Because a guy like that going out of his way to help us? Definitely crazy.
Chapter 4
Silas
The cop returns my belongings to me—my cell phone and my wallet and my keys—and I’m still not sure why I told that girl I’d help her. She was just standing there with that oversized shirt hanging off one shoulder and these short f**king shorts, and she looked so completely out of place in that cell. She looked like she belonged on some beach or in some fancy European city or something—somewhere I’ve never been and probably never will be. Maybe it was all that bare skin. Or maybe it was the long, wavy hair that was too easy to picture skimming over my chest as she rode me.
That has to be it.
I’ve had a shitty day, and my dick did my thinking.
Sighing, I ask the police officer, “What’s going to happen to those two?”
She shuffles through a pile of papers and says, “They’ll get cited and released.”
“How much is the citation?”
“One hundred and fifty for the girl. Fifty for the guy. Cash only.”
Fuck. Am I really considering coughing up that much money for the possibility of hooking up with her? If the girl is even half as uptight as she appears, she’ll probably spend the night preaching at me about the dangers of alcohol or something, trying to save me.
I’m suddenly in the mood to punch something again. I should just leave, but I don’t. Something about that girl has gotten under my skin, and she doesn’t deserve to sit in there for trying to help people.
“There an ATM near here?” I ask.
“Gas station across the street.”
As I head out into the night, I don’t let myself think about the fact that I’m about to do serious damage to my bank account. I don’t work during football season. There’s not enough time between that and school. Instead, I just bust my ass in the off-season and during the summer to save up enough to last me. I’ve already resigned from the landscaping job I worked this summer since camp starts on Monday, so there’s no making this money back.
I punch my PIN number into the ATM and mumble under my breath, “She better be f**king worth it.”
I could really go for a joint right about now . . . something to cloud my head and keep me from thinking about money and football and fights and Levi and home. There are so many f**king things I don’t want to think about that it’s impossible to block them all out.
Sex or pot. Those are my best options.
The party should still be going at my place. Maybe I can squeeze in both tonight. I think for a little while, and eventually decide to ask Carson if he can come pick me up and give me a lift to my truck at the bar. He answers on the second ring, and says that he and Dallas will come.
Yet another thing for the coach’s daughter to hold against me.
Back at the police station, I tell the cop that I want to pay the citation for Dylan and her friend.
She gives me a skeptical look.
“You know them?” she says.
I shrug. “Nope. Just full of good deeds.”
She looks around like maybe she’s being punked, but in the end she takes the money and finishes processing their paperwork. I don’t blame her for being skeptical. Hell, I’m skeptical. I spent the occasional night in a local shelter as a kid whenever one of Mom’s relationships blew up and lost us our place to stay. So maybe that’s part of it. Most of it is her, though.
Dylan is the kind of girl who would never fit in my old world. Maybe a night with her will pull me back where I’m supposed to be, anchor me here in this life.
The red-haired dude comes out first, and Dylan shuffles behind him, her head down. When she looks up and meets my gaze, she freezes. Her jaw drops a little, and I realize she didn’t believe me when I said I would figure it out.
I don’t know whether to feel satisfied or disappointed at her shock. The two of them talk to the cop a bit, are given a slip of paper each and their confiscated belongings, and then allowed into the general lobby, where I’m waiting.
Then she’s standing in front of me, and that shirt is hanging off her shoulder again, and she’s woven her hair into a long, thick braid that drapes over her shoulder and falls into the valley between her br**sts. I can’t decide whether I liked her hair better how it was before, or like this, where I can wrap the whole length of it around my hand to tug her head back.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she says.
“And be labeled a stereotypical, uncaring youth again? No thanks.”
She scrunches up her nose and her lips twist to the side. “God, I was kind of a jerk tonight. I’m sorry.”
I run a hand over the tender place on my jaw where Levi got me and shrug. “It happens. To some of us more often than others. I’ve got a friend on his way to pick me up. You two need a ride?”
The guy answers, “That would be great, thanks. I’m Matt, by the way. I didn’t catch your name.”
He reaches out his hand, and I shake it. When I go to reply, Dylan beats me to it. “His name is Silas.”
Her friend gives her a look, and she swallows and casts her eyes at the floor.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Silas. We’ll pay you back the cash for the citations.”
I shrug. I should probably be all polite and shit and tell them not to worry about it, but I don’t exactly have money to throw around. I nod toward the door and say, “Let’s go wait for my friend outside.”
Matt goes first, and I hold the door open for Dylan. I catch the scent of her hair as she moves past me, and it smells so damn sweet that I want to bury my face in it, to breathe her in. I wonder where else she smells that sweet.