Commanding the Curvy Girl (Spoon Heroes)

Chapter One

Molly

" O h, dang it!" My coffee mug tips, sloshing the dark liquid all over my desk. I squeak, trying to rescue my paperwork before it gets soaked, but it's no use. Coffee runs in rivulets down the paper, making smudges of the judge's already illegible handwriting.

I grab it anyway, shaking the coffee from it in a desperate attempt to salvage it. Naturally, a 911 line starts blaring through the room as soon as I have it in my hands.

Goodbye paperwork, hello emergency.

I hit the button on my keyboard to answer, stretching to grab paper towels at the same time.

"911, where is your emergency?" I ask.

"Oh, honey. I'm so glad you answered," the little old lady on the other end of the line says. "I think there's a mountain lion in my yard. I see it looking at me every time I look outside."

I flick my gaze to the mapping system to check the location, but it's still in phase one, pinging at the cell tower instead of a physical address. I don't need it though. As soon as I see the phone number, I know who I'm talking to. Lula Peterson.

And unless I miss my guess, there is no mountain lion. There's just a lonely old lady who probably needs help working her remote again.

"Is this Lula Peterson?" I toss the paper towels down to sop up the coffee and tap the key to generate a new call in the system.

"Well, yes. How did you know?" Ms. Lula asks.

"I never forget a phone number," I say, typing notes into the call. "Did your daughter have to go to Dallas again, Ms. Lula?"

"Yes, she's been gone for a few days. I sure am worried about her coming home with this mountain lion running around."

I sigh, my hands flying over the keys as I type in notes to send to our unit working patrol in her area. Ms. Peterson always calls when her daughter has to go out of town for work. Last month, she swore there was a snake in her kitchen. The month before that, it was a bear in her garden. Both times, the responding deputy helped her turn on her game shows, and we never heard another peep about the bear or the snake.

"I'll send someone by to check it out, Ms. Lula," I promise anyway.

"Oh, thank you, honey. You sure are a good girl."

I smile at her praise. It's the same every time. I don't think she realizes or remembers that I've talked to her a dozen times since I started working here after I graduated from college last year.

"Can I help with anything else?"

"No, that's it, dear."

"Okay. I want you to stay in the house until the deputy checks your yard, okay?"

"Of course."

"Have a good day, Ms. Lula."

I wait for her to disconnect the line before submitting my notes. As soon as the call populates in our system, I key up the radio to dispatch the call. Thank God, Brian is working today. He's good with Ms. Lula. "Unit 216, copy a welfare check."

"Go ahead, dispatch," he responds almost immediately.

"Ms. Lula needs someone to swing by. She thinks there's a mountain lion in her yard," I tell him.

"Did you say a mountain lion?"

"10-4."

"10-4. Show me en route to mountain lion wrangling detail, then."

"10-4." I laugh softly, swap his status, and then finish cleaning up the mess I made. Poor Ms. Lula. I hope, when I'm her age, my only friend isn't a deputy.

Oh. Who am I kidding? When I'm her age, my only friend will probably be a cat. I've lived in Silver Spoon Falls since I took the job working here, but I haven't made many friends. I'm always here…and I tend not to spend a lot of time hanging out with cops and firefighters outside of work.

They're great, don't get me wrong. I just prefer to keep work at work. It's easier that way. Especially when a lot of these guys are just like my dad. They'll sleep with anything that moves. I'm not interested in being a notch on a bedpost or anyone's latest conquest. And I don't want a reputation as a badge bunny, either. I have plans for my life. The fastest way to derail them is to have that rumor chasing me around.

Getting hired on at the FBI as an analyst is hard enough. No one looks at me and thinks I belong at the FBI. I'm short and curvy. I can pass any fitness test anyone else can, but there's still this assumption that I'm a bad choice because I'm heavier than the average candidate.

I've been the same size since I was a teenager. No matter how much I exercise or how little I eat, the scale never moves. So I gave up fighting my body a long time ago. But I've been passed over three times already for the job I want because of it. It's depressing as hell. I'm not incapable just because of my size. And I'm not unhealthy, either.

"Did he just say he's going to wrangle a mountain lion?" Sheriff Dillon Armstrong growls, stomping into dispatch with a scowl on his face.

"Yep. Ms. Lula called again."

"Jesus," Dillon mutters, raking a hand through his hair. "I thought he was serious."

"Brian is never serious about anything."

"True." Dillon's brows furrow. "Why haven't I fired him yet?"

"Because you're a pushover."

"Hey, now. Watch it," Dillon says, pointing at me. He can't hide the smile dancing at his lips, though. "Maybe I'll fire you instead of him. I see you spilled your coffee again."

"The desk wobbled."

"You are so full of shit, Tessler," he says, shaking his head. "The only thing that wobbled is you. Stop drinking coffee in my dispatch center before I really do have to fire you for destroying the damn place."

I laugh, not in the least intimidated by him or his empty threats. He's been telling me the same thing since I started. We both know I'm not giving up coffee. And if he isn't threatening to fire or shoot someone, it's a bad week around here.

Unlike a lot of guys, I don't think Dillon necessarily wants to be sheriff. Everyone just kind of keeps voting him back into office anyway. He's good at his job. He understands the people in this town. And, unlike a lot of people who campaign against him, he doesn't give a crap about playing the politics game. He just wants to be a cop.

It's hard not to like him.

"Fuck me."

I glance past Dillon, the laugh dying on my lips when my gaze lands on the giant standing in the doorway behind him, staring at me like he wants to know how I taste. Easton Ames.

Just a few months ago, his picture was plastered all over the news when he was shot and nearly killed in Dallas after interrupting a burglary. But the photos didn't do him justice. At all.

Easton is sexy as hell.

