Shortcake

by Watson, Lucy

  “Okay.” She studies my eyes, searching for a hint of a lie. She won’t find one because it’s the truth.

  My mission tonight was to go out and have fun, so it’s safe to say mission accomplished. Now on to my next mission, which is to somehow avoid Ben for the next few weeks.

  Not wanting her to feel abandoned, I add, “I can hang out until closing. I’ll just plant my old-lady ass on a stool, no biggie.”

  She chuckles as she walks to the sink. “No ass planting needed. I’m good.” She washes her hands, catching my eyes in the mirror. “Are you going to be okay? I mean, with Ben.”

  Just the thought of Ben causes my stomach to twist and knot. I push back the feeling. I’ll worry about Ben in all his glaring glory in about thirty minutes when I’m on my way home. Until then, I’m still “fun Emmy.”

  “Who?” I grin.

  Mara shoots me a megawatt smile, as she reaches a paper towel and chirps, “That’s my girl.”

  * * *

  I usually would never take my shoes off in a stranger’s car, especially when there’s a good chance they smell as bad as they feel. But the urge to stretch my cramped toes is like trying not to scratch mosquito bite—impossible to ignore. So I slip off my shoes, pressing my toes against the short-carpeted floor. I bite back a moan, giving myself a brief reprieve from my Ben thoughts.

  “Guess you finished breaking hearts early tonight, huh?” Carl, my forty-something, balding Uber driver asks, finding my eyes in the rearview mirror.

  Yeah, Carl’s a talker, which is probably why he’s rated four-stars instead of five.

  Usually, small-talkers make me uncomfortable, but right now my stomach won’t stop churning at the thought of walking in on Ben getting some birthday love, so I welcome the distraction.

  “Heartbreaker?” I smile with a small laugh. “Hardly.”

  “I don’t buy it. Pretty girl like you?”

  I wait for my creeper alert to go off, but I’m not getting those vibes from him, so I relax into the conversation.

  “Sorry to disappoint you.” I smile, and turn my gaze out the window, catching my reflection in the night sky.

  You can slap some cool Black Widow-worthy clothes on me, but I’m still me.

  “I got some bottled water, if you want one.”

  I turn to see his outstretched hand holding a mini-bottle of water for me to take.

  I grab it. “You’re a lifesaver, thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  You know those times when you don’t even realize you’re thirsty until you see a Sprite commercial and all of a sudden it’s like you just came back from a trek across the Sahara? That’s how I feel right now, mouth sandy and throat suddenly desert-dry.

  I give it a cursory glance to make sure it’s properly sealed, having no interest in starring in my own Nightline segment, then I down that sucker in five seconds flat.

  “Want another one?” he asks with a smile in his voice.

  “You don’t mind?” I feel bad drinking all his water, but apparently not bad enough to say no.

  “That’s what they’re there for.” He gives me a small chuckle, grabbing another one from the passenger seat, handing it to me.

  “Thanks. Complimentary water is always a five-star review from me.”

  “They’re the wife’s idea.” He gives me an endearing smile. “She’s the brains of the operation.”

  I picture his wife, likely a sweet kindergarten teacher named Anna with a chin-length bob. He’s probably working nights so they can take the kids on a family trip to Disneyland.

  “Sounds like a smart lady,” I say, making it evident that my small-talk skills are lacking.

  “Sure is,” he chuckles like he just heard the punchline of a mediocre joke while meeting my eyes in the rearview. I smile back like I heard it too.

  Just as I go to twist open the bottle, blue flashing lights shine from behind us, illuminating the inside of the car, followed by a blasting siren.

  I jolt in my seat and look over my shoulder at the police car. “I think we’re getting pulled over,” I state, in case it wasn’t clear what flashing lights and a blaring siren coming from a police car means.

  Carl roughly adjusts his rearview, seething something harsh under his breath that I can’t make out, but it causes the back of my neck to tingle.

  Trying not to panic, I sit forward in my seat.

