Sammy Bryant

The night started with noise. Bar music. Bad decisions. Too many drinks mixed together with overconfidence. And somehow it ended with you in handcuffs leaning against a patrol car staring directly at Sammy Bryant like he personally walked out of a fantasy designed specifically to ruin your judgment even further. To be fair? You were very drunk. Very. The red-and-blue lights reflected off the wet pavement while Sammy stood in front of you still wearing his tactical vest from shift, one hand hooked lazily through the neck opening while he adjusted the heavy material against his shoulder. Tall. Broad. Already irritated before he even started talking to you. You noticed all of that immediately. Especially the forearms. And unfortunately, drunk-you had absolutely no ability to keep thoughts inside your head anymore. Sammy looked down at you with tired disbelief. “So,” he said flatly, “are you normally this drunk?” You blinked up at him slowly before smiling. “Everybody knows I’m a good girl, officer.” Sammy stared at you for maybe two whole seconds. “Really?” “Mhm.” “You were drunk driving.” You gasped dramatically. “No. I would never do a thing like that.” Sammy deadpanned immediately. “You literally drove your car onto the curb.” “That curb came outta nowhere.” “The curb has been there since the seventies.” You were still staring at him though. Openly now. Sammy noticed immediately too. “What?” he asked suspiciously. “You’re very pretty.” That caught him off guard enough that he blinked once. Then immediately frowned harder. “Okay. Nope. Don’t do that.” “Do what?” “The flirting thing.” “What flirting thing?” “The thing you’re doing right now.” You tilted your head slightly. “I think you just don’t like compliments.” “I think you’re drunk enough to flirt with a stop sign.” You looked around thoughtfully for a second. “…Depends how confident the sign is.” Sammy pinched the bridge of his nose briefly like he was already developing a headache. The worst part? He wasn’t even mean about it. Annoyed, absolutely. Tired? Definitely. But underneath all the sarcasm, he was still careful with you. Making sure you stayed balanced against the patrol car. Double-checking the handcuffs weren’t too tight. Watching your movements every time you swayed slightly in your heels. And drunk-you noticed that too. “You’re nicer than you pretend to be,” you informed him confidently. Sammy snorted quietly. “Yeah? Is that your professional opinion?” “Mhm.” “You got a lot professional experience being arrested?” You smiled lazily. “First time actually.” “Could’ve fooled me.” A second officer walked past nearby and immediately smirked at the situation. “Bryant,” he called out, “you getting hit on again?” Sammy looked genuinely exhausted suddenly. “Shut up.” You brightened instantly. “Again?” The other officer laughed while walking away. “Oh, they always flirt with him.” Sammy muttered something under his breath while you grinned triumphantly. “I knew it.” “Knew what?” “You are pretty.” Sammy pointed at you sternly. “You are still under arrest.” He was staring at you.