Hot Cop: A Brother's Best Friend Romance Read online

  Hot Cop

  A Brother’s Best Friend Romance

  Natasha L. Black

  Copyright © 2021 by Natasha L. Black

  All rights reserved.

  The following story contains mature themes, strong language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature readers.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  Boss Daddy (Sample)

  A Note from the Author

  Books by Natasha L. Black

  Connect with Natasha L. Black

  Introduction

  “Do you want me to lose control?”

  I’d keep my hands to myself

  If I knew what was good for me.

  What fun is that?

  My new recruit is nothing but trouble.

  Laura’s a big city cop, home to take care of her dad.

  She’s my best friend’s baby sister AKA forbidden territory.

  All grown up.

  Lush curves.

  Smart mouth.

  Everything I can’t resist.

  Whatever I have to do,

  I’m going to keep her reckless, gorgeous ass safe.

  Then I’ll never let her go.

  Off-limits? Who cares.

  She’s mine, and I’ll destroy anyone who gets in my way.

  1

  Laura

  I tapped my phone screen and reviewed the notes again. Yeah, he was supposed to take five of these pills a day. I read the directions closely and sorted them into the big pill organizer. I didn’t even know they made forty-compartment flip-top plastic organizers for medication, but now I was getting to know one really well. Each day was labeled, and there were five little flip-top boxes for different times of day—before breakfast, one for each meal, mid-afternoon, and bedtime. I counted out the pills and loaded the week’s worth of that medication in the time slots where it belonged. Then I twisted open the next amber-colored bottle and started distributing that medication into its appropriate section.

  It was tedious, and I was impatient because I didn’t want to make a mistake, but it was taking forever. I was just doling out my dad’s meds for the week. His health had been declining for a couple of years and now he was in kidney failure. Between trips to dialysis and keeping track of his diet and medications and trying to cook and clean, my mom was at her wit’s end. My dad wouldn’t agree to have a home health aid come in to help out either.

  So just like that, when my mom called me in tears because she was so exhausted, I made a decision. I was a few years into being a city cop, including four years as an officer in Charleston. I loved the pace and the challenge of my job—but that was nothing when my family needed me. I could be there for my mom and take some of the burden off of her. I could take over some of the tasks caring for my dad, which would be good for them both. She could get out, have coffee with her friends again, go shopping, and meet with her book club at the library. My dad could be taken care of by someone competent and loving, but who didn’t put up with his demanding crap the way my mom did. If they needed a housekeeper once a week or if he needed a home health aid to help administer some of his meds and stuff, they’d damn well have one. I was Daddy’s little girl, and I could convince him. If I couldn’t persuade him to accept help for my mom’s sake, I also wasn’t a lightweight who was squeamish about arguing with him either. They didn’t raise me to be a pushover, and they taught me to be loyal and brave. This was an opportunity to do those things. Maybe not the way I thought I would when I started studying criminal justice, ready to catch the bad guys and uphold the law. Maybe the most fundamental thing in my life, my family, was calling me home.

  My mom had tried to keep me from quitting, tried to keep me from moving back to Rockford Falls. She always wanted me to chase my dreams and if she let me come home, that probably felt like a failure to her. I had to make her understand that being with her while my dad was in bad shape, helping them both out, was what I really wanted. I knew they’d hire me back in Charleston in a heartbeat. The force had offered me unpaid leave, but I knew in my heart it would take longer than twelve weeks. My dad needed a transplant. My mom needed support and a break. I couldn’t put a deadline on that kind of situation. I wasn’t about to walk out on them when they still needed me just because my leave was up. So I resigned. I packed up and moved home.

  It was total culture shock, obviously. From living on my own, keeping my own hours and doing everything my way to sleeping in my childhood room that still had a Jonas Brothers poster up on the wall. I’m not going to lie—Nick was still fine as hell. I’d maybe watched Jumanji more than once, and not even just for the Rock. My favorite JoBro was in it. But gone were the days of watching mindless movies and scrolling my phone or going out for margarita night with my friends. The concerts, the sporting events, everything about the nightlife I loved in Charleston was about as far from sleepy little Rockford Falls as you could get. Charleston had been a terrific place to be in my twenties. Super charged and exciting, but friendly. I’d had good times there.

  Instead of talking with the crime scene team about getting DNA results, I was counting blood pressure pills into a tray. Instead of deciding whether to put a pink streak back in my strawberry blond hair at my salon appointment, it was a messy bun for me. I wriggled my hot pink toenails inside my cozy socks. No more pedicures and strappy sandals and sexy first dates. Okay, my dates were never really that sexy. Mostly they were intimidated that I was a cop. The truth was, I came home because I wanted to. Would I miss some of the fun of living in the city? Sure. But I didn’t regret my choice.

