There’s no fixing this.
My phone buzzes on my thigh.
Jazz: Did Prince Charming show up?
Victoria: No. But I do have a cellmate.
Jazz: Is he cute?
The air in the makeshift cell changes as he plops down on the bench about a foot to my left.
“No hockey players, eh? Someone do you dirty? I know some people. We could make sure they never find his body.” He crosses his long, muscular legs at his ankles, and stretches back, tucking both hands behind his head as he leans against the wall.
Jazz: He’s cute, isn’t he?
The weight of his stare on my face makes me turn to look at him. His blue eyes dance with delight and appraisal. My dude must have hit his head if he thinks his Prison Chic look is going to get him anywhere.
Victoria: No.
Jazz: Maybe your time together in the big house will change your mind.
My stomach growls so loudly the woman at the desk glances over the top of her purple-rimmed glasses, and no amount of silent praying makes the ground open up and swallow me.
The guy beside me pats his stomach. “I could go for some food too, now that you mention it.”
Getting to his feet, he flashes me another grin before making his way to the bars. He’s pulled on his jumpsuit halfway, over the top of his jeans and graphic tee. It hangs limp around his waist. Somehow he makes it work.
“Sy?” My cellmate taps the bars, jerking his head at someone I can’t see. I don’t know how they got real life cells assembled in the local community center, but they’ll need a truck or something to pull them down again.
The real cop who fake-arrested me comes into view.
“Pass my backpack?”
The straight-faced officer quirks a brow. “Do I look like your fucking servant?”
“Please?” Even with his back to me, I can tell he’s smiling.
With a grunt, Officer Sy turns away and after a beat or two comes back with an army green canvas bag. He opens the cell door, hands over the bag, and closes it again, smug satisfaction settling on his face as he secures the lock in place.
“Thanks, Sy. ’Preciate it. Tate been picked up yet?” The broad-shouldered hottie with his back to me jerks open the bag and sticks his arm inside.
Stifling a giggle at how much he looks like Mary Poppins right now, his arm disappearing almost all the way inside the canvas bag, I avert my gaze.
“Not yet. I get to pick him up later.”
I sneak another glance in their direction at the tone of theofficer’s voice. Something almost menacing crosses his face as my cellmate chuckles, his shoulders bobbing. I’m missing an inside joke, but whoever Tate is, he seems to have pissed off this cop. He’s going to take great pleasure in locking him up, even if it’s fake jail.
When my cellmate turns back to me, he’s holding something in my direction. “Here.”
I’m almost sure there are sandwiches in the brown paper bag within arm’s reach. And it’s tempting. But just because he has a beautiful face, a strong jaw, and blindingly blue eyes doesn’t mean I’m going to eat any old thing he hands me.
As though reading my mind, he sinks back onto the bench next to me, drops the pack at his feet, and opens the paper bag in his hand. Pulling out two halves of a sandwich, he makes yummy noises. Loudly.
After taking a huge bite out of one half, he beams at me. How does he even make eating a brown bag lunch look sexy?
Is he having an orgasmic experience right now? The bliss on his face would lead me to believe he is.
He slides closer, until his thigh touches mine, then offers the other half to me. With a growl of encouragement from my digestive system, I relent despite realizing that it’s peanut butter and jelly. Having it damn near every day as a kid has made me generally not a fan.
