filled with filthy thoughts of handcuffs and forced proximity.
Well, karma had come for me. He really was putting me in handcuffs.
I had earned myself a shiny pair of silver bracelets.
Sob.
4
In the interrogation room, Nate’s eyes were fixed on my spaghetti-strap top. His face was a thundercloud. He took off his uniform jacket and draped it over my shoulders.
I huddled in the chair, doing my best impression of a scared little bird.
“Name?”
“Your wife…”
His pen hit the tabletop with a sharp clack. He loosened his tie, his voice rising. “Be serious.”
I stared at the way his throat moved when he swallowed. “Ginnifer,” I whispered. “Ginnifer Davis.”
His face was grim. “Motive?”
“Thirty-two days of solitary confinement.” I started counting on my fingers, my voice full of accusation. “Falling in love with a man who never comes home…”
The officer taking notes in the corner let out a loud snort of laughter. Nate shot him a look that could kill.
“Give me a detailed account. What exactly did you do in that room?”
“Nothing! I just had a glass of juice…”
He tapped the table again, his eyes narrowed. “Providing a false statement is a crime, you know.”
“Fine! We danced a little…”
“How did you dance? What happened?”
“I might have… accidentally… touched his abs.”
“How many times?”
“What does that have to do with the case?” I shot back.
His expression hardened. “Every detail needs to be accounted for.”
I hung my head, my voice barely a whisper. “Two? Three times?”
The color drained from Nate’s face. His voice dropped to a terrifyingly low growl. “How. Many. Times?”
“I’m sorry, Nate… I was wrong…”
A few detectives were peeking through the window in the door. One of them cleared his throat. “Uh, Cole? Regulations state you have to get specifics on the point of contact. Was it the upper, middle, or… lower abs?”
Nate’s glare was venomous. “You guys have nothing better to do?”
“Hey, you taught us this!” one of them yelled as they started to scatter. “Last week’s raid, you said evidence collection had to be precise…”
“That was for soliciting prostitution!” Nate roared back.
“But the Captain’s wife said she touched his V-line!” another one called out.
The officer in the room was shaking with suppressed laughter. He pulled out his phone. “Detective, you should see the group chat. Everyone’s talking about how you broke the precinct’s response time record tonight. They’re asking if you sprinted here…”
Nate grabbed the young officer by the collar and practically threw him out the door. The officer poked his head back in. “Hey, if the missus needs some ‘art appreciation’ of abs, our squad has plenty of…”
“Do you want to go home tonight?” Nate snarled.
The officer grinned sheepishly. “Yes, sir! You two continue the… uh… enforcement.” He paused. “Oh, and Detective? You’ll need to sign the family release form to take your wife home.”
Nate signed the form with a grim expression, then reached over and pulled his jacket tighter around my shoulders.
5
The drive home was silent. He didn’t say a word.
I sat there, small and scared. “Nate… are you mad?”
His face was a stone mask. “No.”
Liar.
I snuck a peek at him. His jaw was clenched, his dark, intense eyes focused on the road, his lips pressed into a thin line. One hand gripped the steering wheel, the sleeve of his uniform shirt rolled up to his elbow, revealing a forearm corded with muscle and veins.
Damn it. He was even hot when he was angry.
I was trying to figure out how to apologize when my phone buzzed. It was Maya. Her voice exploded from the speaker.
“Ginnifer! Your husband arrested all eight of the models I hired! You got your fun, but what about me? I’m still burning up over here!” she shrieked. “And let me tell you, his squad is full of long-legged gods in uniform. I bet Detective Cole’s waist works a hell of a lot better than any of those models!”
What was she even saying…
In my panic, I fumbled with the phone and accidentally hit the speaker button just as I was trying to hang up.
“I heard he’s taking you home,” Maya’s voice boomed through the car. “Does that mean you’re finally going to go at it all night? After being starved for so long, your panties must be on fire, right?”
Nate turned his head and looked at me, his expression unreadable.
My hand trembled, and the phone slipped, falling to the floor beneath my seat.
“You know,” Maya’s voice continued from the floor, “the fact that he never comes home… you think maybe he’s got nothing to show for it downstairs? I sent you a ‘Manly Man Performance Review’ checklist! You have to send me a full report… and I bought you some new victory lingerie. Make sure he cuffs you to the headboard…”
Nate leaned over, picked up the phone, and spoke into it with calm, chilling clarity. “Ms. Evans, about that $20,000 VIP membership you have at the Starlight Lounge… would you like us to stop by and have a little chat about local ordinances?”
A violent coughing fit erupted from the other end. “Oh, hey… Detective Cole! We were just… appreciating art…”
He hung up.
The car was plunged into a dead, heavy silence.
He pulled over at a convenience store, his face still grim. He was gone for a minute, then came back.
He was holding two small boxes.
“What did you buy…?” I asked, curious.
He didn’t answer. He just shoved them into my hands.
I looked down.
The box was printed with a bold 0.01.
Oh. And they were XL.
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