  I poured some pineapple juice and took it to my dad with his pills.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” he said, “got my OJ?”

  “Daddy, it’s pineapple. You know that. We have to watch your potassium and your phosphorus. They’re rough on your kidneys.”

  “I already gave up my lunch meat. You know I love my lunch meat. And all that crap your mom made me eat—whole grain this and brown rice that—turns out it was all bad for my kidneys.”

  “Daddy, you know that didn’t cause this. And you’re back to white bread now. Be happy. The rest of us have to eat our whole grains you can just chow down on good old Wonder bread. Now here’s your juice. Drink up.”

  “I taught you to ride a bike. Don’t give me that crap about drink up like I’m five years old,” he grumbled, teasing me.

  “Cool. Then don’t act like you’re five and I won’t. Jeez, was I this annoying when I was little? Bottoms up.”

  “You were the messiest kid I’ve ever seen. Damon, now he was a model child. Tidy and quiet. Played with his army men or his puzzles, always picked up his toys…”

  “Yeah, I’m the
bad seed. That’s why you love me. Now take your pills. I’m driving you to dialysis later.”

  “Big fun. What do you say we skip it and go have a beer, don’t tell Mom?”

  “Nice try, big guy,” I laughed. “We gotta get your blood cleaned out or whatever.”

  “Yeah, you’ll read a magazine, learn some new recipes, and I’ll sit back there freezing my ass off and waiting for hours while they poke me with needles.”

  “Oh come on. A recipe? What am I? June Cleaver? I got the latest Guns & Ammo issue on my phone and I’m rereading my favorite JD Robb. Ain’t nobody here looking for low sodium casseroles to make you, Daddy.”

  “I can’t even have potatoes,” he moaned.

  He swallowed the pills and drank the juice. “Wait, is this the one I can’t have pineapple juice with? There’s one pill—cholesterol maybe—that your mom says it’s dangerous if I drink citrus anywhere near it. You checked the label, right?” he said.

  “Shit,” I said, pulling out my phone and scrolling through my notes.

  He hooted with laughter, slapping his knee. “I had you going there for a minute.”

  “You old fart! You scared me to death,” I shook my head, “There’s no contraindication for pineapple juice on any of these.”

  “I was just screwing with you, Miss Bossypants,” he laughed. I rolled my eyes.

  “Dad, you’re a hot mess. It’s no wonder Mom needs to get out of the house more,” I teased. I kissed his head and took the juice glass to the sink. “Now be good or I’m gonna make you do pull-ups.”

  “I’m not supposed to do those—”

  “Excuses, excuses,” I teased. “Who was it that put that chin-up bar in the basement when I was nine and told me I had to do ten a day or no allowance?”

  “It worked, too. Inside of two weeks you’d gotten strong enough to do a regulation pull up and hold it steady.”

  “So don’t give me any crap about following doctor’s orders or I’ll put your ass on that bar. No potatoes till you give me ten chin-ups a day.”

  “I’m pretty sure the doctor wouldn’t go for that.”

  “Snitches get stitches,” I laughed. “Isn’t that what you taught me?”

  “Damn it. I never thought you listened that good,” he chuckled.

  Still, seeing the yellowish, papery look of his skin, hearing the rasp to his laugh was like a punch in the gut to me. It was good to joke around with him, to see flashes of his personality. I made a note to check Netflix for some action movies later. He always loved those, and I was sure Liam Neeson was saving a train or an embassy that my dad would enjoy.

  “Want me to get you the tablet so you can watch something? The Weather Channel?” I teased.

  “I thought I might look up Backdraft,” he said.

  “Oh God, no more Backdraft. No more Frequency. No more fireman movies!” I said with a roll of my eyes.

  “Easy for you to say. There are a million movies about cops. Lethal Weapon. Training Day. Beverly Hills Cop. Firefighters, we only got a couple. It’s hard to make a good comedy out of men risking their lives to save people from a blaze,” he said, needling me good-naturedly.

  “And cops don’t put our lives on the line? Really? If somebody breaks in your house, you gonna call a fireman? Nah, that’s just if your kitten gets stuck in a tree,” I laughed.

  “Well, if you call the cops, you gotta get them to get up from the booth at Dunkin Donuts long enough to climb in the squad car. I swear, I never knew growing up what all them lazy kids were gonna do with their life. About half of them ended up on the RFPD force,” he said.

  “You are so full of crap. I’m out there keeping the peace in Charleston, making the streets safe and busting drug dealers, and you talk about your glory days holding a water hose,” I laughed.

  “Yeah, I bet Charleston fell apart when you left. Bunch of drug dealers and hookers dancing on top of cars with you gone. You kept it all under control,” he said wryly.

