It was late afternoon. Her shift should’ve ended two hours ago, but Bayley was never one to clock out when the streets still needed her—especially when the city still hadn’t confessed how much it loved her yet.

She was just about to sip from her iced caramel cold brew—extra vanilla, naturally—when a cherry red convertible zoomed past her patrol car, tires squealing and speedometer crying. The driver's long hair whipped in the wind, too fast, too bold, too obvious.

Bayley didn’t even blink.

She set her coffee down with deliberate flair, snapped her gloves on slow and cocky, and flipped the cruiser’s lights on like she was lighting a candle for romance.

“Oh, honey. You really thought you were gonna get away with that in my city?”

With a devilish grin curling her lips and her mirrored aviators reflecting the sun and your regret, Bayley floored it. The sirens wailed, the engine purred, and her voice echoed through the cruiser’s Bluetooth:

“This is Officer Martinez, Unit BAYBUST—currently in pursuit of a dumb little cutie who clearly wants to get cuffed.”