Page 80 of Wanted You More

It isn’t the first time I’ve been caught at a party I shouldn’t be at, drinking when I definitely shouldn’t be or being caught in far more compromising positions. At least in those instances, I was semi-coherent, mostly hidden, and not wreaking of vomit.

This time when the bedroom door swings open, I’m still naked from the waist up, with puke probably on the corners of my mouth and in my hair, and frozen in place across from the male officer standing at the doorjamb.

He quickly closes his eyes once he realizes my boobs are on full display. His face turns red as he clears his throat. “Ma’am, I’m going to need you to get dressed.”

The worst part of the situation isn’t that a stranger saw my boobs, but someone I know Benjamin Kingsley trained himself.

“This cannot be happening,” I groan, stumbling as I slide my sweater on and forgo the bra. I cross my arms on my chest, trying to hide the bra that hangs from my hands.

After a few minutes, Officer Hanger opens his eyes. They widen when he realizes who I am, cursing under his breath. “Please tell me you haven’t been drinking.”

I accidentally stumble, losing my balance and making him bolt forward to catch me before I faceplant. When he gets a whiff of the alcohol and bile coming from me, he makes a face and straightens me out.

“Austen, you know I’m going to need to take you out of here.” He sounds apologetic about it, which is the only reason I don’t fight him. Well, that and the fact I don’t have the energy at the moment.

His eyes go down to my bra for a second before darting away. He shakes his head and keeps a hand around my arm to ensure I don’t fall down the stairs. I notice a few other officers talking to a group of college kids, including those hosting the party.

No doubt the frat will get another warning and be put on probation for a while. If they get reported one more time, they’ll be shut down by the school and have to pay a ton of fines.

Officer Hanger—Kevin, I think is his first name—guides me to one of the cop cars parked on the street. The lawn is destroyed and covered with garbage, beer bottles, and food.

When I see the back door open, I turn to the officer and frown. “Do I have to get in the back? You’re probably going to write a bunch of citations to people. Why can’t I get one of those instead of being taken away?”

Hanger sighs. “We’ve already taken a few kids in. It’s not just you. How many times have you gone through this in the past, Austen? We both know a citation wouldn’t make a difference with you.”

He can’t be more than thirty-five. Ben trained him for a few years, going on patrol with him and learning all the trade secrets. He has the same tough exterior as the eldest Kingsley but is much more soft-spoken.

“Please,” I plead, trying to give him the best puppy dog look.

He closes his eyes for a second to take a deep breath before gesturing toward the back seat of the patrol car. “I’m sorry. Get in.”

Shoulders dropping with defeat, I try ignoring the people staring as I slide into the car and get closed inside.

The only thing that makes this different than the other times I’ve been escorting to the station is knowing that I won’t have to deal with disapproving looks from the people who come to get me.

I’m on my own.

And, oddly, I’m relieved by that.

Because the only person I’m disappointing is myself.

***

I’m sitting inan uncomfortable plastic chair in a small office that clearly has no working heat. I don’t know why they put me here when I saw a few other college kids in the lobby. It’s dark and chilly, and the bottle of water Officer Hanger gave me is almost gone, so now I have to pee.

There’s a clock on the wall that doesn’t work, making me antsier than usual since my phone died. I stare at the office, noting the absence of photographs or personal items. Whenever I was put here before, it was in Ben’s office. He had picture frames of Elizabeth, Noah, and him from over the years on his desk. There were certificates hanging on the walls, a fun purple lamp his wife bought him as a joke on one of the shelves, and his favorite Clint Eastwood coffee mug that Noah bought him when he was a kid that always rested by the computer monitor. The ceramic cup was super glued together at least three times, but he never wanted to get rid of it.

I hear voices from somewhere down the hall that get closer to the closed door. Rubbing my hands down my jean-clad thighs, I turn when the door opens and instantly freeze when I see the person that walks in behind Hanger.

Bolting up as Ben walks in, I wrap my jacket around me to hide my exposed chest from the deep V-neck I’m wearing. My bra is still balled up in my pocket, and I wish I had put it on now more than ever.

My eyes go to Officer Hanger. “You didn’t need to call him.”

Ben stands a little taller. “If he didn’t, you’d be here for a lot longer. Let’s go.”

He’s using his dad voice on me, which makes it hard to tell him no. “I have to use the bathroom.”

The older man nods once and gestures toward the hall. “I’ll wait for you here.”

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