The rest of the night flew by and when it came time for Reece to arrive for my pickup, there was a nervous excitement that felt like a nest of hungry butterflies had erupted in my stomach.

Reece was pulling into the parking lot as Nick and I were finishing locking up. He nodded at Nick, which earned him a weird manly nod back in greeting. I didn’t get dudes sometimes. Why couldn’t they just say hi to one another like normal ­people?

Climbing into the cruiser, I was greeted with a bag from Subway. “Roast beef for you, turkey club for me,” he explained, shifting the car into drive. “Figured you’d be hungry.”

“Thank you.” I held the bag close. “That’s really thoughtful.”

I got the manly nod thing in return.

Glancing out the window, I watched the bar fade away in the night. A thought occurred to me. “Will you get in trouble for picking me up in your cruiser?” I didn’t know the rules, but I figured it was a valid question.

He shrugged. “I’m on lunch, so it’s really not like I’m going out of my way, and I’m in the county, so whatever.”

“But you could get in trouble?” I asked again, worried.

“I won’t,” he assured me, grinning slightly. “How was work?”

“It went by fast. I think Clyde is coming back next week, so I’m sure Sherwood will be happy to have him back.”

“That’s good. No one makes old bay wings quite like Clyde does.”

It was different to be talking about how my day went with someone—­with Reece. It was all so very intimate. It also felt . . . real. I liked the idle, needless chat as we got back to his condo and ate our subs.

“I’ve never done this,” I blurted out as I rolled up my wrapper.

Reece, who was sitting in the chair opposite me, leaned back. His dark blue uniform stretched across his shoulders. “Done what? Eaten subs at three in the morning?”

“Ha. I’ve done that more than I can count.” Standing, I gathered up our trash and walked it into the kitchen. “This. I haven’t really talked to a guy about what it was like at work.” I was glad for the low light, because I could feel my cheeks burning. “I mean, the guys I dated—­we talked, but it wasn’t like this.”

“It was superficial?” he asked.

I glanced over my shoulder, my gaze gliding over the smooth, angular cheeks and then my stare lingered on the handle of the gun, a frank reminder of how dangerous his life was. How incredibly short it could be. Knocking those thoughts out of my head, I dragged my gaze back to his face. “Yeah, that’s the right word for it.”