Cold Hard Bitch [Get a kiss on the lips]
Jun. 2nd, 2009 04:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ijustgotlowstandards[Oops]
She doesn’t realize the completely overzealous knocking on the door is what woke her up until she stretches. She jabs the guy next to her with her foot but he only grunts and pulls the pillow over his head.
“Fan-fucking-tastic,” she mutters and she rolls out of bed, grabbing a pair of jeans—his, she discovers when she pulls them on and they hang precariously on the sharp points of her hip bones. She grabs her bra down from the where it’s dangling on the ceiling fan, hooks it behind her back and answers the door.
“Do have any fucking idea what time it is?” she growls as she jerks open the door then subdues under the glare of two uniformed cops. “…officers.” It’s a bit belated but she figures some acknowledgement is better than none.
One of the cops is staring so hard at her face, she knows he’s trying not to look at her tits. The other one has given up any pretense and is just fish-gaping at her. Any other time, any other profession she’d tell him for ten bucks he can get a picture, an autograph and a kiss. Since part of last night is hazy, she doesn’t think it’s the best response.
“We’re looking for Rob Karns,” the officer that can actually form words says.
She runs the name over and over in her head. She had thought he’d called himself Rod last night as in Stewart but hey she’d run into him after the fifth Jello shot. “Maybe?”
She runs her tongue over her teeth, watching them a moment then steps back and lets the door swing open.
“And what’s your name, Ms?” the bold one asked as he stepped over the threshold.
“Carmen Porter and I just him last night. He’s in the bedroom. Good luck waking him up.”
The fish gaper finally comes to his senses—sort of. He’s still got that ridiculous grin—and speaks. “Oh I don’t think that’ll be a problem for us, Ma’am.”
“Right,” Carmen nods as she spies her shirt tossed over the back of the couch. She nabs it and pulls it over her head before she begins the quest for her shoes. One high heel is recovered from the hallway just before they drag half asleep Rob Karns from the bedroom, hands cuffed behind his back, boxer shorts rumpled up almost indecently.
“What’d he do?” she asks fish-gaper, figuring he’s her best bet on getting answer.
“Broke probation. He’s only been on it a couple of weeks too.”
Carmen rolls her eyes, nabs the other high heel from it’s spot wedged under the couch and slips them both on. “I really gotta get higher standards,” she mutters as she follows the cops outside to watch them shove Rob in the back seat.
“But the low ones are so damn pretty.”
She doesn’t realize the completely overzealous knocking on the door is what woke her up until she stretches. She jabs the guy next to her with her foot but he only grunts and pulls the pillow over his head.
“Fan-fucking-tastic,” she mutters and she rolls out of bed, grabbing a pair of jeans—his, she discovers when she pulls them on and they hang precariously on the sharp points of her hip bones. She grabs her bra down from the where it’s dangling on the ceiling fan, hooks it behind her back and answers the door.
“Do have any fucking idea what time it is?” she growls as she jerks open the door then subdues under the glare of two uniformed cops. “…officers.” It’s a bit belated but she figures some acknowledgement is better than none.
One of the cops is staring so hard at her face, she knows he’s trying not to look at her tits. The other one has given up any pretense and is just fish-gaping at her. Any other time, any other profession she’d tell him for ten bucks he can get a picture, an autograph and a kiss. Since part of last night is hazy, she doesn’t think it’s the best response.
“We’re looking for Rob Karns,” the officer that can actually form words says.
She runs the name over and over in her head. She had thought he’d called himself Rod last night as in Stewart but hey she’d run into him after the fifth Jello shot. “Maybe?”
She runs her tongue over her teeth, watching them a moment then steps back and lets the door swing open.
“And what’s your name, Ms?” the bold one asked as he stepped over the threshold.
“Carmen Porter and I just him last night. He’s in the bedroom. Good luck waking him up.”
The fish gaper finally comes to his senses—sort of. He’s still got that ridiculous grin—and speaks. “Oh I don’t think that’ll be a problem for us, Ma’am.”
“Right,” Carmen nods as she spies her shirt tossed over the back of the couch. She nabs it and pulls it over her head before she begins the quest for her shoes. One high heel is recovered from the hallway just before they drag half asleep Rob Karns from the bedroom, hands cuffed behind his back, boxer shorts rumpled up almost indecently.
“What’d he do?” she asks fish-gaper, figuring he’s her best bet on getting answer.
“Broke probation. He’s only been on it a couple of weeks too.”
Carmen rolls her eyes, nabs the other high heel from it’s spot wedged under the couch and slips them both on. “I really gotta get higher standards,” she mutters as she follows the cops outside to watch them shove Rob in the back seat.
“But the low ones are so damn pretty.”
