It's not a hidden secret that Darcy hates cops, and detectives are really just, at their root, hopped up cops. "Hey. Did you just say phck? Do you say it like that during sex? Prove it?"
She's waggling her eyebrows at Gavin. It's not meant to be convincing. She is not really shooting her shot. It is one hundred percent just to make him uncomfortable.
“Yeah, yeah, take a fuckin’ number,” he grunts, raising a brow, “miss… Dennings.”
He’s looking at a rap sheet and a whole shitload of paperwork. What a pain in the ass. Where the shitting fuck is the tin can to do the booking shit? God he hates this crap—all of it, start to finish. A career change feels like a great idea one day and a shit one the next, however, so here he is. He rifles through the papers, becomes swiftly annoyed, and sets it aside, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Anyway wrong tree, now get the fuck outta here." The paperwork has found its way into the trash and he's pushed away from his desk in search of an aspirin.
