Page 9 of Not Just a Trick Play

“How did you pick New York, then?” I ask.

She shrugs. “My dad talked about it constantly. He was a musician and used to tell me about all the places he performed at in the city. I want to visit all the little off-beat spots he loved.”

“Not too off-beat. We don’t want you getting into any more trouble,” I warn.

“Me?” She looks at me, raising her brows pointedly, then the bed. The fitted sheet is half off, and the fuchsia handcuffs peek out from the disheveled covers. Bits of fur dot the rest of the mattress and floor like fuzz from a newly hatched chick dipped in Kool-Aid. This could be a poster for a terrible made-for-TV movie or the cover of the bondage-themed erotic novel my sister Heidi swears isn’t hers.

I guess it could have been worse. Stella could have gagged me and covered me in honey then smothered me with a pillow at the height of the moment.

I seriously don’t want to deal with explaining the events of the last few hours to my family. Team Cunningham will never let me hear the end of it. I was eternally getting drawn into their never-ending soap operas. Someone’s forever falling in love, falling out of love, making best friends, making better enemies. Growing up, I always felt like I was in a reality TV show and at this point believe drama should only be a spectator sport.

There’s knocking at the door, and we head back to the living space to let the police in. One questions Amelia about the Airbnb while I lead the other into the bedroom.

“Jake Cunningham, huh?”

“Yep.” I give him a practiced grin.

“Awesome touchdown in the last three seconds against Dallas, man!”

“Thanks.”

A barely concealed smirk grows on the cop’s face as I recount the events of the night, explaining about Stella, pulling up the photo she posted.

“She didn’t take anything, your phone, your watch…?”

I shake my head.

“No injuries?”

Another shake, no. Not unless my pride counts.

“And you came here on your own.”

I sigh. I suspect I’ll be answering for that asinine decision for years to come. Anytime someone feels like dining out on the story of Jake and the Pink Cuff Predicament.

“We can’t charge her for unlawful confinement given you consented, but the photo she posted of you, that we can investigate. Extreme Exposé, hmmm?” He cocks an eye at me. The website’s a well-known rag for their over-the-top tell alls. Scandal sells, true or otherwise.

He picks up the cuffs, fiddling with them for a minute, trying to hide his growing smile.

“Do you need to check for fingerprints? Will it help find that woman?” I ask.

He snorts. “Nah, easier to trace via digital footprint.” He holds the handcuffs out to me. “Keep ’em. A souvenir.”

I reluctantly take them from his outstretched hand and shove them into my jacket pocket. Souvenir, my ass. I’d leave them here, but something tells me Ms. Prim and Proper won’t have much use for restraints.

We migrate back to the living room as Amelia finishes with the officer she’s speaking with.

My phone continues to blow up. There’s no more putting off Titans management. They’re going to want to figure out next steps.

I approach Amelia once the police leave. “I don’t think you should stick around here. Let me take you to a hotel.”

Her lips flatten, and I internally facepalm. Of course, she wouldn’t go anywhere with me. Can’t say I blame her. I’m the human equivalent of a cautionary tale at this point.

She puts on a polite smile. “No need to fuss about me, I’ll sort something out for myself.”

I open my mouth to ask for her number but snap it shut. Seriously, would it be anything but supremely awkward to request digits right after guest starring inFifty Shades of Nope?

I’m not trying to flirt—okay, maybe a little—but I imagine she’d prefer to scrub this entire scene from her memory with industrial-strength cleaner. And I know not to be an asshole. Growing up with five sisters, you learn that lesson early, and you learn that lesson well. If a woman says no, she means no, and if I ever acted otherwise, the female contingent of the Cunningham family would come after me with pitchforks.

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