Page 4 of Provoke You

“When did we meet up?” I asked.

“We didn’t meet up.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Around one in the morning.” His cute scowl reappeared across his forehead.

Both my eyebrows shot up. “Really? I would’ve thought your bedtime was like before nine.”

“It is,” he said.

I glanced up from my phone. He had his free hand on his thigh, arm bulging and stretching the short sleeves of his T-shirt. I wouldn’t mind an early bedtime if it meant this demigod would tuck me in.

“Anything?” He stopped my fantasy in its tracks.

“I was live about eight hours ago. Maybe there’s something there.” I tapped on the video, which already had over one thousand views.

Matt shifted his weight to get closer. Of course, he smelled fucklicious, a special cocktail of sandalwood and a high dose of Matt testosterone and sweat. I smoothed my hair away from my face to look at him from under my lashes, wishing I looked better than the version of me frozen at the start of the Instagram live. Who was I kidding? I didn’t need a mirror to know I looked worse.

The video loaded and started playing, and my body jerked a little. Again, more of the same as far as an all-out, all-night party in the middle of the week. I recognized the rotating carousel inside the Monteleone Hotel.

Five seconds into the live feed, Insta-Ela jumped up on the bar counter to show her followers who was there with her. At least, that was what it sounded like. The slurring was so bad I couldn’t understand a thing.

“I think we’ve seen enough.” He reached for my phone.

“No.” I turned away from him and stuck out my butt to block him. “We still have like ten minutes of this.”

“Christ.” He shot to his feet.

The tall figure leaning on the door that led to the main hotel lobby, arms across his chest, looked so familiar. By now, I would recognize that scowl anywhere. “You were there.” I slanted him a glance.

When I returned my attention to the phone, the tall man was gone. A minute later, the cops showed up. I covered my mouth, eyes wide. Oh crap. My Insta-Self thought the whole thing was hysterical, but Sober-Me could tell things were escalating. My Insta-Self spoke fast into the phone, giving her followers a play-by-play of what was going on.

“Shit. Dad’s going to kill me.”

At twenty-four years old, I was a grown woman. And even though my parents hadn’t bothered to come home or call me in months, this kind of spectacle they would very much care about. It reflected poorly on Dad’s empire, and that was not acceptable. My illustrious Dad was on every non-profit board around the city and worked hard to keep up his image of respected citizen and family man.

On the small screen, an officer approached me. His face was big and blurry up close on my camera phone. “Ms. LeBlanc, please get down. I can take you home.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say to Wasted-Ela. I grabbed his handcuffs and slapped them against my wrists, mumbling something about how he should lock me up because I had no home.

The police officer turned to ask if I was there with anyone. A quick look around showed me all my friends had gone. The video quality wasn’t all that great, but I could see lines forming around my mouth. My eyes watered before I jumped off the bar and made a run for it. The video ended with a shot of my stomach. I must’ve shoved the phone in the waistband of my skirt.

I dropped my head in my hands. Through my fingers, Matt’s bare feet came into view.

“I was on Bourbon street when you rounded the corner and slammed into me. You were in tears. I—”

“Is that when I handcuffed you?” I peeked at him, and for the first time since he woke up, he flashed me a genuine smile that made my one knee bump into the other one.

“If I had known you were running from the police, I would’ve taken you back.” That beautiful smile of his faded away.

“Now what?” I stood, meeting his gaze. We both knew there was only one way out of this.

“I have to turn you in. You understand that, right?”

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