Indecent Exposure_The Academy Read online

  Nor will I ever understand why women don’t run the world.

  “Keep your damn hands to yourself, Garrett,” the lieutenant growls.

  Danika shoots to her feet, back straight, heels clicking together. A split second later, she’s annoyed with herself for doing so, but holds her position with gritted teeth. Me? I throw the son-of-a-bitch a lazy smile and don’t even bother standing.

  My smile slides right off my face when Katie—my Katie—walks in.

  At first, I think someone slipped a hallucinogenic into my water bottle. Something way stronger than vodka. Because why would Katie be here? Holding a clipboard? Maybe I never even got out of bed this morning and I’m having a whiskey-induced dream. If I was imagining Katie being in the gym, though, wouldn’t my brain put her in the same jeans and tank top she wore yesterday? Instead, she’s wrapped up in these sleek, black spandex pants and a tight as fuck academy T-shirt. Oh, and rest assured, everyone with a dick—with the exception of the Burns brothers—is sitting up and taking notice of Katie. My Katie.

  “Listen up, recruits,” Greer shouts, still watching Danika and me with annoyance. “This is your new arms instructor, Katie McCoy.”

  Pretty sure my jaw hits the mat. “Fuck. Me.”

  Chapter 5

  Katie

  Shite. Bollocks. Fuck.

  Is he still there?

  I close my eyes and give my head a bit of a shake. When I open them, Jack is still reclined on one of the mats, spearing me with disbelieving green eyes. Or he was reclining a moment ago. He’s slowly rising to his feet now, stretching to his full height. If he was standing in front of me, my head would be falling back to keep him in my sight lines about now. Good thing I’m shaking like a newborn lamb across the room, yeah?

  Not really. Is this actually happening?

  Forget that the odds are completely stacked against this being a real-life occurrence. How am I supposed to use my presentation voice now? If I open my mouth, I’m fair sure a squeak or a string of giggles is going to come out. Your man Lieutenant Burns is arching an eyebrow at me, waiting for me to speak. Thinking fast, I give him an identical look. He’s going to think I’m a diva now, needing a big intro and some pomp before I’ll roll over, but I hardly have a choice if I want to get my nerves back under control.

  An Olympic stadium chockablock with spectators? I’m golden. A room full of Americans in sweatpants, including one green-eyed ride that makes them all look like lumpy mash? I’m useless.

  “Miss McCoy is here from Ireland for the next two weeks, thanks to the International Police Exchange Program,” Lieutenant Burns continues smoothly. “If you’re unfamiliar, it’s a government funded program designed to keep our departments abreast—” Someone in the back row snickered at the word abreast. This lot is going to be a challenge. “—of global techniques so that we might improve on our own. There is always room for improvement, especially among this pack of jackasses.”

  I snort a laugh. My hand flies to up contain it about four milliseconds too late.

  Burns is not impressed.

  Neither is Jack, who is still trying to burn a hole into my face with green laser vision. Which I find rather annoying when I’m attempting to get my pulse back under control. I frown at him to let him know it. And for some insane reason, that appears to relax him.

  I’m beginning to wonder if men are worth everyone’s trouble.

  My stare down with Jack is interrupted when a gentleman in aviator sunglasses pipes up from the front row. “She a cop or what?”

  The lieutenant whips his head around and glowers at the speaker. “She’s an Olympic gold medalist in the air rifle competition and more proficient with firearms than anyone in this room, including myself. After the Olympics, she completed her training with the Garda Emergency Response Unit and graduated at the top of her class. Now she’s a special weapons instructor.” The audible shift of energy in the room has my eyes shooting to the floor. Apart from standing on the podium in Rio, I haven’t had my accomplishments waved in the air like this. At least not while I’m standing there to watch it happen. “So how about showing a little respect, recruit?”

  “I was just—”

  “You can begin by removing those ridiculous sunglasses.” That command hangs in the air while the recruit follows orders, tucking the item into his back pocket. “Did your mother put them on you while she combed your hair this morning? He has sensitive eyes. Is that what she tells all her friends while she shops for your pajamas?”