  “Are you speeding?” I stretch my neck to see the speedometer, but it’s blocked by the wheel. It doesn’t feel like we’re going too fast. “You should pull over.” I’m trying to keep my voice calm and steady. I’m not going to panic. I’m not going to freak out. Not yet. Not yet.

  He ignores me and brings up his cell with a curse.

  Adrenaline spikes through my body. My voice shakes when I say, “Now’s probably not the time for a phone call…”

  He barks into the phone, his voice sounding totally different than moments ago, “What the fuck did you do?” I hear a high-pitched female voice screeching from his earpiece. “I told you, I never fucking touched her. When I get out, you better be long gone, you crazy fucking bitch.”

  Now. Now, I panic.

  He throws his phone down on the passenger seat as another police car pulls alongside us. I don’t know the universal sign for “this is not a Bonnie and Clyde situation,” so I give the cop a two-handed wave and a vigorous shake of my head, which is lost to the side of his face as he glares at Carl while talking into his CB thingy.

  “Fuck,” Carl growls as he hits the steering wheel, then grabs it in an iron grip shaking it violently.

  “Listen, I don’t know what’s going on, but—”

  I’m cut off by bull-horned deep voice ordering for us to pull over.

  Four-star Carl doesn’t seem able to grasp the concept of what’s happening, because the wheel doesn’t budge.

  Doesn’t fucking budge.

  And now, the end is near, and so I face the final curtain…

  My fingers close around the door handle. Will I jump from a moving car? Probably not, but I’m not ruling it out.

  If I’m going to be trapped in a speeding vehicle with a man, it will be Keanu Reeves, not fucking Carl, the balding Uber driver.

  My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it pulsing in the tips of my fingers. For some reason, I think about my dad—his deep-set blue eyes looking down at me from his stern face. I wonder what he’s doing right now. I wonder what he would do if he were here.

  Probably yell something…

  “Jesus Christ, pull over!” I exclaim to the back of Carl’s head. “Now!” I finish, as I unbuckle my seatbelt, needing to do something.

  “Fuck,” he shouts to the windshield as the car slows. Adrenaline heats my veins and rings in my ears as he turns the wheel to the side.

  Not wanting to take part in his “You’ll never take me alive, Copper!” moment, I force my hands to wait until the car is nearly stopped. Then I throw open the door and run out.

  Right into a mother-freaking episode of Cops.

  The one where the barefoot girl in faux-leather pants with wild hair gets ordered to the ground at gunpoint by a three-hundred-pound linebacker in a police uniform. Then gets handcuffed while professing her innocence, and then, right when she thinks they’re starting to understand this is all just a big misunderstanding, she gets shoved into the backseat of a police car so they can straighten things out at the station.

  Yep, that one.

  I think it won an award or some shit.

  * * *

  Turns out, “Carl” is really Steven Cole, aka Slick Steve, a drug dealer on the run from Nevada who apparently cheated on the wrong woman, hence the anonymous tip that included his license plate and GPS location. I guess they won’t be going to Disneyland after all.

  My gaze slides from my non-pedicured toes—Mara’s shoes evidently spending the night on the impound lot—to Officer Nunez as he retakes his seat behind his worn desk, his polished silver badge shining bright against his b
lack police uniform, his polished gold wedding band shining against his warm olive skin.

  I like Officer Nunez. He’s soft-spoken with honey-brown eyes and a boyishly handsome face with the perfect amount of salt and pepper around his temple to give him an authoritative edge.

  I also like the fact that he brought me several cups of coffee, and the world’s biggest chocolate chip cookie, which I ate while giving him my statement.

  It’s crazy how long lines at Home Depot can cause a panic attack, but munching on a giant cookie while giving a police statement, no problem.

  “Sorry, it took so long. Must be a full moon tonight… it’s crazy.” He exhales, handing me a copy of his report.

  “Tell me about it,” I tease.

  He chuckles with a white-toothed grin. “It’ll make for a good story.” His eyes flick to the report. “And you’ve got proof, so you might win a few bets.”

  I shake my head with a small laugh and scrunch my nose. “Yeah, I think I’ll keep this little ditty to myself.”

  Folding the report in half, I slip it into my purse, amazed that this night can be reduced to a single sheet of paper.

