Cash and the Sorority Girl

by Ashley Bartlett

  “I feel like I’m making you babysit.” She grabbed her phone off the nightstand.

  “You’re not. I mean, I’m still hoping you’ll tip me.” I winked.

  She hid a smile and slid the phone in her pocket. “You’re kind of the worst.”

  “I am. But you like it.”

  She leaned over and kissed me. “I only kind of like it.”

  “You should come back to bed.” I tugged at the edge of her jacket.

  “I can’t.” She straightened. I pouted and refused to let go of the blazer. “Cash, let go.”

  “If I let go, you’ll go do boring police things.”

  She stared at me pointedly. I let go. “Thank you.”

  I sighed. “I guess I should tell you that you put my phone in your pocket. Yours is still plugged in.”

  “Funny.”

  “I’m hilarious. But right now I’m not being funny,” I said. Laurel pulled the phone back out of her pocket, realized it was mine, and rolled her eyes at me. “I know you think the dealer gig is much more glamorous, but you chose the cop route. Now you have to stick with it.”

  “That was very inspirational,” she said.

  I grinned. “You’re welcome.”

  “Reyes said we wouldn’t be long. It’s just a consult.”

  The last time I’d seen Reyes, he was still in a hospital bed. “How’s he been?”

  “Obnoxious. He’s only cleared for light duty and he’s milking it for all he’s worth.”

  “I thought cops were supposed to hate being assigned to a desk,” I said.

  “Oh, he does hate that part. But Duarte has been his lap dog for three days. He brings him coffee and files and won’t let anyone near him without a written statement of intent, confirmation of health, and a signed declaration by either a holy person or a judge.”

  “That’s not extreme.” I accepted that Laurel wasn’t getting back in bed so I got up and searched for pants.

  “A couple of days ago, I had to stop him from setting up a temporary desk next to our desk.”

  “So Duarte has a desk next to you now?” I asked.

  “He did. I convinced him he had a cold and was going to infect Reyes.”

  “How do you convince someone they have a cold?”

  Laurel tossed me a pair of jeans. “You get fifteen random people to stop them throughout the day and ask if they are feeling all right because they don’t look so good.”

  I laughed. “That kid is going to figure out how to fight back one day and make your life a living hell.”

  She waved a hand like the idea was inconceivable. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” She kissed me for not nearly long enough. “Don’t forget to call Kyra about tonight.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  I heard Laurel say bye to Lane, then the front door closed. A minute later, Laurel’s truck started up. I went to the kitchen to start coffee. When I passed the living room, I found Lane wrapped in a blanket watching another nature documentary.

  “Morning,” I said.

  Lane turned and smiled faintly. “Morning. There’s coffee.” She lifted her own mug as evidence.

  “Thanks.” I poured a cup and sat opposite her on the couch. “What are we watching?”

  “Planet Earth. Thanks for showing me how to launch Netflix last night. I never would have figured out your television.”

  “Yeah, Beverly is a complicated broad.”

  Lane turned in slow motion. “Your TV has a name?” she asked. I shrugged. “And her name is Beverly?”

  “No, actually. I just made that up. But I think I like it. I hereby dub thee Beverly,” I said to the TV.

  She chuckled. “I can see why Laurel likes you.”

  “You mean La La?”

  “God, she’s going to kill me for that one.”

  “You’re not wrong,” I said.

  “In my defense, it’s my sacred duty as her younger sister to torment her.”

  I couldn’t dispute that.

  The episode ended and the next started. Some British dude started talking about trees.

  “Hey, we’re not in the ocean anymore,” I said.

  “You seriously have never seen this? It was like a staple of my childhood.”

  “I was in college during your childhood.”

  “Oh. Well, each episode is a different habitat. This one,” she hit the information button, “is ‘Seasonal Forests.’”

  “How are you ten episodes in?”

  “I, uh, couldn’t sleep.”

  “Got it.”

  “But I talked to my therapist. We have an appointment Monday morning,” she said.

  “Cool.”

  “I probably don’t need to sleep between now and then, right?”

