Hotline Fling

33: Don't be Superman

Juneau's POV

Damian's dark brown hair was messier on the top than what he tucked under his uniform hat, evidence that he ran his hands through it, but a fresh shave showed off his sharp facial features. A faint mix of aftershave and a musky cologne lingered in the lobby air, and my heart pulsed faster as I drew in a deep breath of the masculine scent. The seductive lure returned me to its source.

His gaze cast down at the phone in his hand. Its silver color and the black leather on his coat sleeve both gleamed with his lifted arm. Eyes averted and a slight dent in his lower lip from rolling it in, he punched the elevator's interior button.

Except for the saliva rising under my tongue, my mouth dried from how long it hung open. Frenetic beats started in my chest, crept up my neck, and only stopped when my pulse buzzed in my ears. His tall, muscular body stilled under the weight of my ogling. Mine locked into a mirrored position when his eyes dragged up and met mine. Those golden browns stole my ability to function, and the part of his lips rendered my brain wiped into a blank slate of incoherent thoughts.

In person, I'd only seen him dressed in his uniform, a panty-soaking sight in itself. But him in street clothes? One glimpse plunged me into a pool of carnal attraction. It hummed beneath my skin, swells of ache pulling my heart out of my chest. His black leather coat was open, a V-neck sweater teasing a delectable sliver of skin, and a sharp divot at the base of his neck. From the even ends of his hair down to his fitted jeans, he expended care and attention to his appearance tonight. Accessibility looked devastatingly good on Damian; the real man beyond the cop was even hotter.

Except he stood frozen. A slight frown creased his forehead, and his lips opened further. "June?" That deep voice sounded equally surprised and concerned, resonating a siren's call off the bare lobby walls and floors.

With one word –no, one sound– the recognition I needed clicked in place. My heart swelled with a comforted sense of warmth, draining the well of emotions I carried down here. Like an internal on-switch, my body lit up with euphoric excitement. A lightness lifted the strain on my neck and shoulders, and my face relaxed into a smile.

He's here!? The same guy that just texted me.

Oh, my heart, who said he wants us to meet. In-person.

As quickly as his one spoken word registered in my brain, he was gone. Only closed elevator doors faced me, my dumbstruck look of shock blurring in the steel. "Damian!"

I stood for at least a full minute, blinking at a blurry version of myself in stainless steel. The ascended elevator lights stopped below Jason's floor. A cloudy mental fog filled my brain space, Had I imagined him out of false hope blooming from our text conversation?

My phone showed Damian hadn't replied, so I tucked it into my pocket. The same collection process attempt with my thoughts was a miserable failure.

Fuck knows I daydream about him enough.

My vagina was playing tricks.

Heated tingles between my legs spoke up like a guilty plea. I closed my eyes for several breaths, grasping for composure within a wasteland of confusion. Was it him? Or had my mind run wild with what my heart craved?

My cheeks warmed at the mental image of him up close, as a real person and not only a hot, uniformed guy. He was simply Damian. This man, who I met in the most embarrassing situations, sourced the voice that engulfed my body on fire, tickled my skin with goosebumps, and turned my vagina into fucking floodgates.

Why the hell was I walking away then?

Do I stop? Do I go back? I stopped wherever my feet had led me to, a few blocks from the Canal St subway station. One of my palms hit my forehead. How the hell had I gotten this far already? I didn't even know my feet were moving.