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  BRANDON

  BOYS IN BLUE

  SAN FRANCISCO

  BOOK 5

  MARY POTTER

  This book is a work of fiction. Other names, characters, places, dialogue, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers.

  All sexual activity in this work is consensual, and all sexually active characters are 18 years of age or older.

  Copyright © 2020

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without expressed written permission from the author/publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review in any media format.

  Contents

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 1

  BRANDON

  T here is a point in a man’s life when he stops looking in the mirror. Well, men who don’t have to stand in front of a camera all day, or run a Fortune 500 company. The kind of man who goes to work in a 9 to 5 job and spends another hour negotiating traffic each way. They don’t have the time and energy to look in the mirror every day. It isn’t that they gave up on life, I mean, I don’t know, maybe they have. But I look around at a lot of the cops who came to this ceremony, and I see guys my age and even younger. Their complacency becomes routine. They don’t see their reflection, so they don’t know about the hair sprouting from their ears. They stopped looking long enough to see that their eyebrows went from manicured hedges to wild jungle terrain.

  I look in the mirror. I commute to work every day. I know a little gray in the hairline is dignified. I know how to take care of myself. It’s not just because I carry a gun and a badge. It’s not because I learned the secret of moisturizing.

  “You look sharp, Brandon.” It’s my friend Jackson. He’s another one of the Boys in Blue who knows how to take care of himself. We’re attending the gala for the mayor at the Palace of Fine Arts. It’s the premium party venue in San Francisco, and I’m on duty. So is Jackson, but he’s in uniform. I’ve got an exclusive responsibility for the night.

  I run my hand along the lapel of my extra slim blue cotton-blend blazer. Not a lot of guys can wear that kind of beautiful clothing.

  “I look dapper,” I say. I’m drinking sparkling water with a lime. It looks like a mixed drink but doesn’t have all the fun.

  “You’re one of those metrosexual guys, aren’t you?” Jackson says. I know he’s not interested; he’s got his eye on the girl by the buffet table. She’s curvy with a sweet helping on top and a double helping on the bottom. I’ve been watching her most of the day. Jackson just got here, so he’s trying to catch up.

  “I am dapper, not a dandy,” I say. “I’m sophisticated but not arrogant.”

  “I bet you use moisturizer, don’t you?” Jackson says. He turns to me, briefly taking his eyes off the lovely girl with the pearl necklace, the sparkling white smile, and the dimples.

  BRIANA

  A nd just like that, I see the guy I want more than I've ever wanted a guy before. He's got hazel eyes, a sensual mouth, and a look that knows more than he's telling at that moment. There's a split second when I think he's watching me and not the food. I'm waiting because it's part of my purpose at the event. I'm to stand behind the table and help wealthy men and women who want to sample the supreme arrangement of high-quality food. I sigh and shift a little. What else do I have to look forward to on a Friday night?

  The man in the suit and the officer of the law, both chatting casually, as they watch the rest of the people in the place. I'm busy watching them. I want to take off my shoes, but I have to wait. I know the tablecloth drops to the floor, so I could slip out of my shoes without anyone seeing. But the tongue and groove, highly varnished floor is too risky in stockings. I know when the rest of the party people leave, and I'm on my own, I will see how far I can slide across that shiny floor in nylons.

  I fantasize that the two gorgeous older men with their narrow waists, and broad shoulders are talking about me. They’re thinking about laying me down on that buffet table and nibbling my desserts.

  “Oh, Brianna,” I whisper. “It’s been too long since you had anything between your legs that didn’t run on batteries.” I sigh.

  Uh, oh, here they come. It’s the cop in uniform who thinks he’s top-choice because he looks so yummy with the badge and the gun. It’s true, but I’ve had my eye on the other one most of the day. It’s been long enough to have more than a few fantasies about the two of us playing in the closets while the rich people feast and socialize.

  The cop－he’s tall, cute, and older－I like them like that. But it’s the undercover officer who’s tickled more than my fancy all day, and he doesn’t know it.

  Chapter 2

  BRANDON

  J ackson and I converse about business and fun, but I have a feeling the lovely girl thinks we're talking about her, because when Jackson showed up, everyone in the place watched the police officer wander inside. Since Jackson arrived, I think we're both thinking the same thing: who is that beautiful woman guarding the hors d'oeuvres?

  “You’re not here to take skin care advice from me,” I say.

  “I wanted to see if you can cover my shift tomorrow night,” Jackson says. “I got a date.”

  “Do you? And is it the same girl as last week?” I know about Jackson’s ‘dates’. They never turn out well, because he thinks it’s like shopping around for a car. I know the truth.

  “Does it matter?” he asks.

  “Well, no, but you’re here, and I see the mayor thinking you showed up because something is going on outside.”

