I stare up through the windshield, first at the building, then covertly at Detective Kildaire. The full weight of his job and why we’re here hits me like a punch from The Thing. I’ve now yelled at, thought about kissing, and threatened the physical well-being of an officer of the law. Without the station and the car, he’s just a cute, slightly annoying guy. Now, watching him climb out of the car, throw his suit jacket on, and check to make sure his badge is in his pocket . . . it’s real. I fight back a groan. I’ve made a pretty awesome idiot out of myself. My palms are sweating, and my nerves
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Actually a good little passage.