  “No, sir.”

  Well. It’s safe to say he won’t be interrupting Lieutenant Burns anymore. I almost feel bad for the poor lad. His friends look as though they’re getting their insults ready for the moment my introduction ends. Instead of joining with everyone else in witnessing the demise of Sunglasses Boy, I allow my gaze to drift over to Jack. That’s when I notice the beautiful girl standing beside him and my legs turn somewhat watery. She’s watching Jack with guarded curiosity and following his attention straight over to me, elbowing him in the side and getting no response.

  Is that his girlfriend, then? It would be, wouldn’t it? Her dark waves of hair are tied back in a perfect ponytail while mine looks like a bloody whale spout.

  I don’t realize Lieutenant Burns has given me the floor again until he clears his throat. His clipboard taps against his thigh. Whap whap whap. And I have no choice but to step forwards, mentally reviewing everything I remember from my required public speaking course in college.

  Then promptly forgetting it.

  “Good morning.” I go on autopilot, reaching for my backpack to get out my camera. Same as I always do when I have something remarkable in front of me—and a hundred sweaty lads totally qualifies. The dozen or so ladies don’t look so bad themselves—definitely picture worthy. My pack is back in Burns’s office, though, so I grab the next best thing, my phone. “Would you mind terribly if I just took a quick snap for Instagram? I don’t even have any followers, really, so I don’t know why I bother. Being a slave to social media has become something of a habit, I think, hasn’t it? We’ve no choice. Show us your pictures or it never happened. Okay.” I stab a few buttons and hold up my cell, certain I’ve turned the color of watermelon. “You’ll all follow me now, won’t you? Please?”

  There’s a beat of silence. Then I swear every single one of them breaks out into a grin at the exact same time. One bloke makes a bloated monkey face, tugging out his ears on the side. After that, it’s a sea of silly poses, men attempting to yank one another’s pants down and Burns blowing the whistle, attempting to restore decorum.

  “Sorry about that,” I call to the lieutenant over the noise. “I ramble when I’m nervous.”

  He ignores me and continues to blow the whistle. While I snap a few shots, I notice Jack in the frame, pushing his way closer. That same determination I saw in him last night is back and my stomach flips just being in the path of it. I can’t have a conversation with him here, can I? No. But I saw the way Jack blew off his instructor’s irritation when I walked in, so I’m guessing he doesn’t give a flying fig about appearances. I do, though.

  This program bought me two weeks in New York. Two weeks of freedom I can’t afford on my own just yet, but that I desperately need after years of grueling preparation for the Olympics, followed by Emergency Response Unit training. This adventure isn’t only for me, either. It’s for someone close to my heart who couldn’t be here—and I don’t want to let him down.

  When I kissed Jack in the park last night, I didn’t know he would be under my guidance for the duration of the trip. Now that I do? Any kind of communication between us needs to be on the up-and-up. An indiscretion could lead to me being sent home early or losing my position as an instructor back home. Having gone through Garda training, I know instructors and recruits are placed in close quarters for months and often make mistakes of the Biblical variety. It’s just the nature of the beast. But inappropriate contact with a trainee is the fastest way to lose respect from
your colleagues. As a woman, I have to work twice as hard for respect—and I have—so this thing with Jack and me . . . it can’t go beyond last night.

  I’m surprised by the sharp punch of loss in my stomach. Sure, I spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about Jack’s kiss while lying in bed last night—and this morning—but I’ve only known him one day. Surely there’s no way I’m already attached.

  Whatever I’m thinking must be showing on my face, because Jack’s progress slows to a halt and we’re left trapped inside unwavering eye contact, as though trying to read one another’s mind. I feel Burns watching, though, so I force myself to regain control of the situation.

