“Don’t do it,” I whispered worriedly. “This would change everything. I have to see you every day at the complex. You have your car in my shop. You also are a police officer.” “What does being a police officer have to do with anything?” he asked, humor lacing his voice. “It has to do with the fact that I find men in uniforms sexy, and if we do this once, we’ll be doing it again,” I snapped at him. “And you better be sure, because I’m a grade A clinger. You put that big wiener in me, and I’m going to not be responsible for what I do next.” “What kind of clinger is a grade A clinger?” he asked.
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