The scene outside the bar is a damn mess when I pull up. I was fixing to head home when I got the call to come here instead. Patrons are scattered like debris after a storm, a few still nursing their bruises while others talk in hushed voices, the excitement of the brawl simmering down into quiet tension. My eyes sweep over the chaos until they lock on the one person I'd never expect to find in this mess—Valarie.

She's sitting on the sidewalk, handcuffed. A cop stands in front of her, saying something. Probably reading her rights to her. I walk up to the two of them.

"I've got this one," I say, making eye contact with the cop. He nods and walks off.

Valarie looks both embarrassed and a little relieved when she looks up at me. The neon lights from the bar throw strange shadows across her face.

I stride over to her, fighting the mix of irritation and concern swirling inside me. This is not where she's supposed to be—not on a night off, not on any night. "So, this is how you spend your nights off? Starting bar fights?" My voice comes out rougher than I intended.

Her eyes meet mine, defiant even as she shifts uncomfortably on the curb. "In my defense, I didn't start the fight," she says, lifting her chin slightly. "But I sure as hell ended it. The guy deserved being punched after he shoved me into the pool table." She winces slightly, her hand hovering near her lower back. "I'm pretty sure I can already feel a bruise forming."

That does it. The thought of anyone laying hands on her sends a surge of fury straight through me, hot and uncontrollable. "He shoved you?" The words come out in a low growl, and I see her flinch at the intensity of it. "Are you okay?"

Her expression softens just a little, the tension in her shoulders easing as she registers my concern. "I'm fine," she says, though I'm not sure I believe her.

I'm on autopilot as I help her to her feet, my hands gentle on her arms, the cool metal of the cuffs reminding me just how wrong this situation is. Her handcuffed wrists feel too fragile, too vulnerable in my grasp, and I have to tamp down the urge to tear them off right then and there. Instead, I guide her over to my cruiser, opening the back door for her. She slides in, her movements stiff, and I can tell the pain is starting to set in.

Once she's seated, I reach for the cuffs, releasing them with a practiced flick, then pause. "Let me see where you're hurt."

She hesitates for a moment, then nods. "Okay."

I shift closer, my breath catching as she turns and lifts her shirt just enough to expose her lower back. The act feels unexpectedly intimate, the soft fabric of her shirt sliding over my fingers as I push it up slightly. My eyes zero in on the darkening bruise that's already forming, spreading across her skin. A deep surge of protectiveness wells up in me, mingled with anger at the bastard who did this.

Gently, I run my fingers along the edge of the bruise, careful not to press too hard. "It's pretty bad," I say quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. The words feel inadequate, hollow, in the face of the anger still simmering just beneath my skin.

She sighs, letting her shirt drop back down. "I'll live. I've had worse." There's a hint of bravado in her voice, but I can hear the underlying weariness.

I want to argue, to tell her that she needs to have it checked out. But I don't. She's a nurse, after all. I'm sure she has this handled. "How about I take you home?"

She looks at me with surprise and relief in her eyes. "Wait—am I not being arrested?"

I smirk, trying to lighten the mood. "How are we supposed to go on our date tomorrow if you're in jail for starting a bar fight?"

A small smile tugs at her lips, and she shakes her head. "Yeah, that would be difficult."

"Exactly," I say, stepping back away from her. "Let me tell the guys what's going on, and then I'll get you out of here."

I approach my fellow officers, who are still busy sorting out the chaos. I explain the situation, keeping it brief. They give me a few knowing looks—there's no hiding the fact that this is personal—but they don't question it. I'm grateful for that. After a quick exchange, I head back to the car, my focus entirely on getting Valarie home.

The drive to her apartment is quiet at first, the tension from the night still hanging in the air between us. I steal glances at her as I drive, noting the way she keeps shifting in her seat, trying to get comfortable. The anger I felt earlier hasn't completely dissipated.

"Thanks for getting me out of there," she finally says, breaking the silence. Her voice is soft, almost tentative, as if she's still processing everything that happened.

"You don't have to thank me," I reply, keeping my eyes on the road. "I'm just glad you're okay."

She lets out a small, humorless laugh. "I'm not sure 'okay' is the right word. But I'll survive. It wasn't my first bar fight, and probably won't be my last."

I bark a laugh and glance at her, my grip on the steering wheel tightening. "So this is how you spend your free time?"

"Only when it comes to it. I've got a mean right hook."

She has so many more layers than I initially thought. And for some reason, this wild side of her only makes me more attracted to her.

I keep my eyes on the road, but I can't stop the grin that's tugging at the corners of my mouth. Valarie's full of surprises. The nurse who saves lives by day and throws punches by night? Yeah, she's nothing like the women I've dated before. There's a fire in her that I didn't see coming, and it's got me hooked.

Most people, they put on a front, show you what they think you want to see. But Valarie—she's unapologetically herself, even when that means admitting to getting into bar fights on her day off. It's refreshing, if not a little intimidating. She's strong, resilient, and completely unpredictable. The kind of woman who can take care of herself, but who I still want to protect.

It's silent for a moment before I speak again. "That guy had no right to put his hands on you."

"I know," she says quietly, her gaze fixed on the passing buildings outside the window. "But I handled it."

We pull up to her apartment building and I park the cruiser and cut the engine. The sudden quietness fills the small space between us.

"Do you want to come up?" she asks, her voice breaking through the stillness. There's a hint of something in her tone, something uncertain, as if she's not sure what my answer will be. Or maybe she isn't fully sure she wants to be asking.

I hesitate for only a second, trying to read her body language. I don't want to go up if she isn't actually inviting me. What if she's just trying to be nice? But something in the way she's looking at me tells me that her invitation was genuine. "Yeah, I'll come up. I'm actually finishing my shift anyway, so I can hang out for a bit."