  “As the lieutenant said, I’ll be leading a weapons training course for the next two weeks. Six sessions in total.” The men quiet down so suddenly, my quick sucks of breath between sentences sounds like nails on a chalkboard to my ears. “In Ireland, the Garda don’t carry guns, but Emergency Response does require extensive training, which is where I come in. My role here is to promote safety and sound judgment. I want to leave you with the utmost respect for weapons. In our line of work, they are a last resort. Not the first.” I’m quiet for a moment letting that sink in, because I know what’s coming next is going to cause a stir and I’ll lose their undivided attention. “While I’m here, I’ve been asked by the lieutenant to identify the recruit who shows the highest proficiency with firearms during training. If you’re the lucky winner, my recommendation will go in your file. If you have your sights set on the Emergency Services Unit, you will be fast-tracked when the opportunity to move up arises.”

  Truthfully, I was surprised myself when Burns dropped that responsibility on my head, but his explanation made sense. He wants to incentivize his recruits into taking safety training seriously. If the buzz of their reaction is any indication, it’s a sound plan and I’m looking forwards to having the group so focused.

  Speaking of focused, Jack has not joined in with the rest of the recruits, most of them already bragging they’ll come out on top at the end of two weeks. We’re the only two people in the gymnasium standing still as statues. Even Burns is joining in the good-natured ribbing, so I feel free to hold Jack’s sparking eyes for a few extra seconds. Being pinned under his attention sends bumps rising all down my arms and back, makes my belly muscles contract. How on earth am I going to spend time in this man’s company without giving in to temptation?

  No clue. But I better find a way fast. Because I can read the message he’s sending me and it goes something like this: I don’t play by the rules and this new development changes nothing.

  Jack

  Well if this isn’t a wrench in the fucking works.

  On the upside, I don’t need to go searching Facebook for Katie now. She’s fallen right into my lap, hasn’t she? Problem is, she’s fallen into everyone else’s, too, and I don’t like it. In fact, the next idiot to wonder out loud if the carpet matches the drapes is getting paint thinner in their shampoo bottle. Any other day, I would have already sent these clowns to the ER for stitches, but starting a fight will get my ass suspended, putting Katie out of my reach.

  And I really, really want to keep her within my reach. She gets more incredible by the minute. An Olympic gold medalist? I was hot to get her naked when she was leafing through a mob hits book and peeping through the bar window. Put her in goggles and stick a rifle in her hands? She looks like something out of a World War II cigarette advertisement. A redhead pinup girl showing the boys how it’s done.

  We’re in the firing range for a demonstration from Katie, before we head to our own booths to follow suit. I’m pinging back and forth between two burning urges. One? Join the drooling shitheads around me by staring in awe at the beauty who just landed six quick shots in the center target. Two? Calmly explain I’ve already had my tongue in her mouth, she’s ruined for their pathetic attempts to land her and they can all go home.

  There’s a not so slight problem with option two, however. Katie might as well have a sign blinking over her head now that says off-limits. As I learned yesterday, she shows every emotion on her face, so it’s no mystery she wants to put me on ice now that we’re instructor and recruit. And no means no. Zero excuses.

  So I just have to make sure she doesn’t want to say no.

  Easy, right?

  Katie finishes her demo to a deafening round of applause from everyone in an academy uniform. Christ. For their next act, they’re going to carry her around on a daybed and fan her with giant palm fronds. The fact that I understand why they all fell instantly in love with her doesn’t make watching it any easier. She’s my murder-obsessed, backpack-wearing, picture-taking kiss bandit. Not theirs. I need to get her alone sooner rather than later. Away from the admiration that’s making my neck hot. Looking into her eyes and seeing recognition of how explosive our kiss was in the park is the only thing that can make this weird, possessive caveman feeling go away. I think. I’ve sure as shit never been here before.

  Fifteen minutes later, we’ve been divided into groups. Half of us will remain in the range, while the others head back to the gym for takedown drills. I could wait for my turn in the firing range or . . .

  “Bro, I’m going to swap spots,” I say to the guy ahead of me, slapping him on the shoulder when he sputters. “I owe you one, thanks.”

  “Wait, but—”

  I’m already snagging headgear, securing it over my ears and shrugging when I can’t hear him. Better luck next time.

