Page 37 of All You Want
Linx’s expression is a mixture of sadness and sympathy. She knows how much I crushed on Todd, and it sure feels like I’m giving up a dream.
Without another word or disturbing his ripsaw snoring, I pick up my purse and the bag of ruined clothes and follow Linx out.
My heavy heart, as well as the rest of my heavy body, sags, and I feel like I’m leaving the home I should have had. I guess having me in his bathtub wasn’t the fantasy I thought it would be for him, and I’m sure he’ll be upset when his water bill is due.
Fourteen
~ Todd ~
“Where the hell were you?” I collar Shane the next morning when he ambles into the station. He’s clean-shaven, bright-eyed, and his hair is combed back without a strand out of place. “You were supposed to be on call.”
“You sure, Sheriff?” He tips his chin insolently. “Molly told me you decided to take the evening shift. Heard there was trouble at Tami’s hotel.”
“Molly was messing with you. I told you I fired her. Besides, you weren’t answering your cell.”
“Had a hot date.” He smirks and heads to the breakroom to pour himself a mug of coffee.
“Then you won’t mind doing all the paperwork this morning while I go out on patrol.” I brush by him. “Oh, and while you’re here, you’re answering the phones.”
I pick up my hat and walk out without waiting for any smart remarks. I have a meeting with the town council on Spooky Fest security, and I have to give the Vice Squad basic training in crowd control.
As for Tami’s permit, I feel guilty not approving it—especially after she left that picnic basket full of goodies last night. I called her after I woke, asking why she left, and she made an excuse about having to pick up her mother from bridge night from her friend’s house.
Her mother doesn’t drive, as far as I know, but our town is small, and she can get rides from everyone she knows. That’s the beauty of having roots here. No need for taxis and the new online ride-hailing services when a simple phone call or wave of a hand on the street corner will do.
I’ll head over to the diner to pick up the Mountain Muse local newspaper. After that, I ought to drop by the real estate office to thank Tami and get a rain check for the picnic, but I’m wondering why she beat a hasty retreat last night. Had she come out of the bathroom and seen me in the throes of my dream? Was I whacking off in my sleep? It’s scary how real everything felt, but I have to pretend nothing happened—because nothing did, as far as she’s concerned. I sure hope she didn’t see anything embarrassing.
My lips in a thin grim line, because I have to appear tough as the sheriff, I march across main street, striding fast by the real estate office. I’m not going to look her direction and give myself away. My only job is to keep the town princess safe, not get involved with her and end up compromised the way Sheriff Weaver was.
I’m barely across main street when a brown sedan careens toward me, going way too fast. My first instinct is to hold out my hand in a stop position, but when the car speeds up, I dive over a hedge to avoid getting hit.
The car plows over the curb. It bounces over the sidewalk and crashes into the base of my ancestor’s monument with a loud thud. The hood crunches, and the airbags inflate.
I rush to the driver’s door and pull it open, then grunt in disgust at the open bottle of whiskey. My high school buddies, Al, Dillon, and Justin tumble out of the vehicle.
“Drinking, driving, destruction of property,” I rattle off to the bunch. “Sit down on the ground. Hands over your head. Don’t move.”
“Aren’t you going to ask if we’re hurt?” Dillon grouses loudly. “I wasn’t driving.”
“I’m running late,” Justin protests. “Al was giving me a ride to an interview. I wasn’t driving, either.”
The driver is Al Norman, one of the guys I grew up with who never seemed to catch a break. He was cut from the football team, failed to graduate from high school because he missed the last semester, and is somewhat of a loner. He has a drinking problem, and his once-muscular build has gotten flabby.
“Down on the ground. Hands where I can see you,” I roar, rattling out the cuffs.
Dillon and Justin stop protesting and get down on the ground, but Al remains on his butt with his head in his hands.
I lift his face to see if he’s hurt. Nothing looks too serious. He has a cut over his eyebrow and a fat lip, probably from hitting the airbag.
“We’ll get that looked at once I book you.” I yank his arm and shove him to the ground. “What are you doing drinking so early in the morning? You should know better than to drink and drive.”
No reply. That’s Al for you. Played deaf and mute back in school and was bullied for being poor. I have a soft spot for him because of all the beatings he took. He could have fought back—was always large for his age, but for some reason, his strategy was to be unresponsive until the kids got tired of picking on him.
“Al Norman, I’m going to read you your rights.” I cuff his heavy hands.
“Can’t you let him go?” Dillon asks. “Nothing’s damaged but his car.”
“Yeah, we’re buds, aren’t we?” Justin adds. “You don’t have to be such a hard-ass. He didn’t hurt anyone.”