  Jackson turns away and I walk with him. He's headed to the buffet and snack tables. I've seen a lot of impressive spreads at a number of political rallies and select fundraisers. Still, the appetizers and small dish meals for the mayor's party was not only fantastic to nibble, but a work of art.

  “Hey, how’re you doing?” Jackson asks the beauty standing behind the tables.

  “I am spectacular, officer. Is there something wrong?”

  Jackson gives her a look like he’s ready to snack on something that’s not on the table. “Well, now, Miss, I’ve got a complaint that some sexy girl in a breezy color block dress is stopping traffic.”

  She bursts into loud laughter and slaps her hand over her mouth. She has a sweet mouth—not in a pervy way. I mean, she has a wide mouth, full lips and beautiful teeth. She wears her ash-blond hair swept off her neck. Spiral locks spin out of the hair bun at the back. Soft tendrils flow over her shoulders. It shows off her necklace and the soft cut dress. She isn’t trying to show off her cleavage. She doesn’t have to work too hard to be beautiful.

  “What was that?” she asks. “Was that some backhanded compliment?”

  Jackson looks shocked. He is a healthy, physically fit older man, just like me. He and I have the same interests in a lot of things; and women, I know, are on the top of his list, while I am a little more reserved.

  “Excuse me, officer,” she says, looking at me
. “Is this guy bothering you?”

  Jackson and I exchange looks. She stares at me with the question. I frown at her. “How do you know I am a cop?”

  She tips up her chin and grins. “It’s the shoulders,” she says.

  I extend my hand over the canapés and roast beef, arugula, and blue cheese toppers for a hand shake.

  BRIANNA

  I accept his handshake, and he gives me a name. “Brandon.”

  Then his handsome but pushy friend smacks Brandon’s hand out of the way. He grips my hand with extra force. I don’t know if he’s trying to show dominance or he doesn’t know his strength.

  “Officer Jackson,” he says.

  I giggle again. It sometimes happens when I’m not focusing on work. I let my mind drift. My brain roams over the two older hard bodies while I stand with my back against the veranda doors.

  Officer Jackson realizes there's more than a lot of leftover food between Brandon and me. He can tell when it’s time to make an exit.

  “Okay, tomorrow,” Jackson says. He backs away from the table before I can make an excuse to let go of his hand.

  We watch him stroll through the crowd of tuxedos and party dresses. I see him shake hands with the mayor.

  “Your friend is funny, but I don’t think he knows it,” I say. It comes out without a filter. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” Brandon says. “It’s a condition. He’s had it since birth. The badge and the gun just make it worse. We’re going to get him into treatment.”

  “Maybe a spray ointment, or just squirt him with a garden hose.”

  Brandon snaps his fingers. He grins and points at me like it’s a good idea.

  “How did you know I’m a cop?” he asks. Then he leans back and pulls at the cuffs of his debonair suit jacket.

  “It’s the shoulders, honestly. And the fact that I saw you watching all these people. Plus the gun－it’s a dead giveaway.”

  Consciously, Brandon buttons one of the two front buttons on the blazer. It pulls the jacket closer to his flat stomach. He's incredibly sexy, and I don't think he's trying. His cologne is subtle and musky, with a hint of wood. He's dressed well, groomed, with a tight haircut and clean-shaven cheeks.

  “So, you’ve been looking at my shoulders?”

  I know I’m blushing because I feel the heat rise from my chest into my cheeks. I walked right into that setup. He just took it all the way in, Oh my, what is wrong with me?

  “Go on,” I say. “You know you want it.”

  It was Brandon’s turn to blush. “Excuse me?”

  I lift the platter of tahini, avocado, and veggie yogurt bites. Brandon lifts an open palm. “I can’t Ma’am, I’m on duty.”

  “I noticed you haven’t tried anything all night.”

  “That’s not true,” he says. He shows me the tumbler of sparkling water.

  “Well, that’s not going to fill you up.”

  “True, but I’m still going to wait to get out of my suit before I fill up on anything.”

  And the moment it came out of Brandon’s mouth, I thought of his cock. It wasn’t the first time I thought about it. But now, it’s just something that’s right up front, hard in the front of my brain. And I see by the cut of his pants in the lean stretch leg, that Brandon isn’t shy about the contents of his slacks.

  Chapter 3

  BRANDON

  O h, I feel like she’s got a lot more than food on her mind. Brianna had a day of helping others with their small plates. I’ve watched a lot of rich guys and their opulent wives overflow salad plates with big helpings of tasty dishes. I need to get my mind off Brianna’s chest. I wave to the place settings of floral arraignments and fondue pots.

  “Do you know the caterer?” I ask. I’m changing the subject because I feel like Briana’s been sampling me since Jackson left, and I don’t want to presume anything.

  “I do,” she says.

  “Well, let the caterer know that everyone’s been raving about the dishes. You don’t have much leftover. What does the food-service do with all this?”

  “We bag it and box it and take it to the shelter in the morning.”

