What started out as a fun idea to quickly pass along the lunch hour, turned into a panty wetting, lip biting, image-producing fiasco within my own mind. I pictured Sgt. Cruz's lips on mine, biting and tugging as I bit down on my own. His response was not lost on me, and I could only hope that it wasn't that obvious to everyone else in attendance. If Sgt. Cruz was serious about forgetting what had happened that night at Coyotes, he wasn't making it easy on me. He could have very well stayed away from us because honestly, we weren't that loud. And even if we were, it was a bowling alley for crying out loud; people get loud and rowdy in there. Unlike the other three people I was with, I knew the real reason he had made his way over to us. He wanted to make his presence known. I had no clue he was there until he walked over, using his burly voice that reminded me of pure and unadulterated sex, to bark out orders that he knew he had no business giving. The sight of him did things to my body that felt foreign to me.