  “Sure. Humans function well on zero sleep. Especially when they are already in a vulnerable state and they remove something that is both a coping mechanism and necessary biologically.”

  “So you’re saying I’m doing good?”

  “The goodest.”

  We watched two episodes of Planet Earth, then transitioned back into Shark Week. We attempted to make a dent in the leftover soup supply and were wildly unsuccessful. We were halfway through another Shark Week when Laurel came home. I immediately remembered that I was supposed to call Kyra.

  “I thought you were joking when you said you would spend the day watching sharks and eating soup,” Laurel said.

  I leaned toward Lane without looking away from the TV. “Is she judging us?” I asked. Out of the corner of my eye, Lane nodded. “What a jerk.”

  “Such a jerk. You were nothing but honest with her.”

  “You guys know I can hear you, right?” Laurel asked.

  “And now she’s interrupting a very important experiment,” Lane said.

  “I know. We’re never going to know why the sharks’ feeding patterns suddenly changed in this specific area, twenty years ago.” I shook my head.

  “Which is pretty pivotal in our day-to-day lives.”

  “So pivotal.”

  “Whatever.” Laurel walked down the hallway.

  I laughed. “Laurel, wait. Come back.” I paused the show.

  Laurel emerged from the hallway looking skeptical. “What?”

  “Did you bring us Juanita’s?” I looked around. There were no grocery bags, no chips.

  “Seriously?”

  Lane started giggling. She hid under a blanket, but the blanket shook with her laughter.

  “Your sister has never had Juanita’s. They are the greatest tortilla chips to ever exist. Are you trying to set her up for failure?” I asked with the utmost sincerity.

  Laurel looked pissed. It was possible I’d gone too far. She went back down the hallway.

  Lane pulled her head out of the blanket. “Uh-oh.”

  “Shit. I’ll be right back.”

  “Good luck.”

  I found Laurel sitting on the floor in my room. Her oxfords were untied and loosened, but that was as far as she’d gotten.

  “Hey, we were just fucking around.”

  Laurel looked up, seemingly surprised to see me. “Oh. I know. Sorry.”

  “You okay?”

  She nodded deliberately. “Yeah, sure. Of course.”

  I sat next to her and started to pull off her shoes. “How did the consult go?”

  “Not great, honestly.”

  “What happened?”

  “We met with a couple of detectives assigned to Sexual Assault. They’ve had four reported rapes in the last two weeks on Sac State’s campus. All at Greek parties. All the victims were young women.”

  “Shit.” That seemed to cover it. I knew I should be upset at the high rate—and I was—but all I could think about was Laurel sitting in that meeting discussing her own sister.

  “That’s not including Lane.”

  I was confused. “But she was at a party on campus. And it was less than forty-eight hours ago.”

  She nodded. “Yeah. But these cases were all connected.
They just found out. That was the consult. All of the victims were dosed with ketamine. They just got word from the Sexual Assault nurse at the hospital.”

  “Was Lane drugged too?”

  She started to shrug, then changed it to a nod. “Yeah. Of course she was. The nurse didn’t include her, but I’m sure when they get her blood panel back it will show ketamine.”

  “Okay. So what did they say when you mentioned your sister was likely part of their investigation?” I asked. Laurel jerked in response. I tried asking a different way. “Did Ionescu pull you?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “Of course not what?”

  “I didn’t tell them. It’s not my case so it isn’t relevant. There’s nothing to pull me from.”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s still relevant. If nothing else, your sister was just raped so you’re not going to be able to stay neutral.”

  She looked up and held my gaze. “I’m perfectly capable of determining when my judgment is compromised.”

  Well, that tone was not good. “Okay.”

  “How could you even suggest that?”

  “I’m not suggesting anything. I think the last couple of days have been rough. I imagine sitting in a meeting discussing sexual assault on the college campus where your sister was just sexually assaulted is difficult.”

  “Fuck.” She hung her head. “Yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to jump on you.”

  “It’s fine. Like I said, it’s been a rough couple of days.”

