to get out of the car and place both your hands on the hood.”
“I’m not his girlfriend,” Demi says, as if that’s our most pressing concern, being mistaken for a couple.
“We can’t,” I answer through gritted teeth.
“Look, kid, I realize this is a cool thing you college boys like to do—”
A cool thing we do?
“—but lewd behavior is grounds for arrest. Not only that, you were driving recklessly and endangering other drivers.”
I peer out the windshield at the dark and completely empty road. “What other drivers? There’s nobody here but us. A single car hasn’t driven by since you pulled us over.”
“And we’re not being lewd,” Demi protests. “I’m stuck!”
“Stuck,” he echoes dubiously.
I sigh. “She dropped her phone and tried to pick it up, and now she’s stuck.”
“Stuck,” he says again. Then he shakes his head as if deciding he doesn’t want to buy what we’re selling. “Miss, this is the last time I’m going to ask—please sit up.”
“I can’t.”
The officer reaches for his belt.
“Jesus!” I blurt out. “You don’t need your weapon!”
“What weapon!” Demi starts wiggling in my lap, renewed in her efforts to set herself free.
If the officer wasn’t there and it was the two of us, all that wild undulating would summon a heated response out of my dick. But the cop is here, so my dick is limp and I’m seconds away from breaking out in manic laughter. Which won’t go over well with the increasingly irritated officer.
Turns out, he was only reaching for a radio. “I’m going to need some backup on Ninth Line and Highway Forty-eight. Suspects were pulled over for reckless driving and performing oral sex while in a moving vehicle and are now resisting arrest.” Static crackles.
“I’m not performing oral sex!” Demi growls. “Trust me, I would love to perform oral sex on him, but he’s celibate.”
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.