Page 91 of The Play

“Jesus!” I blurt out. “You don’t need your weapon!”

“What weapon!” Demi starts wiggling in my lap, renewed in her efforts to set herself free.

If the officer wasn’t there and it was the two of us, all that wild undulating would summon a heated response out of my dick. But the copishere, so my dick is limp and I’m seconds away from breakingout in manic laughter. Which won’t go over well with the increasingly irritated officer.

Turns out, he was only reaching for a radio. “I’m going to need some backup on Ninth Line and Highway Forty-eight. Suspects were pulled over for reckless driving and performing oral sex while in a moving vehicle and are now resisting arrest.” Static crackles.

“I’m not performing oral sex!” Demi growls. “Trust me, I wouldloveto perform oral sex on him, but he’s celibate.”

I’m sorry, what?

Did she just say she would love to perform oral sex on me?

“Seriously, Demi? You’re saying you actually want to bl—do that?” My mind spins like a carousel. During all this talk about rebounds, I truly believed she was joking when she suggested me as a candidate. That’s why I never let myself…get my hopes up, I guess?

“I told you I want a rebound, and I wanted to have it with you.” Her voice is muffled and her fingers continue to fumble with her ear.

But we’ll need to discuss Demi’s desire to blow me later. I need to get through to this stubborn officer first.

“Sir,” I say calmly. “Please. I understand what this looks like, but we are not engaging in lewd behavior. We’re both clothed. My dick’s in my pants.”

“Where is your license and registration?”

“In the glove box, but I can’t reach—”

A shout of triumph echoes in the car, and suddenly Demi’s head pops up like a jack-in-the-box.

“I did it!” She’s frantically rubbing her left ear.

“Holy shit,” I say when she moves her hand. Her earlobe is bright red and swollen to three times its size, and there’s blood staining her fingertips.

She’s right. Hoop earrings should be banned.

“See!” Relief lines her voice as she gazes imploringly at theofficer. “His pants are zipped. We weren’t doing anything wrong. And we only drank a beer each. Well, two for me.”

I swallow a groan.

Goddammit. Drinking hadn’t even been part of this equation. And now, thanks to her, it is.

The cop is officially done humoring us. “I’m going to need both of you to get out of the car. Now.”

“Thisis the drunk tank?” Demi asks an hour later.

She looks thoroughly unimpressed with the holding area of the only jail in Hastings. The large cell currently houses three people—us, and a middle-aged man with a bushy beard, sleeping on one of the benches. He’s twitching in his sleep, and one foot taps against the bars every few seconds.

Yup, we’re behindbars, and it’s all thanks to the big hoops.

“Maybe it’s nicer when you’re actually drunk?” she hypothesizes.

I laugh as I slide my back down the cement wall and sink onto the metal bench. Beneath my feet is a dirty linoleum floor. Above my head the fluorescent lights are way too bright.

“You know this is all your fault,” I say cheerfully.

“Myfault?” Her brown eyes fill with indignation.

“I told you what would happen if you synced your Bluetooth to my car.”

“This isnotmy Bluetooth’s fault.”

---