Chapter 6: I Knew You Were Trouble

once upon a time / a few mistakes ago / I was in your sights / you got me alone / you found me

I knew you were trouble when you walked in / so shame on me now / you blew me to places I'd never been

trouble / trouble / trouble

***

I sit in a booth at the crowded bar at 6 pm sharp that Friday, waiting for Detective Rowley to show up.

I don't know how exactly he'll find me, but there's a notepad and pen sitting on the wooden table in front of me. I'm sure, based on what he does for a living, that he should be able to make a deduction.

After a few minutes of watching the door, I sit up straighter as a tall man walks in. Dark, messy hair, jeans, black t-shirt and a jacket. His eyes scan the room, and when they find me, his face breaks into a small, playful smirk.

I guess that's him. Detective Rowley is, I can admit, ruggedly handsome.

I make a conscious effort not to run my eyes down his muscular body as he makes his way over to my table, sliding into the booth across from me. And he has to be a fricking police officer. He flashes me a devilish grin. "You are definitely not Roger."

I raise an eyebrow. "Excellent observation, Detective. You must be very good at your job."

This is going to be fun. I don't miss the way his eyes take me in, my straight brown hair and sharp eyes, simple pair of skinny jeans and a thin blouse. His eyes are a dark, sparkling brown.

"You have no idea, love." Pinkness stains my cheeks from that nickname in that accent. He extends a large, rough hand. "Detective Dylan Rowley."

I shake it, and his grip is strong and warm. "Melanie Collins."

A small, crooked grin. "Pleasure, Melanie. Are you new at The Press? I've met Roger, Seth, Marcus... but this is a nice change." So, so smooth.

"Started a little while ago, Detective Rowley." It's better that he doesn't know about my inexperience or how green I am. He needs to take me seriously if I have a chance at getting some decent information from him.

"What will you have to drink, Collins?" He raises a hand to get a server's attention.

"Just a Coke, please," I order from the waitress who arrives at our table.

"That's no fun, love." He gives her a panty-melting grin. "Make that two beers, please, darling." She blushes at his low voice and that English accent, giving him a small nod and a smile before rushing off.

"Such a charmer," I tease dryly, rolling my eyes. "I'm on duty, Detective."

"You can call me Dylan, Melanie. As much as I'm sure you're enjoying whatever wild copper fantasies are running through that pretty head of yours..." A dirty wink.

I can't help let out a small laugh. "You are so full of yourself, Detective."

He runs a hand through that messy hair. "I just enjoy teasing you, sweetheart. You should see how bloody attractive you are when you blush."

And I can't help it, damn it, I blush. This man is going to make my job more difficult than it needs to be.

As ridiculous as it sounds, there are two too many handsome men complicating my life right now.

I pick up the pen, trying to regain some semblance of control. "If you want me to have a drink with you, Dylan, you're gonna need to answer some of my questions first." The challenge in my voice is unmistakable.

He is obviously flirting with me, and I'm flirting back because as an interview tactic, it's working so far.

A laborious sigh. We thank the waitress as she drops off our drinks, and I smile triumphantly at him because she brought me a Coke along with the beer after all.

"And here I was thinking you might want to spend this Friday evening in a bar enjoying yourself." A disappointed shake of the head. "You journalists are all the same."

I bite my lip, hiding a smile. "You sure about that?"

The look he gives me, dark and smoldering, it's like he just admitted aloud that he wants to get into my pants, and I can feel my skin heat up.

I do not need more sex in my life at the moment. And Detective Dylan Rowley is fricken sex on legs.

"I'm investigating drug-trafficking in the GTA," I begin slowly, watching the expression on his face for any hints.

Something in those brown eyes darkens, I see a bit of... guardedness seep into to his carefree expression. He lets out a small, rough breath. "You and me both, darling."