  I nod. It’s an excellent service to feed the wealthy and the impoverished with the same meals.

  “Well, tell the caterers what I said please.” I finish the sparkling water and put down the glass. “I’ve got to make my rounds again. The mayor’s leaving soon, and I want to make sure he leaves with his wife and not his mistress.”

  “Oh, my,” Brianna says. I see that sparkling look in her eye because she wonders if I’m serious or kidding.

  I can’t just leave the table on that kind of gossip. “Will you be around a while?”

  Brianna nods. “I’m in charge of collecting everything and wrapping up the items to deliver to the shelter in the morning.

  “Well, it’s a little after nine. I think the mayor’s money-shaking hand is about worn out. Maybe I’ll come back around later to give you a hand.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Brianna says.

  "I know." I leave her standing behind the table, watching me walk away. It's a good exit line; it's sublime and friendly. There's a hint of playfulness, and truth to my offer. I think if Brianna has an interest in me, she'll linger until I finish playing armed security for the politicians.

  And just like that, I turn and walk away. When I get to the other side of the party hall, I see through the dwindling assembly that Brianna is taking care of leftovers and still finding me in the crowd. I find that very encouraging.

  BRIANNA

  S ometimes it’s hard to concentrate on food when my mind is wandering. Somehow I manage to get all the servings separated, wrapped, and stored in the coolers. The party venue has an open kitchen and prep space. It’s the kind of area I like using when I have a huge gig, like catering to the mayor’s fundraisers.

  “You’re the caterer,” Brandon says.

  “I’m the caterer,” I admit.

  He’s dressed in the silky button-down black shirt that was under the blazer. He’s the kind of older man who has a lot of confidence. It’s not in any haughtiness. Brandon is a man who isn’t afraid. He’s put away the blazer, the gun, and rolled up his sleeves.

  It’s a little after ten-thirty on a Saturday night. We’re the only two people in the large kitchen. The cleaning staff is finishing the main halls. I keep a clean table set, so there isn’t a lot left for them to worry about.

  He slaps his hands together and rubs his palms. “What can I help you with?” he asks.

  “I’ve got everything. It was a peaceful night. There aren’t a lot of leftovers, and I kept on top of the messes. One thing about the rich, they’re used to people cleaning up after them.”

  “You’re sure there’s nothing I can help you with?” he asks. It’s sincere, and I recognize Brandon’s interest in spending a little more time with me.

  I reach up with two hands and undo the bun in the back of my hair. I let out the ash-blond locks and run my fingers through my hair. I see Brandon watching me from the corner of the steel prep table in the kitchen. He’s interested in my breasts, my throat, the pearls, and my smooth armpits. Some guys like seeing that. It’s not weird; it’s exciting and a little naughty. It’s not something women share with strangers, and when guys get to see a little more than they expect, it’s a significant turn on for them. I’m observant, and I pay attention when it comes to what turns on guys.

  Chapter 4

  BRANDON

  T here is a great sense of openness in the setting of the expansive kitchens of the party hall. I lean against the steel table since Brianna doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave. I don’t want to keep her, but I feel there’s some kinetic energy between us that perpetuates our conversation and draws us closer. I want her. There’s no other way of putting it because the truth, when it happens spontaneously and naturally, feels good.

  Brianna let down her hair. She looks inviting. I think it has something to do with her m
oist lips and the way she lets her fingers delicately trace the shape of her cheeks once her hands caress her head. It’s amazing what a little movement in the right place can do to a man. I know, just watching Brianna, I am incredibly turned on.

  “Is there something on your mind?” she asks.

  It takes me by surprise, and I am a little nervous about my behavior around her. There’s a sense of professionalism that comes with the badge. I think out of the whole evening, even when the mayor’s wife touched my ass when she sampled a small savory appetizer, I remained collected. His wife is an attractive, older woman. I know the woman has a reputation. She likes Boys in Blue. But I wore a sharp trim suit tonight, and she should keep her hands to herself. I’m flattered, and I’ve never spoken poorly about a woman wanting something and going for it unabashedly. She’s just not my type.

  “Hello-o-o, Officer Brandon.” Brianna’s giving me a look from a few meters away that feels welcoming, and I think she’s playful.

  “Sorry, I am overwhelmed by you.” It comes out like a sigh. I put words on the hot breath that leaves my body when I think about her. “I think I watched you most of the day. You have such a way with people. Is this what you do all the time?”

  Brianna gives me a look like she expected something else from me besides a little small talk about the business after what I just admitted.

  Her finger traces circles on the steel table in front of her. She’s lost in some outside thought.

  “I cater out of my house, except places like this that give me the use of the kitchen. I have to pay for the privileges of using their kitchen. It comes with the help cleaning up afterward, and the utilities. But I’m working on getting a top-notch catering business where I can have a kitchen like this and have enough people that I can send out after I cook everything.” She smiles at me.