Page 5 of Her Juicy Cherry (Sweet Treats 2)

Come to think of it, they have my social security number, a copy of the first page of my passport, and god knows what else. I bet they could do a lot with what they know about me. It feels like I’m living in a surveillance state.

Chills run down my spine, making me shudder. At that moment, I slow at a stoplight and my cells pings on the passenger seat next to me. I pick up the silver handset and stare at the screen, my foot automatically pressing on the brake. Oh god, it’s a text from Bert, my non-boyfriend.

Wat u up to? he writes. Your pucker ready for some mad hammer?

I grimace. Seriously, this guy is so gross. When I told Kara that we were just hooking up, I didn’t add that there is no way in hell that I would ever date Bert. Sure, he’s good looking, but he’s such a dog. Who writes things like “pucker” and “mad hammer”? Where does he even get these terms? Does he browse Urban Dictionary all day?

I begin typing my reply, which is going to be something along the lines of “Fuck off, my pucker is off-limits to you,” but then the burp of a siren sounds behind me and I automatically glance in my rear-view mirror. Shit, there’s a police car. Heaving a sigh, I toss my cell onto the passenger seat in resignation. When the light turns green, I cross the intersection and then pull over onto the shoulder of the road. The black and white pulls up right behind me.

The door to the cruiser opens, and a well-built form gets out. Well, well, well. It seems that my officer likes to work out. Not only that, but when he finally reaches my car, I see that he’s quite handsome. He has blue eyes and a firm jaw with a cleft in it. Exactly what I like.

Except Officer Kimmel, as I see from his badge, is currently glowering at me.

“Do you know what you did?”

I look at him innocently.

“I was stopped at the red light,” I begin. “I obeyed all traffic rules.”

Officer Kimmel gets a look of disgust on his face and begins pulling out his citation book.

“No, what did I do?” I whisper in a feeble tone. “Whatever I did, I promise I’ll never do it again. I swear on my grandmother’s grave!”

The officer won’t even look at me. He merely scribbles in his pad, and then tears out the citation and hands it to me through the window. I stare at the slip of paper.

“Texting while driving? That’s what I was doing?”

He tucks his pad back into his belt.

“I saw you with my own eyes,” he says in a cutting voice.

“No, but I wasn’t! I mean, I picked up my phone and read a text, and yes, I was going to reply, but I didn’t actually reply because then I saw you behind me.”

“Oh really,” Officer Kimmel says sarcastically. “So it was only when law enforcement arrived that you decided to shape up?”

“Yes!” I cry with tears rolling down my face. “I mean no! I haven’t texted anyone. See?” I ask, holding up my phone in case he wants to read my messages.

But the officer merely turns away, totally unsympathetic.

“It’s a three hundred dollar fine,” he tosses over his shoulder. “Texting while driving is a crime in California. You’re lucky I’m not hauling you off to jail,” he says while striding back to his car.

The black and white pulls onto the road, and I stare as it disappears from view. What the hell! Jail? For just glancing at my phone? Everyone does it, so why am I being singled out?

Silently, I sit behind my steering wheel, frustrated and fuming. This has been the worst day ever. Rage builds, and I can’t fight it anymore. Clutching the steering wheel, I let out the primal scream that’s been building in my gut all day. My car is small, so the scream is really loud and makes my eardrums ring, but it feels good. Agony seems to flow from my veins and I bash the steering wheel with my fists a few times just for good measure. I think some of the drivers in passing cars see my fury, but I don’t care. What the hell? What could possibly go wrong now?

Still fuming, I pull away from the curb and drive home, careful to obey every traffic law. That would be so perfect if I got another citation. Angrily, I toss the yellow envelope onto the couch before heaving my cardboard box onto the shag rug, where it spills open and breaks. FUCK!

Why has all this crap happened today? There are many reasons, but I feel that technology is betraying me. First, with my stupid computer that the Praxel Puffin higher-ups actually bugged. Okay, maybe it wasn’t bugged in a spying sense, but they were tracking me.

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