  Charlie is in the first group and he’s wasted no time aiming for the man-shaped target in the distance, focused and prepared to nail the task in front of him. There’s no doubt in my mind Charlie will be the one Katie recommends to Emergency Services. Everyone talking a big game about being the star contender knows it, too. His father is a bureau chief, Lieutenant Burns is his older brother and, bottom line, he wants to be the best. He’s wanted it forever.

  I’ve liked Charlie since day one. He’s a damn good friend. Sometimes, though, he’s hard to be around. He might be the only man I’ve ever envied in my life. Not because of his looks or anything—I’m the permanent winner of the dude beauty pageant—but Charlie knows his future. Knows where his path leads. And when something is off or he isn’t satisfied with a situation, he pokes at it and obsesses over it until it’s fixed. Me? I can live with something—inside me or around me—being wrong forever. I have.

  Don’t get me wrong, when Charlie gets the recommendation I’ll be proud as shit. But it will be another reminder I’m only in this job for the paycheck and pension. That I don’t have a dream beyond a reasonably comfortable life for myself. Ensuring my mother is never forced back into her old line of work. Bottom line, I wasn’t built to be a dreamer. Sometimes, it’s hard to live with that when my best friends were.

  When Katie sees me walking into the range, her casual expression falters, but she catches herself and continues explaining the proper loading technique to a starry-eyed recruit. It’s noisy in the facility, not to mention everyone is wearing headgear, so she’s having to speak pretty loud. It’s not going to be easy to carry on a decent conversation with her here. Maybe I should have waited for a better opportunity, but it’s too late now. And I don’t want to wait, anyway.

  I’m in my booth when she approaches, sliding into the small space to my right. Lust hits me low in the belly at having her close, even though she’s being careful not to touch me. The gunfire camouflages the groan in my throat when she peeks up with those incredible eyes, because finally, there it is. Recognition that she knows me, more than she knows anyone else in the room. An acknowledgment that I’ve had my tongue in her mouth and she stretched out my hoodie trying to get more of it. Unfortunately, she’s gearing up for the big brush-off. Funny how I can tell when I’ve never been brushed off by a female in my life, but Katie’s poker face needs definite work. I’ll be keeping that to myself, though, considering I love her open book expressions and apparently I’m going to need every advantage I can get.
/>   Katie squares her shoulders, ready to cut me off at the knees. “Morning, Jack—”

  “How heavy are gold medals? I’ve always been curious.”

  “Eh—” She tugs on her ponytail with a nervous hand. “Fairly heavy. Sure, I’ve never weighed it.”

  My plan was to distract her with conversation until she forgot about breaking our date for tonight, but soon as she opens her mouth, I’m hanging on every husky syllable, damn the plan. “Did you wear it on the plane ride home?”

  “God, no, I didn’t. Or I wasn’t planning on it, anyway.” Pink blooms on her cheeks, making her light pattern of freckles stand out. “The flight attendant announced me over the loud speaker, though, so I had no choice but to take it out.”

  “Was that before or after you hid in the bathroom?”

  Pleasure pulls at the ends of her mouth. “Before.”

  Those lips are doing their best to distract me, but I persevere, watching emotions flicker across her face. Surprise, confusion, determination to stay focused. “Congratulations on the gold medal, Katie. You must have worked really hard for it.”

  She blinks. “Aren’t you going to ask me if I met Michael Phelps?”

  “Is that what every one of these shitheads has been asking you?”

  “With the exception of one. He was more interested in Al Roker.” Her nose wrinkles. “Is he an athlete or what?”

  “Close. He’s a weatherman.”

  “Oh.” She presses her knuckles to her mouth, suppressing a smile. “It usually takes me more time to find the group weirdo. Thank you for your assistance.”

  “Any time, Snaps.”

  We’re grinning at each other and I don’t even care that I succeeded in distracting her. I’m too busy feeling . . . good. Being around this girl makes me feel good. Not the fake and fleeting kind of good, either, that I get when I talk to girls in bars. The kind I want to hurry and get rid of as soon as it starts. I don’t feel as though another drink, and another drink will make it easier to be around her. Nah, it’ll make concentrating on every word she says harder and I don’t want that.