Page 19 of The Art of Falling in Love with Your Enemy
Etta cracks into her soda can, popping its top and putting the cold liquid to her mouth. She takes a huge sip, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand before focusing on me.
“I should take points away because it’s you.” She closes her eyes and leans back, banging her head softly against the wall. “I’m leading your team bonding event, but today I’m in your jail?” She then looks at me, her eyes widening. “Oh no, Zac. I needed to get to Mr. King’s so I could get the paint supplies I need for tomorrow.”
I watch as she sits down and slumps over, putting the can on the floor so she can hold her head with both hands. “I need one thing to go my way.”
As if punctuating her thoughts, a ding sounds from my desk in the office beyond. I know it’s not my cell phone because mine is in my pocket. A quick glance reminds me I have Etta’s phone sitting on my desk still from when we booked her. Her eyes find mine.
“That sounds like my phone. If it is, it’s a text and it could be Riley.” Her look is pleading. “Will you see if it’s her?”
Because I’m a nice guy, I do as I’m told. I cross the space in a few long strides, swiping the phone off my desk. The message flashes on the screen. “It’s from…Steve?”
I really didn’t think she could slump lower, but yet she does.
She groans. “Can you read it?”
I look back at the screen, which has gone dark. When I touch it, the message pops up, but I need a code or her fingerprint to open the phone. Before I can say anything, Etta is at the cell door, holding her pointer finger high.
“You need this or you can just give me my phone?”
“Can’t do that, as much as I want to. I have to follow protocol, Etta.” I walk over and let her place her finger on the phone, unlocking the screen. Now I can see the message, so I read it to her. “You’re being unreasonable and I’m tired of chasing you. If you won’t talk to me in person, and you refuse to speak to me on the phone, you’re going to make me do something I don’t want to.”
The last part of the message sends a sledgehammer to my gut. “What is this, Etta? Who is this guy Steve to talk to you like that?”
“That would be someone who is wrong and who does not get to talk to me.” Etta sighs, walking back over to the bench to sit down, facing me. This time she doesn’t slump. “Steve is my ex-husband. We’re divorced, yet still having irreconcilable differences.”
My ears perk up; she has an ex? I’m beginning to see there’s more to this woman than meets the eye.
“I had no clue you were married before.”
Etta hoists a shoulder, letting it drop. “You never asked.”
“True. For the record, I’ve never been married.”
Etta laughs and it’s like music. “Good to know. I advise you to think about it before you propose.”
“If you don’t try out to be St. Valentine in this year’s parade…”
“…there’s a parade here for Valentine’s Day?”
“Oh, come on.” I drop my head and cross my eyes, making her laugh again. Now it’s like a symphony coming together; the sound is gorgeous. “I’m kidding. I do joke. Maybe too much.”
“Maybe.” A smile lingers, one side of her mouth upturned as she watches me.
My eyes slam into hers, teal waters coming to life as she stands up and walks across the cell. Like a magnet, I’m pulled from my seat when she does, standing at the same time and meeting her at the bars. Wrapping her hands around the bars, she leans forward, framing her face with the cold steel.
“There’s something I have to know,” she whispers, smiling coyly.
“Yes?” I whisper back, leaning in so my nose is almost touching the bars myself.
“Why am I not allowed to leave here on my own recognizance and walk home?” she asks, and rather loudly I might add, her voice going up an octave with each word. “Come on, Zac!”
I never get a chance to respond, because as I open my mouth, the front door to the station slams shut, signaling someone’s come inside. Looking across the room and into the lobby area, Riley paces, her neck craning, looking for someone to help her. I walk to the doorway and throw my hand in the air.
“Back here, Riley. Come join us.”
It only takes her a second to reach us, and when she does, she crosses her arms in front of her chest as she takes in Etta.
“Well, well, well,” she says after a good tsk-ing. “And what, pray tell, have you done now, buttercup?”