  “Yeah.” She reached blindly for my hand. I scooted closer and pulled her in. She braced her forehead against my shoulder and breathed me in. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Letting me be a dick. Not condemning me for it.”

  “It’s cool. Seriously. You’re dealing with a lot.” I ran my fingers through her hair and she sighed. “And you’re not being a dick. You’re just not filtering your usual dickishness very well.”

  She chuckled. “So I’m naturally a dick and usually I just hide it.”

  “Exactly.”

  She sat up and made eye contact with me again. Her eyes looked a little pink, but she was smiling. “That’s good to know.”

  “Now, I’d like to confess that I didn’t call Kyra. In my defense, I forgot.”

  “That’s your defense?”

  “Yep.”

  Laurel rolled her eyes. “All you need to do is add two names to a guest list.”

  “And I’m going to. Just as soon as I remember.”

  “The event is tonight.”

  “And your point?”

  She realized I was messing with her. “You’re obnoxious.”

  I grinned and pulled her in for a kiss. She held back to force me to move in closer. When I did, she rested a warm palm against my rib cage. The other hand, she placed on my chest, just above my heart. Her fingertips pressed into the dip above my collarbone. She exhaled, inhaled deeply as I moved closer. She smelled like freshly split wood, warm and crisp. Her lips slid against mine, smooth and familiar. Her grip on my ribs tightened and I drew back.

  “Your sister is in the living room.”

  Laurel groaned. “Christ, that’s inconvenient.” She dropped her hands and scooted backward. We shakily got to our feet. Or maybe that was just me shaking. She looked at the floor instead of me. Her shoes seemed to fascinate her. She stared at them as if she didn’t know how they had been removed. She shook her head a little. “Okay, you call Kyra. I’ll go convince Lane to go out with us tonight.”

  I saluted exaggeratedly at her. “On it, Detective.”

  “And maybe consider showering.”

  I glared. “Now you’ve gone too far.”

  Laurel glared back. Her glare was better.

  * * *

  A few hours later, Robin, the Kallen sisters, and I were granted access to a private opening of the Scholten Gallery. Which surprised me not at all.

  Kyra caught my eye from across the room and smiled briefly before continuing her conversation with a handful of old dudes. It looked super fun.

  Robin looped her arm through mine. “I need wine. I need to meet Kyra’s new boyfriend. And I need to look at art.”

  “Girl, I’ve got just the night planned for you,” I said.

  “I’ll get wine. You see if Kyra needs rescuing.”

  “On it.”

  Laurel and Lane followed Robin as I ducked around people to get to Kyra. The gallery had cultivated an impressive showing. When I was about ten feet away, Kyra shot me a pleading look. It was brief but desperate. I sidled up to her just a little closer than was appropriate.

  “Excuse me. I’m sorry to interrupt, but I need to borrow Ms. Daneshmandan.”

  The three men she was talking to exchanged looks. I couldn’t tell if it was my queerness throwing them off or the fact that my queerness had made Kyra’s queerness impossible to ignore. Or maybe they just didn’t like the cut of my pants. It was hard to tell old men’s expressions apart.

  As soon as they were out of earshot, Kyra turned and hugged me. “Ugh. I hate art. What am I doing here?”

  “You’re the artist.” I waved my hand at the fifteen-foot canvas behind Kyra.

  “There’s no need for you to point that out. I’m having a moment of weakness.”

  I chuckled. Kyra could lie to herself, but she couldn’t lie to me. “Where’s Van? Robin is dying to meet him.”

  “Oh no. I put names on the guest list in exchange for meeting Laurel’s sister. I’m collecting Kallens like Pokémon cards.”

  I held back an eye roll. “Lane’s with Laurel and Robin.” I nodded at the trio weaving through the crowd toward us. “They are coming over here to meet Van. You going to deliver?”

  “Yes. I’ll introduce my dreamy boyfriend to you.”

  “You have a dreamy boyfriend? Damn. I was going to ask you out,” a deep voice behind us said.

