My Cop Husband Can't Text

I stared at my reflection in the Bellagio hotel mirror, trying to convince myself that the glittery mini dress wasn't a terrible idea.

"Jess! Come on! The Uber's downstairs!" My best friend Madison poked her head out of the bathroom, her hair curled to perfection like a blonde Barbie doll.

"I'm still thinking this dress might be too..."

"Too hot? Too perfect? Too likely to cause traffic accidents?" Madison grinned. "Girl, this is my bachelorette party. You need to look like you're about to seduce the entire state of Nevada."

I rolled my eyes. "Fine, but if I get arrested because of this dress, you're bailing me out."

Honestly, the last time I wore something this short was in college when I naively thought showing leg would help me pass calculus. Spoiler alert: it didn't.

"Ladies!" The other three girls burst out from the adjoining room, clutching pre-mixed cocktails. "What's the mission?"

"Get blackout drunk, find hot guys, and make Madison forget she's marrying that boring accountant tomorrow!"

Everyone cheered and raised their glasses. I laughed along, even though I actually thought Brad was pretty decent. But who says that at a bachelorette party?

Two hours and countless Cosmos later, we were completely lost in Vegas's neon wonderland. Madison insisted on playing blackjack, even though she couldn't remember the basic rules.

"Hit me!" she yelled at the dealer, already holding nineteen.

"Madison, you can't—"

"Hit me harder!"

The dealer looked like he wanted to call security.

That's when a large hand gently touched Madison's shoulder. "Ma'am, maybe you should take a break."

I looked up and saw him.

Holy shit.

If someone asked me to describe my ideal man, I'd say: imagine Captain America, but in a black suit, with ocean-blue eyes and that whole "I can protect you from anything" vibe.

"I'm hotel security," he told Madison, his voice deep enough to make my knees weak. "Your friend here is pretty drunk. Maybe you ladies should consider heading back to your room?"

Security? This security guard is hotter than Chris Hemsworth. The mini dress plan is working, just not on the intended target.

"We're fine, Officer..." I squinted at his name tag. "Sullivan."

He turned to me, those blue eyes scanning me carefully. I felt like I was getting the full body X-ray treatment.

"It's just Mike," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "And you are?"

"Jess. And we're celebrating." I tried to sound composed, though the alcohol was making my tongue a little rebellious. "My friend's getting married tomorrow."

"Congratulations." He glanced at Madison, who was now face-down on the blackjack table, mumbling something incoherent about Brad. "But maybe the celebration should move somewhere safer?"

"Like where?"

He was quiet for a second, then said, "How about I buy you a coffee? Sober you up a little?"

A security guard wants to buy me coffee. In Vegas. At 10 PM. This is either the world's most boring pickup line, or he's genuinely concerned about my safety. Either way, I really want to find out.

"So," Mike said, sliding a black coffee across the hotel café table, "what do you do when you're not crashing Vegas with drunk bridesmaids?"

"I'm a social media manager. You know, Instagram, TikTok, making brands look cool and relatable." I took a sip of coffee, feeling my brain clear up a bit. "What about you? Always been hotel security?"

He shook his head. "Actually, I'm a cop. Miami PD. Just picking up some extra shifts here while I'm on vacation."

Of course he's a cop. Of course. I always manage to find the guys with the most dangerous, relationship-incompatible careers. My last boyfriend was a war correspondent, and the one before that was a professional motorcycle racer. Apparently my type is "might die tomorrow."

"A cop," I repeated. "That's... intense."

"Yeah, well, someone's gotta keep the peace." He shrugged like he was talking about the weather. "What about social media? That sounds... chaotic."

I laughed. "You have no idea. Yesterday I had to explain to a sixty-year-old CEO why posting a crying emoji during a product launch was a bad idea."

"Crying emoji?"

"😭 This one."

He stared at my phone screen, his eyebrows forming a question mark. "People actually use those?"

Oh my God. He doesn't know what emojis are. This man might be more digitally illiterate than my dad. This should be a red flag, but why do I find it kind of adorable?

"Mike," I said slowly, "do you even have social media accounts?"

"I have Facebook. Haven't checked it since 2018."

I nearly spit out my coffee. "2018? What have you been doing for six years?"

"Working. Working out. Sleeping. Watching Netflix sometimes."

"What do you watch on Netflix?"

"Documentaries. True crime stuff."

Of course it's true crime. I've met a real-life procedural drama hero who's been living in 2015. And me, a modern woman who survives on Instagram stories, is being completely charmed by him. This is definitely going to be a disaster, but maybe an interesting disaster.