Short brown hair brushes his forehead, hanging over piercing gray eyes that sear into me, making my core clench. Not even his five o'clock shadow hides the fullness of his lips or the sharpness of his jaw. The muscles in his chest and tattooed arms flex with every move, every breath.

"Easton, meet Molly Tessler," Dillon says, his voice seeming to come from far away. "Molly, this is Easton Ames."

"Molly," Easton growls, his tongue skating across his bottom lip. His gaze drifts down my body, lingering on my chest.

I pull my jacket tightly around me, trying to hide the way I shiver beneath the weight of his gaze. There's no mistaking that look on his face. I've seen it over and over again from guys just like him. Half of the guys who walk through the doors try to flirt with me or one of the other dispatchers. Doesn't matter what we look like, how old we are, if we have rings on our fingers…it's like they just can't help themselves.

Unfortunately for them, I know exactly how that story ends.

I grew up living with a guy just like him. My father slept his way through half of Houston. Didn't matter that he had a wife and daughter at home. Didn't matter that he nearly lost his badge because of it. He just couldn't help himself…or so he claimed.

I won't ever be my mom, having my heart broken over and over again by a man with a badge and a charming smile. I don't care if he is flipping gorgeous.

"Do you want something?" I ask pointblank when Easton just keeps staring at me.

"Yeah. You."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Dillon says, covering his mouth with his hand. It doesn't hide the way his entire body shakes with laughter.

"You did not just say that," I growl, my eyes narrowed on Easton.

"Oh, I definitely said it." He scrubs a hand through his hair, seemingly discomposed. "I just didn't mean to say it out loud."

Dillon practically chokes on his tongue, trying not to laugh.

The death glare I send him has him losing the battle.

The big jerk holds up his hands and slides around Easton, heading for the door. "You're on your own, Ames," he practically chortles. "Don't kill him, Molly. I'm too goddamn old to help you hide his big ass body."

"I'm not killing him. You're taking him with you."

"No can do," Dillon calls over his shoulder. "You're training him on our CAD system today."

"Wait. What?" I ask, gaping at Dillon's retreating back, praying I just misheard him.

"He's our new detective."

Crap. I didn't mishear anything. Easton Ames is our new detective. My stomach sinks as Dillon disappears through the doors, leaving the two of us alone. Maybe I should have questioned why he was here instead of staring at him like an idiot.

"So…" Easton says after a long moment, a smile in his voice. "You're responsible for me today, huh?"

"No." I cross my arms, scowling at him. "I'm responsible for ensuring you know how to work the system. You're responsible for you. And that means you're responsible for ensuring you don't flirt with me."

He cocks his head to the side, fighting a smile. "Any other rules I should know about, princess?"

"Yes. Don't call me princess." I narrow my eyes on him. "And stop smiling at me like that."

His smile only grows. "So, no smiling in dispatch. No talking in dispatch. And no calling you princess. Anything else?"

"I never said you couldn't talk."

"Talking. Flirting. Same goddamn thing." He shrugs like he doesn't see the difference. I'm sure there probably isn't one, to him.

"Of course you're one of those," I mutter, rolling my eyes.

"One of what?"

I contemplate whether I want to answer him or not and then decide to go for it. "When women are only seen as conquests, we aren't considered worthy of actual conversation. We're something to win. For guys like you, talking and flirting are synonymous because you only talk to us for a singular purpose." I wrinkle my nose. "It's gross behavior, Easton."

"Huh," he murmurs, pulling a chair up next to my console and dropping into it. He slouches in a way that's infuriatingly sexy—one arm thrown over the back, legs slightly spread, leaning casually to the side.

"What does that mean?"

"It means you've made an awful lot of assumptions from one little comment, princess."

"You're the one who said it. And stop calling me that."

"Dispatch, show me out with Ms. Lula," Brian says over the radio.

"10-4." I lean forward, striking the key to mark him on-scene at Lula's house, before I flick my gaze back at Easton…only to find him staring at my ass. "Eyes off my ass, Ames."

"It's a gorgeous ass, Tessler." He smirks, completely unashamed. And good grief, it is wildly unfair how hot that little dimple in his cheek is every time he smirks.

"Oh my god." I spin to face him, growling. "You're proving my point!"

"No," he says, his gray eyes locking with mine in a way that makes my heart pound against my ribcage. "The only point I'm proving is that every goddamn word out of my mouth to you is shameless. You're painting me with broad strokes, assuming I'm guys like me . I'm not. I'm just me. And I'm only looking at you, princess. And frankly, I find you too goddamn beautiful to resist."

I stare at him for a long moment, grasping for a response. He almost seems…serious, like he actually means that. But then he leans forward suddenly, touching my cheek.

"Smudge," he mutters, humor in his gaze. And I know he's full of it. He may want me to believe he's not just like every other outrageously flirtatious cop I've met, but I'm not buying it. Easton Ames is trouble.

And the last thing I need in my life is trouble that looks like him.

"Touch me again and I'll fail you, Ames," I growl, scowling daggers at him. "Go sit at the other console. You don't need to be in my lap to learn."

"I'd much prefer if you were in mine." He hauls himself to his feet, chuckling when I growl wordlessly, my right eye twitching. I swear to God, he's intentionally trying to make me insane.

"Didn't anyone ever teach you not to piss off dispatch, Easton? We get to decide what calls to send you on." I hold his gaze, feeling slightly triumphant. "And in case no one filled you in yet…this is Silver Spoon Falls."

He throws his head back, laughing. "Bring it on, princess. I survived being shot in Dallas. I think I can survive whatever small-town bullshit you decide to throw at me."

I don't respond. I simply smile.

He's going to live to regret saying that. It's just become my new mission in life.