Page 1 of Muddy Messy Love

One

Can cops smell fear?I’m damn sure they can. At least, the chronic glut of mine.

I clench the ratty front seat and eye the side mirror. Smoke from Slade’s cigarette fogs the car, clouding the reflection, but a gunmetal sedan still tails us through the night. Smooth like a shark stalking its prey. Black aerials in lieu of fins.

“Is that the coppers?” Liam yells from the back over Slade’s thumping EDM. We’re a rave party on wheels. All that’s missing are strobing lights, but not for long. Slade hits the blinker to turn down a side street, and sure enough, as we round the corner, covert lights flash red and blue.Shit. This was not part of the plan. Then again, none of tonight was.

“Fuck,” Liam drones. “Dude, I knew this would happen.”

I snap my eyes to Slade, expecting his foot to jump pedals and the brakes to grind, but he shows no sign of stopping. Rather, trees whiz by in a murky blur, street lights ribbon, and sirens start to scream.

Say something, you idiot.

I hesitate, choked by my hammering heart and Slade’s mere presence, but Jen squeezes my shoulder from behind, hard enough for her polka-dot nails to pinch my skin. South of the red line isn’t her jam. She’s here because of me. She and Liam both.

I gulp. “Pull over.”

Slade cocks a brow and sizes me up, apparently surprised I dared to speak, but my body takes his velvet gaze in a totally different way, setting my skin abuzz until I squirm. A devious smirk tugs at his lips then, and my tongue darts out to lick my own, the taste of him still fresh. “Now where would be the fun in that?” he asks, eyes glinting with mischief.

My mouth falls open, and his smile grows.

He can’t be serious.

He kills the music, stubs out his cigarette in the old ashtray, then shakes his head. “C’mon, Avery, live a little.”

“Aves,” Jen hisses, prompting me to turn around. Backlit by the lights closing in, her fiery curls glow, and her panicky frown begs me to do something—to reason with Slade.

Liam squeezes her knee, then clears his throat. “Come on, man. Whatcha gonna do? Get us in a high-speed chase? Inmycar? That shit ain’t happening.”

Slade locks eyes with him in the rear-view mirror. Liam’s as placid as they come, but mess with his car—his baby—and God help you.

Slade’s jaw ticks. “Fuck me,” he grumbles before jerking the wheel towards the kerb. The dilapidated sedan jolts to a halt. “Maybe you shoulda driven, then, instead of playing footsies in the back bloody seat.”

“I will next time, pie-fucker,” Liam says under his breath.

I peer down at my feet and curse. The sugar-skull-decorated laptop Slade stole from my ex-housemate, Mia, sits neatly in my footwell. I take a deep breath and kick it back with myheel, hoping to hide it under the seat, but Mia’s laptop refuses to budge more than an inch. It’s as maddening as she is, yet smearing it with fingerprints isn’t an option.

Fuck.

Car doors slam shut behind us, and my belly flips. “What are we going to do?” I ask Slade.

“Stay fucking cool. That’s what we do.” His eyes narrow on me, pupils eclipsing the hazel surrounds, and he leans in closer. “And remember, snitches get stitches.” I furrow my brows at the thinly veiled threat, but he softens his words with a distracting smile that always steals reason from thought.

We stare at the mirrors in arctic silence as two officers approach, flanking each side of Liam’s car with footsteps that crunch and thud. Jen whimpers, and her distress knots in my chest. We haven’t been stopped by police since she and I were twelve and rollerblading without helmets. That was funny.This? Not so much. But still, that new feeling simmers low in my belly beneath the bitter warning. It spirals up my spine and poises for what’s to come, craving adrenaline and turmoil—the chaos it knows.

Slade winds down his window and plasters on a charismatic smile. Each flash of colour illuminates his tan skin, and the red, in particular, does beautiful things to his complexion.Heavenlythings. Tribal tattoos wind up the back of his neck through dark buzz-cut hair. A titanium stud shimmers in his left ear, and his eyes gleam with the promise of trouble. My stomach flutters.

God, he’s beautiful.

“Good evening, Officer. Sorry, I didn’t know all that was for us. What can I do for you?” Slade says in his most eloquent voice, never mind it being midnight.

The officer narrows his eyes. “Driver’s licence, please?”

Slade makes a show of slapping his empty pockets, then rummages through the centre console. “Sorry, Officer, I seem to have left it at home.”

“Is this your vehicle?”

“It’s mine, sir,” Liam says, poking his head through the gap between the front seats.

---