Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
“I’m telling you, this was entrapment,” Stella is saying, knuckles white around the bars. “Tammy started it. Did you see that? She straight-up clawed my face first. Then she tried to rip my dress, which is literally a hate crime if you think about it. I’m not even exaggerating. Then—oh my god—she was full-on commando under her skirt! Who does that, like, ever?”
Her words ricochet down the corridor, each syllable bouncing off the cinder block.
I sit in my cell, right next to hers, knees tucked tight and my dress riding up with every shift. The bench is cold, numbingly so, and I’m hyperaware of how my thighs look—exposed and blotchy, the pink mesh of my dress rolling up to nearly obscene heights. My phone sits in my palm. There’s no service down here, but I keep checking it anyway. I keep imagining Victoria and Henry waking up to find my room empty, no note, no nothing, and what then? A missed call from the county jail? Or, worse, a call from Trevor, reading my rap sheet back to me in his slow, cold voice?
A cough from the front desk. The guard on duty leans back in his chair, eyes on Stella. He’s in his forties, maybe, but carries himself like a varsity tight end who never quite got over his last homecoming. His uniform is too snug in the biceps, and the badge on his chest reads “Morris.” He’s handsome, but mean-looking. His mouth is set in a way that says, Go ahead, amuse me. You’re just ants under my shoe.
Stella must sense the attention because she pivots, switches from ranting to performance mode. She lowers her hands from the bars and drops her voice to something sly and confidential, like a late-night infomercial.
“Hey, Officer Morris,” she purrs, smoothing her hair with both hands, her cleavage somehow getting even bigger with the motion. “How long do we have to stay here, anyway? I mean, we’re not, like, murderers. We’re just two girls in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
He doesn’t answer, but his eyes track her, up and down. Stella leans in, her lips pouty, and then glances at me with a little wink.
“Honestly,” she says, “there must be, like, some kind of arrangement we can make. What do you think, Kayleigh?”
I force a smile, but my mouth is too dry for real speech. I want to disappear. Instead, I tug the hem of my dress lower, even as I know it’s a losing battle.
“Yeah, I guess,” I manage.
Morris rocks forward in his chair, a shadow of a smile flickering on his face. “Arrangement?” he echoes. “What do you mean?”
Stella shrugs, then gives a slow, exaggerated shiver. “I mean, it’s freezing in here. Yet the lights are so bright they’re, like, giving me a tan. It would be a real shame if we were here all night and just, you know, got hypothermia. Or died of exposure.” She arches her back, drawing the focus to her chest, which I have to admit is a work of art even in the worst possible lighting. “Maybe you could let us out for a little bit? Just to warm up?”
Officer Morris grins, but doesn’t move. “You think that’s how it works?”
Stella flashes her teeth, bright and sharp. “I think there’s always a way things work. Even in jail. Especially in jail.”
Morris stands, the movement deliberate and slow, and crosses the room to our cells. He stands with his hands on his hips, the nightstick on his belt hanging like a threat or a promise. His gaze lingers on Stella, then slides over to me. He looks at my dress, my legs, my shoes. His eyes stop on my phone, which I clutch to my chest like a crucifix.
He turns back to Stella. “You said something about an arrangement,” he says. “So what are you thinking?”
Stella’s smile widens. “What do you want?”
Oh my god, is my friend serious? Is she actually trying to bribe her way out of here? Meanwhile, Officer Morris pretends to think about it, but the answer is already written in the tightness of his jaw. “Surprise me.”
Stella tilts her head, making her blonde hair spill across her bare shoulder.
“How about I do a little dance?” she purrs. “The kind that men like.”
Officer Morris’s brows go up.
“Show me what you’ve got, sweetheart. Then we’ll see if it’s enough.”
Stella’s smile only broadens. God, this woman isn’t scared of anything! Then, my friend reaches for the hem of her dress. With a practiced, unhurried motion, she lifts it up and over her head, leaving her in only a tiny thong, the color of sour apple candy, paired with high heels.
She turns once, letting Morris see everything, then faces forward again, her blue eyes locked on the guard. “Is this what you wanted?” she purrs, circling her nipples with two fingers.