Gypsy King (Tin Gypsy, #1)(40)

Nothing.

It had been a few hours since she’d been arrested at the school, giving me plenty of time to get out of there before she’d realized I’d ripped that page out of the yearbook. The cops should have let her go by now. She’d get a slap on the wrist and a lecture from Marcus. Nothing more. That should have taken an hour, tops. So where was she?

My stomach rolled as I drove past the high school and spotted her car. It was in the same place it had been earlier.

Meaning Bryce was still in jail.

“Shit.” I raced for the police station.

I pictured her sitting on a cot in a cell, fuming mad. She’d probably plotted my murder ten times over.

The station’s parking lot was dead. A few patrol cars were parked along one side of the building as I pulled up along the front curb, shutting off my bike to wait.

And wait.

An hour and a half passed while I messed around on my phone. I’m sure the surveillance cameras and the officer watching them were wondering what I was doing, but no one came out. And no one went in.

Shit. Was she here? I hadn’t checked her parents’ place. Maybe they’d come to pick her up and she’d gone there. I checked the hour on my phone for the hundredth time as the sun began to set, the evening light dimming. I huffed and swore under my breath just as a familiar yellow cab pulled into the space behind me.

“Hey, Rick.” I waved and walked up to his driver’s side window.

“Dash. What are you doing here?”

“Waiting to pick someone up. You?”

“Same.”

Rick was likely starting his shift. He ran his own cab company—Uber wasn’t a thing here yet—and he made a decent living hauling drunk people home. Hell, he’d collected me on more than a few occasions.

What were the chances that there was more than one person needing to be picked up from the police station in Clifton Forge on a Tuesday well before the fun stuff began at the bars? Slim.

“You here for Bryce Ryan?”

“Uh, yeah. I think that was the name dispatch called in for me.”

“Here.” I dug into my pocket, getting my wallet, and pulled out two twenties to hand over. “I’ve got her.”

He nodded and smiled as he took the cash. “Great. Thanks, Dash.”

“See you around.” I knocked on the hood before getting out of his way. His taillights were barely off the lot when the front door to the police station opened and Bryce came rushing out.

“Hey, wait!” She waved for the cab but Rick was already gone. “Damn it.”

Bryce ran a hand through her hair, her shoulders slumping. They straightened when her eyes landed on me waiting at the base of the steps.

“I’ll give you a ride.”

“No.” She started down the steps, her footfalls heavy. “I’ll walk.”

“Come on.” I met her as she reached the last step, her angry eyes level with mine. “I’ll take you home.”

“Stay away from me. You got me arrested for trespassing. I was handcuffed. I had to have my mug shot and fingerprints taken. I’ve been in jail.”

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” She tried to sidestep me, but I moved too fast, blocking her escape.

“Bryce,” I said gently. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you really that afraid I’ll find something?”

“Yes.”

My answer—and the truth in that single word—caught her off guard.

She recovered quickly. “I don’t understand you. You come to my house and kiss me. Then you fix my dad’s press and ask for a truce. We have sex. You kick me out. You follow me to the school and break in yourself. Then you call the cops on me. It’s inferno or ice. I’m done.”

“Look, it doesn’t make sense to me either.” From the day she’d come to the garage, my brain and emotions had been all twisted. “All I know is I can’t seem to stay away from you even though I know I should.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Try harder.”

“Let me take you to your car.”

“On that?” She pointed to my motorcycle. “No.”

“Scared?” I asked, baiting her.

Her eyes narrowed. “Never.”

“Please. I fucked up earlier. I’m sorry. Let me at least get you to your car.”

“No.” She wasn’t going to budge, so I decided to appeal to her logic.

“There’s no one else. You’ll have to walk miles and it’s getting dark. Rick’s probably on his next call already. I’m guessing you didn’t call your parents for a reason. Come on. It’s just a ride.”

A growl came from her throat. It sounded a lot like fine.

This time when she attempted to stomp past me, I let her past. She went to the bike, her eyes taking in the gleaming chrome and shiny black paint.

I met her there and swung a leg over. “Hop on.”

If she was unsure, she didn’t let it show. She climbed on behind me, shifting back and forth until she was steady. Then she wrapped her arms around my waist, trying not to hold on too tight.

The way her arms felt around me, the way the inside of her thighs hugged my hips, squeezing around every turn, was nearly as good as it had felt lying on top of her in the garage. The drive to the high school wasn’t long enough.