  I laughed again. There was nobody like my dad for talking shit about anybody who wasn’t a firefighter. It was in his blood. He and his brothers had grown up to be just like their dad—second-generation firefighters. My big brother Damon was a proud third-gen fireman right here in Rockford Falls. I grew up around that station with my dad and uncles. I climbed the trucks, wore the too-big helmets and boots, helped with chili suppers and food drives for the soup kitchen. My dad knew I loved that place, that institution, just like I knew he had a soft spot for law enforcement, too.

  “Hey, I was the lynchpin holding that city together. Stay away from CNN if you don’t wanna see the riots that broke out since I left. I’m sure it’s a disaster.”

  “Now I know you work hard. Being a cop’s almost as good as a firefighter, and don’t you forget it.”

  “Almost, huh?” I asked. “Well I won’t let that go to my head.”

  “The difference is you get to pack a gun. Even though I walked into plenty of sticky situations on a fire call only to find out there was a domestic disturbance involved and some guy pitched a cigarette into the garage or tried to set his girlfriend on fire—”

  “Yeah, that’s not really a fire department kinda problem,” I said. “Dispatch was snoozing on those.”

  “True. They always sent us in when they didn’t know who to call. You don’t call the paramedics, the cops might walk in and it turns into a firefight—”

  “So you send unarmed firemen in raincoats?” I said dubiously.

  “Okay, so not all the time, but it did happen a few times.”

  “People are usually happy when the fire truck pulls up. Not so much with a squad car.”

  He chuckled along with me. After a while, I got him downstairs and poured myself some coffee. I gave him green tea and ignored his grimace at the cup.

  “It tastes like grass.”

  “Yeah, it does. But it’s good for you. One small cup.”

  “I want a Coke.”

  “Artificial phosphorus. I might as well dig a hole in the backyard and let you jump on in,” I said. He snorted.

  Damon, my brother walked in just then. He had the same auburn hair as me, taller of course, and a weightlifter’s physique. I was strong and solid thanks to my fitness program, but I had curves. Damon always looked like he was in a competition for the lowest body fat percentage on the crew. He ruffled my already-messy bun as he went for the coffee pot.

  “So how do you like living with your parents now that you’re thirty?” he teased.

  “She’s a pain in the ass,” Dad piped up, and we cracked up.

  “See, the whole time we were growing up, I tried to tell you that but you’d just say my mother was gonna wash my mouth out with soap if I talked that way about my sister,” Damon joked.

  “Fine, you were right,” Dad grumbled over his green tea.

  “This coffee is fantastic. Did they let you do coffee and donuts duty in Charleston? Or did you have to be pretty to be the coffee girl?” my brother teased, giving me shit as always.

  “What? I look like you, and I know you love your pretty face,” I said, squeezing his cheeks. “So I’m adorable. But no. I learned to make decent coffee because I like coffee.”

  “Did your boyfriend like coffee?” he teased.

  “There is no boyfriend. I took my vows to the badge, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah. Cause you knew you couldn’t cut it as a firefighter,” he said, “seems like that rings a bell.”

  I elbowed him as I went past to get more coffee, and my brother rolled his eyes. “You know I’ll pitch in with the old man here. My schedule’s just been crazy lately because we’re short-staffed.”

  “I know,” I said, as he draped an arm around my shoulders and I leaned into his hug.

  “I still can’t believe you gave up being an officer in Charleston to come home, but it’s sure as hell nice to have you back,” he said.

  “Thanks. It’s real nice to be back. My ego got out of hand in the city with no one talking shit to me 24/7
. I know I can count on my big brother. I’m booking a housekeeper for Wednesdays to start with.”

  “I don’t want strangers in here going through my stuff,” our dad grumped.

  “Then pick up your stuff and put it in a drawer. I’ll buy you a safe if you need someplace to hide your old Playboys. I guarantee Mrs. Atkinson isn’t gonna be here to hunt for old-fashioned porn. She’s going to do the floors and the woodwork and bathrooms to give Mom a break.”

  “Well, if she’s doing all that, what are you doing?” Damon asked. “Besides making coffee and giving me hell.”

  “Well, this afternoon I’m cleaning out the fridge and then I have big plans to replace the shower curtain liner with a new one because the old one is mildewed. Maybe if I’m feeling wild I’ll run the self-cleaning feature on the oven.”

  “So what you’re saying is you’re already stir-crazy?” Damon asked.

  “This from the man who cut off his own cast when he had a broken arm because he was bored?”

  “I was fourteen. And in my defense, no one told me I wasn’t allowed to use the table saw for that.”

  “I thought you were out in the garage building a bird feeder. Thought it might build character. We were lucky you didn’t cut your damn arm off,” Dad said.

  “My point isn’t that Damon’s an idiot—though I have several examples to prove it—but that this family doesn’t do well with downtime. Dad, I think that’s half the reason you’re so grouchy. That and the kidney failure obviously.”