Disorderly Conduct (The Academy #1)

Disorderly Conduct (The Academy #1)

Tessa Bailey



Chapter 1





Charlie


People magazine isn’t going to name me the Sexiest Man Alive any time soon, so I don’t play the long game with girls. If I see one who interests me, I go in for the kill. Fast. Before some jerk who uses pomade or beard moisturizer gets there first.

Here is what I have going for me. One: My nose has been broken twice, I only have time to shave every other day and I’m strong as a bull. So if I’m walking down the street with a girl, no one is going to mess with her. Two: I’m capable as hell. I see a problem and it gets solved, because I don’t mind hard work and sweat. It’s a good thing, too, because I’m training to be a New York City police officer, and shit needing to be solved is part of the job description. Three: I don’t go out with tons of girls. But I damn well know what to do when I get one beneath me.

That’s not a boast. It’s just me being grateful that I know how to pay attention.

And damn.

Speaking of grateful, the man upstairs must have been feeling sorry for us fellas down on Earth when he created the blonde who just walked into the Hairy Monk, the Lower East Side pub where I’m spending this rainy afternoon with my friends Jack and Danika. The nonalcoholic beer I’m holding remains suspended in my hand as the blonde peels back her hoody and shakes out her umbrella. I’m not ashamed to say her body caught my attention first. I’m a man in my sexual prime and by prime, I mean I’m horny most of the goddamn day. So the whole overalls that end in a skirt look? It’s really working for me, because her legs are two sticks of dynamite and I’m more than willing to die in the explosion.

But it’s her face that rocks me back on my booted heels.

Whoa. My stomach knots up. Which is unusual. I train at the police academy six days a week, and I eat like a pregnant horse. My stomach is made of iron. This girl’s face, though . . . it’s like I know her from somewhere, but there’s no way we’ve ever met. Yeah, I would have remembered. Would have asked her out and possibly resorted to begging.

That’s another thing about me. I’m not short on confidence.

Yeah, every guy in the place—including my pal, Jack—is checking her out, but I’m willing to bet no one has the balls to go talk to her. What is it with men making women do all the heavy lifting nowadays? Are they afraid of rejection? Worst case scenario, she tells me to fuck off, flashes a wedding ring or feigns deafness. In which case, I chalk it up to a lesson learned and walk away with my pride intact, knowing I had enough brass between my legs to take a shot.

“Don’t even think about it,” I say to Jack, finally sipping from my neglected beer. “She’s mine. As far as you’re concerned, she’s invisible.”

Jack smiles like a drunk pirate into his whiskey. To be fair, that’s his default expression. Drunk, disorderly pirate. And yet women flock to him like he’s giving away free Adele tickets. “One problem with that. I’m not invisible to her, Charlie boy.”

“Good thing your ego is,” Danika mutters, from eight inches down where she’s sandwiched between us. Danika: small in stature. Large in attitude. “It’s not a matter of who calls dibs. She could very well tell you both to fuck off.”

I shake my head, still a little confused over the whole stomach knot situation. The blonde is sitting beneath a bar light now and God. God. She’s just been out there, roaming around the Earth this whole time? Her eyes are huge and full of humor. The good kind, like she’d blush over a dirty joke, then tack on an even filthier punch line. When the bartender asks what she’ll have, she doesn’t even look at the chalkboard . . . and then her incredible mouth moves and my fly almost unzips itself. “If she tells anyone to fuck off, it’s going to be me.”

Jack chuckles under his breath, which also makes him sound like he should be manning a ship with a skull-and-crossbones flag. “Now there’s the can-do attitude they teach us at the academy.”

My friend’s sarcasm isn’t lost on me. Everyone who comes into contact with Jack knows he can take or leave the academy. Whenever he makes his disdain known, I bite my tongue so I won’t break into a motivational locker room–type speech. Becoming a cop is my sole purpose in life. I go to bed at night dreaming about the badge. About making my bureau chief father and lieutenant brother proud. It baffles me when my friend doesn’t share my enthusiasm, but I’m learning to accept my freak-show overachiever status among our threesome of friends.

We’re roommates, sharing a three-bedroom apartment a couple blocks away with Jack’s childhood friend, and fellow academy attendee, Danika. Danika is the reason Jack put his unmotivated ass through just enough college to enroll in the academy. And I’m pretty sure she’d scouted me out at orientation, pegging me as someone who would help motivate her pal, and the three of us have been inseparable ever since. Despite the fact that we’re all opposites and drive one another crazy.

“You leave blondie on ice too long, someone else is going to get the honor of her fuck off,” Jack says, signaling for another whiskey. “What’s taking you so long?”

“Good question,” I mutter, tapping my beer against my thigh. “Did I shave today?”

Danika lifts a dark brow. “You’re asking us?”

“Thinking out loud. What am I wearing?”

“Look down and find out.”

“I can’t. She’s looking right at me.” And she is. The friend she arrived with is tapping away on her cell phone and gesturing, but blondie is watching me curiously through the crowd of Knicks fans, tapping a cocktail straw on the edge of her glass. The knots in my stomach now have knots. “If I do a clothing check, she’ll know I’m wondering if I look decent enough to approach her. I’ll lose all sense of mystery.”

“You are eye fucking her across the bar. Mystery solved,” Jack drawls, sipping his fresh drink. “Shit, Charlie boy. This might be the first time I’ve ever seen you . . .”

“Hesitant,” Danika, the smartest among us, supplies. “He’s right. Your caveman mentality is bent. Did you sleep on it funny last night?”

My scholarly roommate is right. And if I don’t move soon, I’m never going to live this down. Glancing over at Jack, I can already see the wise-cracks forming, preparing for delivery. What is it about this girl that makes me think twice about introducing myself?