Policewoman needs to talk to him.

Lloyd instinctively threw his hands into the air, unfortunately more than familiar with police protocol. He was about to interlace his fingers behind his head and get on his knees when, "You're all good, don't need to be doing all that," came from the driver's seat.

Lloyd shook himself out of his muscle memory and took a look at the police officer as she stepped out of her vehicle. A comically displaced police was perched on her gorgeous nut brown afro as she swayed around the car in front of Lloyd. Jesus, he didn't realize they made heels that big. Or cop uniforms that small. He wouldn't call her shorts "shorts." Hell, he could barely call them a belt, but there they were, wrapped tightly around the juiciest bubble butt Lloyd had ever seen in real life. Her top might have been some kind of regulation size before she tied it off under her plump and perky DDs, exposing her frankly deliciously well defined stomach and rich dark skin.

Llyod's eyes had no idea where to stop but managed to settle on her eyes to at least try and show some respect (where he took in her lashes, amazing cheekbones, and what can only be described as dick-sucking lips).

"Sir," said those DSLs, "do you know why I stopped you?"

If she asked him about a minute ago, he'd say that his father had been caught trying to defraud elderly orphans with his NFT grift and the cops, naturally, confused Lloyd with his old man. Then she'd punch him in the stomach for talking back and then he'd get booked for resisting arrest. But now? Today? With his new lucky stone in his palm?