Maguire
I’m tugging my ill-fitting uniform into place when I hear Meg’s voice out in the hallway. “Copper! Emergency! Help!”
I take off like a shot, darting through my apartment, flinging the door open. I’m at her side in less than five seconds. And I’m happy to say that the “emergency” at hand is just a matter of too many grocery bags. Meg has staggered out of the elevator, arms full. My first act of mercy is grabbing the bag that’s perilously close to sliding out of her grip.
“Oh my God, thank you. I don’t like to pull the helpless female card, but it would be a crime if one of these bottles of wine broke.”
“I hear you, babe.” I relieve her of two shopping bags, leaving her with just one to manage as she reaches for her keys.
“My hero.” She gives me a grin and then a head-to-toe once-over. “New uniform? That’s a funky shade of blue.”
“Yeah,” I grunt. Hopefully she won’t look too close. The uniform is part of a surprise I have brewing. So I change the topic. “Feeling hungry? I think you bought out the store.”
“I bought three kinds of chips. Grapes, cheese, and some fancy crackers…” She leads me into her apartment, where we deposit the bags on the counter. “…Red wine, white wine, rum, guacamole, and—my piece de resistance—little frozen pigs in the blankets. All I have to do is put them on a cookie sheet and bake them for 22 minutes!”
“A miracle!” I chuckle. Meg still doesn’t cook and it’s doubtful that she ever will. She says that’s why God invented frozen foods.
Let’s just say that I do a lot of the cooking around here. And she mixes the drinks.
“I’m having a spur of the moment party.” She’s pulling a metric ton of snack foods out of those grocery bags. “Look—this is for Hemingway Daiquiris.” She holds up a pink grapefruit. “Just in case I can entice you to blow off your event tonight.”
“Ah.” The very last of Meg’s episodes on Pierson of Interest airs tonight. Meg and I watched the first five of them cuddled up on the sofa together.
But I don’t plan to watch this one. Even if I haven’t told her exactly why. Anyway, tonight there’s a town meeting at City Hall that I plan to attend, because police relations is one of the items up for discussion. Meg knows this already, and she doesn’t really blame me for missing her show.
Even so, I move around the kitchen island to a place where I can stand right behind her at the counter. I wrap my arms around her.
And because I can’t help myself, I place a soft kiss on the back of her smooth neck. And then another one. She stops fiddling with the groceries and leans back into my embrace. We’re quiet for a moment together. I’m used to this now—to being half a couple. It doesn’t even feel strange anymore. She feels right in my arms.
Hemingway said once: “The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them.” And he was a really smart man. I trust Meg, and I trust us. And I’m about to show her how much.
“Listen, Trouble,” I whisper. “I’m sorry I can’t watch your show tonight.”
“I know you are. But you can watch later.”
“No, I really can’t.”
“Of course you can! I’m recording the episode.”
“I get that. But what I mean is that I really can’t bring myself to watch it. I have no trouble watching the scenes where you chase down the bad guys. And I didn’t even mind those scenes where that asshole put his hands all over you.” Well, I minded. But I kept it to myself. “But I just cannot watch a scene where you get killed.”
Meg turns around suddenly in my arms, and her face is full of surprise. “Mac, it’s fake. I’m standing right here.”
“Doesn’t matter.“ I shake my head. “I don’t want that image in my mind. I love you too much to watch that.”
Her eyes fill. “You are really something else. Have I told you that?”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat, because I hate making people cry. “Look, when are all of your friends coming over?”
“Not for an hour.”
“Oh. Phew. Because I have a present to give you.”
“Really?” She bats her damp eyelashes at me. “I love presents. Is this a literal present? Or a naked present?”
“Well…” It’s honestly a little of both. “You need to sit on the couch and wait. I have to go get something. Or I guess we could do this later. I went out on a limb and I’m having second thoughts already.”
“Pfft!” she brushes that idea away. “With that build up, you have to give it to me right now. I love danger.”
Of course she does. “I’ll be right back.”
Now, I’ve done a little research into what’s about to happen. And, yes, a little research means I asked Lance. The man drives me insane, but sometimes all those sexy books he’s reading are full of suggestions. And I’m banking that this is a good suggestion. Or I’m going to punch him in the throat.
Maybe that’s harsh.
