Instead, I let her continue to vent her spleen on me. “He’s about to leave for college and he’ll meet girls who don’t look down their noses at him. And someday when he’s playing in the majors and you’re living your little boring suburban existence, you can tell all your little country club friends that once upon a time you banged Logan Mulvaney.”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to open my mouth and explain that I didn’t look down my nose at him . . . that I knew he was good. He was honest and real, but he lived his life outside the box and I had to stay inside mine.
Swallowing past the words, I inhaled, the odor of days-old sweat filling my nostrils. Another smell tickled my nose. The faint, coppery edge of blood. I scooted forward on the seat, hating for any part of me to touch anything in the back of the police car.
Turning, I dropped my forehead against the cool glass of the window. I stared into the night as we pulled out of the driveway past the gawking onlookers. Glancing down, I noticed my too-tight dress has ridden up indecently high on my thighs, but there was nothing I could do about it, and this just made me feel more helpless than ever. I flexed my fingers behind me where my hands were trapped.
I should have gone home this summer like always.
Right here at this moment, on the way to jail, why I stayed seemed kind of minor and petty. To avoid Mom talking about Harris? To pretend I was something I wasn’t and do wild things like go to a kink club and have no-strings sex? Clearly, I’d failed on the whole no-strings sex. I’d gotten myself trapped and tangled in those strings . . . tangled up in Logan Mulvaney. I’d taken what should have been fun and casual and made it serious. I wasn’t made for casual.
Rachel sighed and I glanced at her. “I was imagining handcuffs tonight, but nothing like this,” she muttered.
I looked back out the window again, a sob trapped in my chest that refused to rise and spill. I kept it locked up in there—with the rest of me.
“YOU’RE FREE TO GO.”
I looked up from where I sat on cold concrete in the holding cell. It was me with all the other girls from last night—in addition to one very inebriated self-proclaimed prostitute named Darcy who wanted to know where I bought my dress.
“Not you.” The female officer waved at Darcy when she popped up from the bench and wobbled on her dangerously high high-heels. “Everyone else.”
Darcy plopped back down with a curse, stretching out her long legs. Her knees looked like someone had taken a cheese grater to them and I shuddered to think how they got that way.
“Hey, Blondie,” she called to me and made a pretend phone out of her fingers. “Call me. We’ll hang.”
I winced and waved good-bye.
Facing the guard at the door, I asked, “So all of us can leave?” I glanced at Annie, thinking it a coincidence that we were all being released at the same time. “All of our friends are here to pick us up then?”
It had taken a couple hours to process us. The indignity of having our mug shots and fingerprints taken would stay with me for a long time. After that we had been allowed our phone calls. Annie called her roommate. I don’t know who Rachel called. I called Emerson. I knew she would come running and had no issue bringing bail money. Emerson hadn’t asked any questions. Not what I did to get landed in jail. Nothing. She simply said she was on her way and hung up the phone.
I knew if I called Pepper she would have come, too, but I wasn’t ready to face her and Reece and explain that I had been arrested with Logan at a kink club. That on top of everything just made me feel slightly ill.
They’d hear about it soon enough, I’m sure. That secret was too big to keep from them, but I was hoping to get out of this dress first. Maybe take a shower and grab a few hours of rest. The peaceful oblivion of sleep sounded like a luxury above and beyond a trip to Paris right now.