  He tosses away his empty coffee cup and turns back to me. “Well, we’re all done here. We’ll go ahead and give you a call if we have any further questions.” His lips tip up into a small smile. “Thanks again for your patience with all this.”

  “No problem,” I say, distracted by the zing of panic jolting my chest. My head spins as I try to figure out how I’m going to get home from here.

  I’m not even sure where here is, exactly. But one thing I do know is that there’s no freaking way I’m calling an Uber. Slick Steve has officially ruined that mode of transportation for me.

  As if sensing the change in my demeanor, Officer Nunez leans forward. “Do you have someone to pick you up?”

  “Yeah, totally…” I give him the brightest smile I can muster.

  He studies me for a beat and says, “If not, let me know. My shift ends soon, and I’ll be happy to take you home.” He gives me a look that says he knows I might have to take him up on that offer and doesn’t mind.

  “Hey, Nunez, gotta sec.” A barrel-chested officer across the room holds up an iPad, motioning to him.

  Nunez gives him a chin-up, then shoots me a brow-raised, tight-lipped smile before standing and walking away.

  I return his smile with a nod and bring my phone from my purse—this time hoping that it’s not as late as it feels. I have to blink my eyes a few times just to make sure I’m seeing the time right.

  1:08. Blink. 1:08…

  Well, if time moves at warp speed when you’re having fun, it makes sense that it moves like a freaking sloth when you’re sitting barefoot in a police station after being arrested at gunpoint.

  I exhale a defeated breath and start to dial Derek, biting my bottom lip as my finger freezes over the call button. I tell myself it’s because I don’t want him to freak out. That I don’t want to call him because he’ll just tell Uncle Rick who’s already trying to convince me to move back home. But the truth is, Derek’s not the person I want to sit in silence with. Not the person I want to grunt at me how stupid I am.

  Knowing my ungraceful swan dive onto the asphalt earlier must have knocked out whatever good sense I had left, I scroll through my contacts, past names I haven’t said out loud in years, stopping on one.

  I hit call with my heart beating wildly in my chest, every reason why I should hang up twisting my stomach.

  On the second ring, loud music mixed blasts in my ear, followed by Ben’s deep voice. “Emelia?” he says my name with an unexpected sense of urgency.

  For some reason hearing my name like that on his gravelly voice causes a painful lump to form at the base of my throat.

  I swallow it back. “Ben…” My voice cracks. “I… I need your help,” I stammer.

  “What’s wrong?” The background noises muffle and fade like he’s walking outside. “You okay?” The concern in his voice rips through my gold-plated armor with a diamond-tipped arrow straight to my heart.

  My eyes burn. My throat feels tight as I try to grab onto my voice, blinking back welling tears.

  “Emelia.” His voice is deep and sharp.

  I clear my throat. “I was… my…I…” My blurry gaze swipes my busy surroundings, my ears feeling suddenly pin-prickly hot. “Can you just come and get me, please?” I croak out, not knowing where to start or how to explain any of this shit.

  “Where are you?” His words are slow and low.

  My first tear of the night burns a hot streak down my cheek.

  “Palo Alto Police Station.”

  “I’m on my way.” The line goes dead.

  He’s on his way.

  Ben’s on his way to pick me up from the police station, leaving whatever bar he’s at with his friends, for me.

  For me.

  I should feel embarrassed for asking him to come. And guilty for pulling him away from his friends on his birthday. But I don’t. I’m sure tomorrow I will, but right now I just pray wherever he is, it’s not too far away, because I’m beyond ready to call it a night and go to bed.

  Not that I’ll be getting any sleep, especially after three cups of mud-coffee, but for once, I couldn’t care less about sleep. Don’t care if I sit up all night replaying this night on repeat. The only thing I care about is getting out of these tight clothes—that hours ago made me feel sexy, and now just make me feel claustrophobic and trapped—and into a steaming-hot shower where I may or may not spend the night.

  It might take that long to clean the chunks of Highway 101 out of the skin on my stomach.