If this doesn’t work, he’s buying me a meatball sub, at least.
It’ll work though. Meg once asked me if I’d ever done anything really crazy for love. The truth is, I’ve never let go long enough to be crazy. But she makes me want to free fall.
So here I go.
I dim the lights.
“What’s going on?” she calls.
Then I connect the mini disco ball to my iPhone, lean into the room and set it on the counter.
Then I hit PLAY on the song I’ve got queued up.
It’s a raunchy, down and dirty hip-hop song.
I’m hoping she recognizes it.
Then I hear her laughing. “Oh my God!” she cries. “Is this the song from when I was a serving wench and I thought you were a…”
She doesn’t finish the thought. She doesn’t have to.
Because tonight, right now, I’m not a cop. Not a real cop.
Nope.
I’m a down and dirty stripper, and I’m gyrating to the music as if I’m trying to screw something to the floor. Maybe I am.
Meg’s face lights up. “Over here, Copper! Me! Me!!”
I strut over to her and grind up close to her, but not touching. I can feel the music leading me. Or maybe it’s just the pull I feel from Meg.
“Mac,” she breathes. “Are those...”
I think maybe she’s noticed that this is no regular cop’s uniform.
Honestly, Lance is a wealth of information.
I stand in front of her and rip my shirt off. It literally rips off. There’s velcro instead of buttons.
“Oh, oh!” she cries. “Please, please please tell me that your pants rip off too!”
I’m too busy flexing to do anything but wink at her. She reaches for me and I pause just long enough for her to grab ahold of my removable trousers and give one big tug.
This time, the pants fall right off of me.
Huh.
That is super handy. Easy access.
Meg is in hysterics. I get a little concerned that this is going all wrong and I stop for a second, then she cries out, “Don’t you fucking stop dancing, Copper!”
And then she’s giggling some more. “What on earth are you wearing? Shouldn’t you be totally naked? What is covering your...junk?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” I ask. And I thrust at her. If you’re going to go free fall, you might as well be wearing a red thong that has a sling for your balls. I give a little jiggle. I turn a little so she can see the little pocket. “This is for you,” I say.
“You’re giving me your dick? This is the best day ever!” she squeals.
I’m still grinding.
“The POCKET,” I say.
“Oh. Oh!” She grabs me by the hips and brings me close to her. Her eyes and mouth are at the perfect position. One quick grab of this thong and I’ll be straight up against her lips.
“Reach in the pocket,” I say, because if I don’t say something, I’m going to rip her clothes off before I can get to the good part. And this is the good part.
She reaches for me. Digs in the pocket. And pulls out a key.
“To your handcuffs?” she asks.
I stop dancing. Run my hand through her hair. She’s looking up at me and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful sight than her brown eyes looking into mine. “It’s a key to my apartment,” I say. “So you can stop breaking in. And maybe, you know, just stay.”
“Are you asking me to move in with you?”
I nod. “I’m asking.”
“So. Ask.”
She never lets me off the hook.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“I’m asking you to move in with me. But it’s more than that. I want you to move that ridiculous plant over to my place. And your pillows. I want to help you when you’re freaking out about all the stuff you need to organize for Meg’s Mobs. I want you to take out all that anxiety on me at night. Or in the morning. Mid-afternoon. I want to cook for you. And I want you to pick up takeout sometimes. I want you to stop being the girl next door, and be the girl who stays. I want you to move in. And never, not ever, move away. So I guess what this key is, is me. Asking you for forever.”
Anything could happen right now. Anything.
She gives me her hand, and I tug her upwards. She answers me with her kiss. Her arms are around me and her lips are against me and there are no words for a few moments.
“You know,” she says, “if you ever ask me to marry you, you’re going to have to come up with a proposal that will top this. That’s going to be difficult.”
I smile at her. Taste her lips one more time. “I’ll think of something.”
“I know you will, Mac. Now shut up and dance with me. And without that ridiculous thong.”
I take the thong off.
I take everything off.
From here on out, it’s just me and Meg, naked and vulnerable as can be.
And you know what?
I fucking love it.
Because I fucking love her.
Trouble and all.
T H E
E N D
We hope you enjoyed Man Cuffed! Did you know about the bonus materials? You can read the Man Hands Thanksgiving Shenanigans, and download a few of Brynn’s favorite recipes, right here.