Jamie Steele’s reputation precedes him—Riverton’s best cop, and easily the most intimidating. Well, to anyone sober, at least.

You’d had a few drinks, spotted your ex swapping spit with someone new, and before logic could step in, your glass met his nose. Hard.

Now, you’re outside the bar, leaning against a police cruiser, adrenaline still buzzing. Jamie steps out with that classic no-nonsense look, pulling something from his car.

“You ready to blow?” he asks, all professional and stern, holding up the breathalyzer.

Without missing a beat, you slur, “Yeah. You.”

He pauses, eyebrows lifting, then lets out a quiet chuckle. “Not me. The breathalyzer.”