  Kyra and I turned. She smiled and drew a guy with dark, curly hair and an unruly brow into our circle. “I’ll lose the boyfriend immediately.”

  “My night is looking up.” He smiled back at her.

  “I’m really hoping you’re Van. Otherwise this is going to be awkward,” I said.

  “I am.” He held out his hand. “You must be Cash.”

  I nodded and shook his hand. I felt Laurel come up behind me before I heard her.

  “Robin. Laurel.” Kyra dropped her grip on Van’s arm to hug the newcomers. “This is Van Bertram. Artist. Professor. Boyfriend.”

  “You forgot dreamy,” Van said.

  “I thought that part was obvious,” Kyra said.

  “It’s good to meet you.” Laurel shook Van’s hand.

  Robin opted for a hug. “It really is. I was starting to wonder if she had invented you.”

  “Same.” Van grinned. “Kyra’s far too antisocial to have actual friends.”

  Kyra looked at Laurel pointedly, then slid her gaze to Lane.

  “Sorry. This is my baby sister, Lane.” Laurel put her arm around Lane’s waist.

  Kyra rolled her eyes. “Finally. You’re not a cop, right? I can flirt with you without hating myself?”

  Lane didn’t really know what to make of that. “I’m definitely not a cop. I actually have self-esteem.”

  Kyra started laughing, then saw Laurel’s expression and laughed even harder. “Yep. She’s my favorite.” She pointed at Lane. “And you said there’s one more?” she asked me.

  “Yeah. Another brother,” I said.

  “He’s a hoot.” Laurel didn’t even try to curb her sarcasm.

  “Another cop?” Kyra asked.

  “Is this like a whole cop family thing?” Van asked.

  “No, only two of us. We’re disgraces because we aren’t lawyers,” Laurel said.

  Kyra gasped. “Same here. Of course, I went the complete opposite route.” She waved at the canvas behind her.

  “Oh, that’s a good point. Next time my mother gets pissy about the
detective thing, I’ll remind her of the semester I changed my major to theater,” Laurel said.

  We all stared at Laurel.

  “You did what?” I asked.

  “Oh, yeah. I was a theater major.”

  “On purpose?” Robin asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Have you met you?” I asked.

  “Oh, whatever. I was good,” Laurel said. We laughed. She didn’t look like she appreciated the laughing.

  “Hey, I feel you.” Van spoke over us. “My first semester in college, I studied biology.” He shuddered.

  “Oh, my God,” Lane said.

  We all turned to her.

  “You look familiar. Do I know you?” Van asked.

  “Umm, yeah. I’m taking your seminar. I guess I didn’t recognize you out of the classroom.”

  Van smiled, which frankly, made him look pretty dreamy. “No way. Are you enjoying it?”

  “Say yes,” I stage-whispered to Lane.

  She laughed. “I am, yeah.”

  “You’re taking an art seminar?” Laurel asked.

  “Yeah. It’s Queering American Art in the Twentieth Century,” Lane said.

  Kyra turned to Van. “That’s what you called the seminar? You are such a douche.” He smirked.

  “Why did you choose that one?” Laurel asked.

  “I don’t know. I needed an art seminar. My sister’s queer.” Lane glanced at Van, then immediately looked away. “Plus, Professor Bertram is kind of a celebrity on campus. I mean, he’s one of the few trans faculty members. He’s an actual artist. And he’s not ninety years old like half the professors.”

  Kyra groaned. “Why, Lane? He’s going to be impossible now.”

  “What?” Lane asked.

  “A celebrity? Professor Bertram? Ugh. You used to be my favorite Kallen.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “It’s fine. I’ll forgive you. But you have to spend the next twenty minutes telling me how brilliant I am. Come on.” Kyra looped her arm through Lane’s and led her away.

  “I’m so giving that kid an A,” Van said as soon as they were out of earshot.

  “It’s good you have standards,” I said.

  “Absolutely. Accidental sucking up is the best kind.”

  “Well, now that I know you’re a professor, I expect a fantastic discussion about art,” Robin said.