See Something You Like??

Untitled Part 1

Nothing about Dennis Booker's appearance would lead anyone to believe he's got an ounce of softness or affability housed in that frame of his. Yet, under that thick outward skin is buried a marshmallow textured heart.

His shrewd, sharp-eyed gaze bristles with all the force of uncontained infernos. The kinds of rapid blazes that burn thousands of acres to smoldering ash in a matter of seconds. Shadows stir, drifting in and out, with the flittering of his midnight-tainted lashes. The cupid-bows of his lips are double-edged. They're distinctly capable of dribbling words half dipped in venom with such an edge, it could lead many to destruction. At other times, his lips herald the sweetest of honeyed words rendering the nearest parties into moldable putty. Unuttered taunts teasingly curl at the corners of his lips, pulling a shade of mystery into every hint of a smile that dares venture forth.

Judy Hoffs knows him as a series of walking contradictions. She has caught the bad boy act enough times to know that Dennis does it with remarkable fineness, but she's also seen the other, more sedate side, the kind side. Whenever that sanguine and caring disposition crawled out, it became far too easy to feel endearment towards his persona.

Her eyes casually drift upwards from her paper-work to stare at him. Blessedly, a twist of fortune had caused Judy to suggest the empty desk opposite her's, and she is glad of it. It came with the advantage of getting to stare without being blatantly obvious about it.

Hoffs can't help but think that Dennis Booker has got all the allure of a GQ magazine cover. That is, if they were to allow hardened punks, donning leather jackets with earrings, to be plastered on the front-page. Especially, one who palpably exuded all the chaotic energies of a storm. Not just any storm, one capable of great devastation.

Even in the shallow glow of the chapel's stained-glass windows, Booker could never hope to be cast as a saint. Lord knows he's got the faintest degree of devilish mischief engraved into his very bones. Something he probably relishes in, given his shaky reputation.

Today, Judy stares too long.

Booker's deep hazel eyes hone in on her own like heat-seeking missiles with zero interests in diverting. Bashfulness is not one of his qualities, nor has it ever been. "See something you like?" He presses. Dennis delights in pressing his luck as far as it'll take him. What was that awful poster-board worthy slogan? It's not the destination, but the journey. His enchantment with his own casework wanes. Eagerly he leans forward for the extrapolation of her reply.

Rattled, Judy's coffee orbs falter downwards, back to her paperwork. She's not used to being confronted with that level of assertiveness. It causes her to swallow hard. "I don't think that's any of your business, Book." A certain level of friendly frost dwells in the corners of her words.

Shades of amusement color Dennis's countenance. A huff of stifled laughter is clipped short, though, it still manages to grace the air. He hadn't been anticipating that response with her extensive repertoire.

Tossing the manila folder he'd been skimming aside, Booker ventures to get as close to Judy as possible. The nearness of his proximity to her was destined to earn him an envious series of glowers from Hanson and Penhall. Even still, Dennis can not be convinced to care about stepping on their toes. He'll just casually smooth it over in the morning.

His tongue gradually navigates the curve of his lower-lip. He's summoning up the nerve to speak what's on his mind. "Why don't we make it my business over a couple of beers?" Now, it's his turn to unabashedly ogle her. Without waiting long for her reply, he presses. "I'll even buy." Hands dip into his pockets, afraid to overstep his bounds too quickly.

With an offer like that, how could she refuse? Yet, Hoffs makes him suffer in the silence for several minutes before she reveals her answer. "Don't you think you have enough business on your hands already?" It's coy, very deliberate attempt to mislead him.

"Yeah, well," he starts his eyes glowing, "what can I say? I could always use a little more." A flash of a hopeful smile sweeps across his face. "So what do you say, Jude?" Dennis prods with not-so subtle fervor. "You coming with me for a few beers?"

"You're not going to quit asking until I agree. Are you?" She half-rhetorically questions. Her own lips relinquishing a grin that nearly rivals his.

Stubbornness and insubordination were two of his best staples. "Probably not." The answer carries all the nonchalant energies of calm seas. "So do you want to spare me the humiliation of getting on my knees and begging?" As if he'd ever stoop that low--

Judy purses her lips. Her gaze skeptically dances over Booker at the thought of there ever being a hint of submission visited upon him. She couldn't reconcile the mental image with his unwavering personality, nor did she want to. She liked that Dennis Booker was unapologetically strong-minded and as unbendable as the world's strongest metal. It was all part of the seductive enticement surrounding him. "Well, a little groveling never hurt. Psychology books even say it builds character," Judy teases. She might be a police officer, but she still fancied the idea of being wooed. Then realizing she never gave her answer, she adds. "Sure. I suppose I can free up my schedule long enough to get a few drinks with you."

Relief tugs Dennis's broad shoulders down. He'd been expecting her to turn him down with a series of brutal words. His eyes which typically prided themselves on concealing every thought, revealed only ecstatic astonishment. Running a ringed hand across the fuzz of his brow, he beams. "I'll even drive. No offense, but that car of yours isn't the most inconspicuous." If she wanted to continue to keep these flirtations away from prying eyes the Jump Street gang, the last thing he'd need is for her very noticeable beat-up green Roadster to be made.

"Yeah, okay." She eyes him in amusement. She has no qualms about riding in his 1968 Firebird. In fact, it sort of relieved her that she wouldn't be expected to drive. "You going to get the door for me too?" Hoffs goads. There's a playful lilt entrapped in her tone to indicate that she's just giving him a hard time.

A devilish grin twists his lips to their fullest potential. That grin of his stretches towards his earlobes till it can move no farther. "Do I look like the chivalrous type to you?" He questions, knowing that he was indeed that type of guy. His hands gesticulate towards himself, pulling towards his sturdy chest.

With a touch of laughter trickling across her lips, Judy gives her honest reply. "Depends on the day and the hour. Right now..." She gives just enough of a pause to inspect him. Her dark-eyed gaze lingers a touch longer than absolutely necessary on his bodacious form. "Right now, I say... you do."

Man, he swears he's in love. Hoffs challenges him in ways that no one else ever did. Feeling quite brave, Dennis Booker coils his arm about her shoulders and drags her closer to himself. Quizzical, he examines her. "I do?" His nose scrunches in mock distaste. Yet, there is a part of Dennis buried ten thousand links down that is extremely flattered that she can still see the real him. The man he was beneath the work façade.

"Yeah." She affirms. Hoffs melts into his embrace during their trek across the chapel's scarcely packed parking-lot.

Lowering his voice a scandalous degree, he teasingly remarks. "Man, I really need to fix my image, if that's what you see."

Her coffee eyes twinkle with gleeful mirth when they meet his again. "Can it wait till tomorrow?" She prods when he opens the passenger's side door for her to slide in.

Lifting his eyes heavenwards in false exasperation, Dennis replies. "I guess the revamp can wait a few hours. I can put it right up there with fixing my 'fantastic' reputation." Every undertone of sarcasm is embedded in the word 'fantastic'. With that he clambers into the drivers side seat.