Her apartment is cozy and reminds me a lot of mine. She heads to the kitchen and grabs a couple of waters from the fridge, handing one to me as she joins me on the couch. We sit there for a moment, the quietness between us settling into something more comfortable.

We make small talk, our conversation meandering from work to the bar fight and back again. She tells me the whole story about what happened at the bar, and I'm honestly impressed with how she handled herself.

The tension in the room shifts as we sit there on her couch, the small talk fading into something quieter, something charged. The remnants of the night's chaos feel far away now, left outside in the city, while inside, it's just us—just this moment. I take another sip of my water, my eyes drifting to Valarie as she leans back against the cushions, her body finally starting to relax.

She glances at me, a small smile playing on her lips, and there's something in her gaze—something that pulls at me, makes me want to close the distance between us. I've seen her in a lot of different lights, but right now, there's a softness to her that's new, a vulnerability that she usually keeps hidden beneath her strength. And damn if that doesn't make me want to get closer, to know her in a way that I haven't yet.

The conversation picks back up, our words lighter now, filled with little teases and hints of flirtation. It's comfortable, easy, but there's a current running underneath it all—a pull that's slowly drawing us closer together. Her laughter is soft, genuine, and it lights something inside me, something that makes me want to see just how far this will go.

Her gaze holds mine, and for a moment, the room feels smaller, the space between us narrowing. There's a beat of silence, thick with anticipation, before I finally ask the question that's been lingering in the back of my mind. "Are you sober?"

Her eyebrows lift slightly in surprise, but she nods. "Yeah, I am. Why?"

I lean in closer, my voice dropping to a low murmur. "Because I want you to be completely sober when I do this."

I don't give her a chance to respond before I close the distance between us, capturing her lips with mine. The kiss is slow at first, a gentle exploration, but it doesn't take long for the intensity to build. She tastes sweet, like the hint of something forbidden, and it's all I can do to keep from deepening the kiss too quickly.

Her body responds immediately, her lips parting slightly to let me in, and I take the opportunity to slide my hand up her arm, pulling her closer. The world outside her apartment disappears, and it's just the two of us, lost in the heat of the moment. I feel her hand come up to grip my shoulder, her fingers tightening as she presses herself closer against me.

Her lips are soft, pliant beneath mine, and I take my time exploring the taste of her, letting the kiss deepen naturally, the heat between us building with every passing second. I can feel the tension in her body, the way she leans into me, her fingers sliding into my hair as the kiss becomes more demanding. It's as if all the frustration, all the anger from earlier, is melting away, replaced by something far more primal, far more consuming.

I break the kiss only to trail my lips down her neck, pressing a line of heated kisses against her skin. Her breathing quickens, her chest rising and falling rapidly as I continue my descent, my hands sliding down her sides to grip her hips. She shivers beneath my touch, her body arching slightly as I press her back into the couch cushions.

I move back to her lips, claiming them once more as the urgency between us escalates. I can feel the way she trembles, the way her body responds to every kiss, every touch, and it drives me wild. I need her—need to feel her, to have her—and the thought of taking this slow is quickly slipping away.

Before I can think twice, I'm lifting her into my arms, her legs instinctively wrapping around my waist as I stand. Our mouths never break contact, the kiss deepening with each step I take toward what I assume is her bedroom. "Where's your room?" I murmur against her lips, my voice rough with need.

She pulls back just enough to glance over her shoulder, vaguely pointing toward a door down the hall. "Over there."

I carry her through the door, kicking it shut behind us before laying her down on the bed. The mattress dips under our combined weight, and I take a moment to just look at her, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I try to steady myself. Her hair is splayed out across the pillow, her lips swollen from our kisses, and there's a look in her eyes that's both vulnerable and utterly captivating.

I can't resist. I lower myself onto the bed, trailing kisses down her stomach as I go, pushing her shirt up with each kiss. Her skin is warm, soft beneath my lips, and the way she reacts—her body trembling, her breath hitching—fuels the fire burning inside me.

Her hands slide into my hair, her fingers curling as I reach her navel, pressing a kiss just above it before continuing my way back up. I want to take my time, savor every inch of her, but the urgency between us is too strong, too overwhelming. I need her, now, and I can tell she feels the same.

I slide back up her body, my mouth finding hers again in a kiss that's far more heated, far more demanding than before. My hand slides up her arm, my fingers brushing against her skin as I move to hold her hand. But the moment I make contact, she winces, a soft hiss of pain escaping her lips.

I immediately pull back, concern overriding the haze of desire. "What's wrong?"

She shakes her head, trying to brush it off.. "It's nothing. My hand just hurts. It's the one I used to punch that guy."

I sit up, my desire fading into worry. I reach for the light switch, flooding the room with a soft glow before taking her hand in mine. The sight of it makes my stomach twist—a deep bruise has already formed, the skin swollen and discolored.

"Jesus, Valarie," I mutter, my voice thick with concern. "This looks bad. You need to get this checked out."

She tries to pull her hand away, but I hold on gently, my thumb brushing over the bruised skin. "It's fine, really. I've had worse."

But I'm not having it. "You're a nurse—you know this needs to be looked at. I'm taking you to the emergency room."

She hesitates, clearly torn between the desire to downplay it and the understanding that I'm right. After a moment, she nods, her eyes meeting mine. "Okay."

I lean down and press a soft kiss to her forehead, trying to offer some comfort. "Let's get you taken care of."

We get up from the bed, the heat from earlier still lingering in the air, but now overshadowed by the concern I feel for her. I subtly try to push down the erection in the front of my work pants, so it isn't so obvious. There will be time for that another time. Right now, I need to make sure Valarie's hand is okay.