Just Like You ✓

One

Act I

Nicki

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"Drop your weapon, asshole!" Detective Jasmine Brown aimed her glock at the man with his arm around my neck and a 9mm pointed at my head. Her face was serious, her white vest torn and smudged with dirt, her detectives badge clipped onto her black jeans. She looked fierce with her long, wavy, locks cascading down sun-kissed shoulders. In the bar, where we currently stood, several people cowered behind the turned over furniture.

"Maybe less of the insults, Brown. You're not the one who's in danger of getting her head blown off," I said nervously.

"Yeah, Brown," the man said in a mocking tone. "Want me to shoot your little pal 'cause I'll do it."

Brown rolled her eyes, sighed then pulled the trigger on the perp. The shaggy-haired man let out a screech as the bullet pierced his arm and the gun fell from his hand. Several officers hurried in to restrain him.

I breathed a dramatic sigh of relief as Brown rushed to me. "I guess this means you'll never trust me to follow up a lead on my own?"

"You got that right. I was worried sick, and you know I never worry." She held my face in her hand and examined the wound on my forehead, wrinkling up her brow as she scrutinized. "Superficial. You'll be all right, this time. But Wallace, don't ever do that again. Or I'll kick your ass myself."

"Got it. The world's a scary place without you by my side." I smiled warmly at her, and she embraced me in her strong, muscular arms.

"And, cut!"

Her scent of deodorant and hairspray still lingered even as she broke away - something she did abruptly, as though touching me would give her a rash. "What the hell was that?" she demanded, turning to me, fire in her eyes. All the care of Jasmine Brown was gone and in its place sat the genuine animosity of Beyonce Knowles, no longer in character.

"What?" I asked. The perp picked himself up off the floor, fake blood on his arm. He smiled at me sympathetically before jogging off the set with the rest of the background artists.

'"The world's a scary place without you by my side?' That wasn't in the script."

"So I went off script." I shrugged. "Harry okayed it. It fit the scene."

"We're not improvising, Onika. Last time I checked you were an actress, not a goddamn writer."

I tossed my bone straight black hair to show her that I didn't give a fuck about her newest objection, seeing as she was always complaining about something when it came to me. We were in season three of 'Ladies of Justice', and she'd pretty much been complaining since the first episode of season one, when she'd signed on to play the joint lead beside me.

"Well you handled it just fine."

"That's not the point."

"What is the point, Beyonce?" I asked in the sweetest, most silky voice I could manage, a little smile settling on my lips. I knew it would piss her off.

She let out a furious groan, and the muscles in her upper arms contracted. Her dark eyes burned into me. "I know what you're doing. You're trying to add gay subtext."

I actually had to laugh at the insinuation, which only made her more furious.

"Stop trying to push your gay agenda. The characters are straight, and that isn't going to change."