I study him, waiting for more, but he doesn't meet my eyes. Hm. I knew, in my gut, that something more was going on here, and his reaction confirms it for me. "Dylan, help me out, okay?" My voice is soft. His gaze returns to mine, intrigued by the gentle seriousness that has filled my tone. "I know that something is going on. Things don't add up. I've done my research and I think you know what I'm talking about. I think you can give me something more to work with here."

Establish trust with the interviewee.

His eyes study me, searching my face for something. He rubs a hand pensively across that sharp jaw, and then lets out a resigned breath.

Check.

"Melanie." His voice suddenly lacks that characteristic humor I've come to expect from him. "You don't know what you're getting yourself into, love. This..." He shakes his head, looking a little defeated. "This is bigger than you can handle. I wish I could help you out, but I can't in good conscience let you keep chasing after this without warning you." He leans in across the table, and I find myself leaning instinctively towards him. "Drop this, darling. It won't do you any good."

Shit. Better than I even imagined. I can feel my heart rate pick up a little. I am too curious for my own good, and Detective Rowley just threw gas into the flames.

"Detective," I breathe, leaning closer so we can feel the warm of each other's exhales against our skin,  "You sound awfully corrupt right now." His eyes glance down to my lips.

A small, rough sound leaves the back of his throat. Fire flashes across his eyes at my accusation. Before I can move away, his fingers reach forward, grasp my chin. When he speaks, his lips are maybe three inches away. "Don't you dare accuse me of corruption, Melanie. I've been following this case for the last three years and it's a fucking shit show." He comes close enough to press the tip of his nose to mine, and I can't breathe.

Our eyes meet for one long, intense second before he pulls away, his face flushed as he sits back against the seat.

I press into the booth behind me, watching him. He watches me too.

"I can't let this go, Dylan. I need to do my job, and I'll do it with or without your help."

He shakes his head, a heavy sigh escaping those full lips. He takes a long sip of his beer, and my mind is busy running a million miles a minute. "You have no idea what you're getting yourself into."

I bite my lip, tilt my head to the side. I'm pretty and he's attracted to me and I know it, so I decide to use it to my advantage. "Enlighten me, then, Detective."

A small, tired smile plays at the edges of his mouth. "Are you always so stubborn, Collins?"

"I'm a journalist, remember?"

That earns me a low, gruff chuckle. "Unfortunately for me, I bet you're a pretty good one, too."

And something in my chest starts singing. Hell yes I am.

I rest an elbow on the table, leaning against my palm. "Come on, Detective. Give me something."

That same playful glimmer returns to his eyes. "Tell you what, love." Something in his tone makes me know I'm going to regret this. "Let's make a deal, okay?"

I raise a cautious eyebrow. "I'm listening," I say hesitantly.

A sparkling, mischievous grin. "You go out on a real date with me, and I'll tell you what I know."

Oh crap. Crap on a fricken stick.

I can't help it when I flush. "I'm not whoring myself out for a lead, Rowley."

He rolls those dangerous eyes. "First of all, I said date, not sex." Oh, but the sparkle in his gaze tells a different story. "Second, you and I both know that you enjoy my company."

"Debatable."

"But your face says otherwise." Damn it.

He knows how badly I want to know more, and he's using it as leverage.

"Thirdly." He meets my eyes, flames dancing in his, and flashes me a wolfish smile. "When I do finally get you in my bed, it'll be because you want me, not because you want more information about some stupid case."

Fuck. My face is red as a tomato, and it makes him laugh.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

"Stop harassing me, Dylan. You're making my job harder than it needs to be."

"Lighten up, Melanie. Have a drink." He raises his glass towards me, taking a sip.

After tonight, I am really gonna need one.

"Think about it, okay, love?" He grabs my pen, scribbling something onto the note pad. "You call me, when you change your mind."

And with his beer half-finished, he slides out of the booth, one last infuriating wink before he walks out of the bar.

I stare at his cell number scrawled on the paper in front of me.

It's official. The universe hates me.

***

Song credit: Taylor Swift, "I Knew You Were Trouble"