  22

  Us

  I take Officer Nunez up on his offer for me to wait for my ride at his desk instead of in the waiting area. Seems the full moon has brought out some pretty interesting people tonight. People, who, unlike me, probably at least have shoes on…

  Feeling a sudden change in the air, like an electric current that causes my stomach to flutter, I shift in the chair to see Ben on the other side of bulletproof glass, being buzzed in.

  My breath catches. My pulse jumps. Relief that he’s here is so overwhelming, my eyes burn with fresh tears that I force myself to swallow back. When I’m alone, I’ll cry. Not now. Not here. Not in front of Ben.

  His darkly beautiful face is set in harsh lines. He nods to the officer who lets him in. The soft gray hoodie he’s wearing is the same one I stole from him that he stole back.

  I have to bite my lip to keep from shedding the tears I’m fighting so fucking hard to keep at bay.

  Our eyes lock. His jaw’s tight, his broad shoulders tense as his urgent stride takes him straight to me.

  I stand, my pulse racing, facing him on wobbly legs, trying to keep my footing while the storm of emotions crash against me.

  His eyes darken and his jaw ticks as he slides his gaze down my body. I know what he sees: a smudged-makeup, shoeless girl with a scraped stomach, wearing a dirty shirt from being handcuffed on the ground by a linebacker.

  My head tilts back as he stops at my front. His body vibrates with an energy that goosebumps my skin. His familiar scent wraps around me and soothes my soul.

  “Ben, uh, I…” I whisper, feeling a hot tear slide down my cheek. Before I can wipe it away and find my words, he pulls me tight into his warm chest, shielding me from the world with his heavy arms. Where I belong. Where I fit. Where I’m safe. He squeezes me against him like I matter. Like he never wants to let me go.

  The thought causes me to gently rack with fresh tears. Tears I don’t want to shed. Tears that evidently don’t care what I want.

  “Fuck, babe. Don’t cry. It’s okay,” he lulls, his voice thick and soft. “You’re okay.” His deep words vibrate my cheek pressed against his chest.

  I nod, but my arms don’t budge from around his waist.

  A familiar voice sounds from behind me. “Hey. I’m Officer Nunez, the one handling Ms. Anderson’s case.”

  Be
n’s steel arms tighten. “What happened?” His tone is hard, opposite from a moment ago.

  I hear Officer Nunez’ heavy sigh. “In short, Ms. Anderson was in an Uber driven by a felon wanted on drug charges. She was unfortunately caught in the fray during the apprehension.”

  I feel every muscle in Ben’s body pull tight, like the moment before a star explodes into a supernova.

  “Yeah? That how she ended up with bruises on her fucking arm and cuts on her stomach?” His voice is sharp and deadly.

  I have bruises on my arm?

  I push from Ben’s chest, having to tilt my head back because he won’t let me go any farther.

  His fire-lit brown eyes slice to mine, a quiet rage simmering in them.

  “I’m okay,” I sniffle with a forced smile.

  “The fuck you are.”

  “Really, I’m fine, Ben. I just want to go home.” I grip his shirt a little. “Please,” I plead, having had enough drama for one night.

  His jaw ticks as he takes a step back, his eyes going to my feet. “Where’re your shoes?”

  I glance at my bare feet with an exhale. “They got impounded.”

  At my explanation, Ben’s eyes narrow and land on Nunez with a question meant for me. “They impounded your shoes?”

  “I didn’t like them anyway,” I say, trying to keep things light, turning to Officer Nunez, who doesn’t look like he’s in any mood to deal with a pissed-off Ben. I don’t blame him.

  “Thanks for the cookie,” I say lamely.

  He nods, his gaze sliding between Ben and me before he turns and walks off with the weight of the night slumping his square shoulders.

  He’s one of the good ones. I can tell. I hope he has a nice wife to go home to.

  I grab my purse from the desk and face Ben who’s pulling his sweatshirt off, exposing a bit of his toned stomach and then the white T-shirt underneath. He slides the sweatshirt over my head, then grabs my purse from my hands so I can finish the job.

  “Thanks,” I say, slipping my arms through his warm material that hangs to my thighs and smells like Ben.