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Arsen
Two hours tops.
That’s what I told Prism. I’d have us out of this in two hours tops.
We were currently just past hour three, and we’d finally been processed. Frankly, I was running out of patience with the boys in blue. Westbrook’s finest, my ass.
Normally, I wasn’t so quick to anger. The ability to talk my way out of almost anything was something I came by naturally. I preferred a more laid-back approach to life and an it is what it is type of mantra.
But the second the cuffs had been snapped on Prism’s wrists, I realized I would never be laidback when it came to him. If the current situation didn’t require all of my attention, I might be stunned.
The second they hauled us into the station, it became apparent we were being separated into different rooms. “Don’t say anything!” was all I could yell as they forced us apart.
As soon as walls kept me from seeing him, a clock started ticking inside my head. They must have thought letting us sit would make us antsy or more eager to talk. Because after being processed, my fingers were covered with ink, and I had a mugshot to add to my portfolio, time passed without anyone asking a single question.
It didn’t make me antsy, but it sure as fuck pissed me off.
The second the door opened, my lips were moving without even looking up at who was there. “I want my phone call.”
“Just a few questions first.”
My eyes finally turned on the man in a wrinkled suit and crooked tie. Tamping down my impatience, I held his gaze. “I’m not saying shit until I get my phone call so I can consult with my legal counsel regarding this situation.”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he heaved a sigh and pulled the door open all the way, motioning with a generic file folder for me to follow him. He led me to the wide-open bay where desks filled the rooms, phones rang off the hook, and the scent of burned coffee hung in the air.
I glanced around actively, hoping to find Prism but only seeing men in uniform. The fact I didn’t know his first name bothered me more and more. Little shit wouldn’t even tell me.
Shot daggers from his eyes when I called him princess, but secretly loved it. Otherwise, he would have eagerly given me his name.
Truth was he didn’t look like a princess. Not in the least. I’d only said it because I knew it would rile him up, and that seemed like a better option than the wild panic he exuded when we were in the closet. And then again in the squad car.
I glanced around again, my knee bouncing with worry. “Where’s Prism?” I asked the detective.
“So you can ask questions, but I can’t?” the detective quipped.
Never mind what I said about my life approach. It is what it is was now horseshit. Like hell I’d roll over and accept circumstances as if I wasn’t strong enough to change it. From now on, my life approach was it is what I make it.
And right now, I was making it all about Prism.
He was different up close than he appeared far away. Not at all what I expected. He was tall, though not as tall as me at six feet, three inches. His body was solid, completely ripped from being an Elite swimmer, guys I knew trained hard.
He hung with the most popular dudes on campus, people who drew attention every place they went. He was quiet, but his best friend was a loudmouth, so it wasn’t like he could get a word in edgewise. Every time I saw him, he had AirPods jammed in his ears. They were practically part of his anatomy, and I was so used to seeing them that when they weren’t on him, I was surprised.
Those surprising times he didn’t wear them? At the parties in the old gym. I told myself it was because my music was so sick he didn’t want to miss a beat.
Prism seemed confident. Self-assured in an almost intimidating way. I heard people speculate about his sexuality. He never dated, boy or girl. When people asked, he simply didn’t answer, another reason he seemed impenetrable.
Basically, not my type at all.
Somehow, though, my brain conveniently forgot that fact every time the man was within sight because it was him my eyes always found. I thought about asking Jess about him. I knew she was close to him, but I didn’t want to seem like a creeper.
She and I shared the same major, and we had a class together. We swapped notes on occasion when one of us missed lectures, but that was the extent of our friendship. She’d gotten hurt at the beginning of the semester, lost her memory, and I hadn’t known. I’d said a bunch of stuff that freaked her out… Hence the reason I didn’t want to come off as a creeper now.
Plus, her boyfriend Kruger was like their guard dog on steroids. And not the quality supplements either. The kind that made you a little unpredictable.
So I satisfied myself with just looking.
Looking would never be satisfying enough again.
