The Play (Briar U, #3)(68)

I’m sorry, what?

Did she just say she would love to perform oral sex on me?

“Seriously, Demi? You’re saying you actually want to bl—do that?” My mind spins like a carousel. During all this talk about rebounds, I truly believed she was joking when she suggested me as a candidate. That’s why I never let myself…get my hopes up, I guess?

“I told you I want a rebound, and I wanted to have it with you.” Her voice is muffled and her fingers continue to fumble with her ear.

But we’ll need to discuss Demi’s desire to blow me later. I need to get through to this stubborn officer first.

“Sir,” I say calmly. “Please. I understand what this looks like, but we are not engaging in lewd behavior. We’re both clothed. My dick’s in my pants.”

“Where is your license and registration?”

“In the glove box, but I can’t reach—”

A shout of triumph echoes in the car, and suddenly Demi’s head pops up like a jack-in-the-box.

“I did it!” She’s frantically rubbing her left ear.

“Holy shit,” I say when she moves her hand. Her earlobe is bright red and swollen to three times its size, and there’s blood staining her fingertips.

She’s right. Hoop earrings should be banned.

“See!” Relief lines her voice as she gazes imploringly at the officer. “His pants are zipped. We weren’t doing anything wrong. And we only drank a beer each. Well, two for me.”

I swallow a groan.

Goddammit. Drinking hadn’t even been part of this equation. And now, thanks to her, it is.

The cop is officially done humoring us. “I’m going to need both of you to get out of the car. Now.”





“This is the drunk tank?” Demi asks an hour later.

She looks thoroughly unimpressed with the holding area of the only jail in Hastings. The large cell currently houses three people—us, and a middle-aged man with a bushy beard, sleeping on one of the benches. He’s twitching in his sleep, and one foot taps against the bars every few seconds.

Yup, we’re behind bars, and it’s all thanks to the big hoops.

“Maybe it’s nicer when you’re actually drunk?” she hypothesizes.

I laugh as I slide my back down the cement wall and sink onto the metal bench. Beneath my feet is a dirty linoleum floor. Above my head the fluorescent lights are way too bright.

“You know this is all your fault,” I say cheerfully.

“My fault?” Her brown eyes fill with indignation.

“I told you what would happen if you synced your Bluetooth to my car.”

“This is not my Bluetooth’s fault.”

“Oh really?”

“Really. I dropped my phone.”

“Still your fault.”

“Oh shut up.”

“You shut up.” I scoot closer to her, until we’re sitting about a foot apart. “How’s your ear?” I ask gruffly.

From what I can see, it’s still pink and swollen, but it doesn’t seem to be bleeding anymore. The dried blood caked onto the lobe triggers a pang of guilt, because I’m the one who talked her into wearing those earrings tonight.

“It’s sore,” she admits. “But at least it’s still attached to my head.”

“At least that,” I agree. “I’m sorry I made you wear the big hoops.”

“It’s all right. Now you know.” She releases a bleak sigh. “Sometimes you must witness the tragedy firsthand in order to understand it.”

“Yes,” I said gravely.

My lips twitch until finally a laugh slips out. She joins in, stretching out her legs and tapping her suede boots on the linoleum.

“I wish I had a lollipop,” she says.

“I wish I had my freedom.”

That summons another laugh from her. “God. I can’t believe we’re in jail. For lewd behavior, of all things.”

“And my dick wasn’t even out!”

“I know, right?”

The lone deputy in the holding area glances in our direction, and I glimpse a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. He’s been at his desk for the past hour, typing on a computer.

I have no idea where the arresting officer disappeared to, although we weren’t technically arrested. Nobody read me my Miranda rights, anyway. No Miranda rights? Ha! I’ve seen enough Law and Order reruns to know that any judge in his right mind would dismiss this case in a heartbeat. Unless the judge is having a bad day.

Personally, I think Officer Cranky was having a shitty night. Demi and I didn’t do anything wrong and he knows it. Our breathalyzers barely registered a thing.

“What’s the punishment for lewd behavior?” she asks curiously.

“No clue.”

“Excuse me—sir?” She hops up and approaches the bars. “What’s the punishment for lewd behavior? Is it death?”

Once again, he seems to be fighting a smile. “For first-time offenders, usually a fine.”

“Perfect,” she chirps. “My co-conspirator is filthy rich. He can write you a check.”

“Hey, don’t look at me,” the desk jockey says with a grin. “Wait until Officer Jenk returns—he’s the one you need to talk to.”