Going Too Far(27)
Author: Jennifer Echols

And then I got completely freaking furious with myself. I did hope that I was not entertaining a plot to somehow date Johnafter? I cranked up the chain saw to cut down the plot made by Miracle-Gro.

He got back into the car with much clinking of the weaponry attached to his belt. "What’s wrong? I guess you saw Eric and Angie."

Eric and Angie. Ha. I pressed one finger between my eyes, still concentrating on the chain saw. Feel the chain saw. Be the chain saw.

"You know it doesn’t mean anything," John said kindly. "He only asked her out to get back at me."

"Did it work?" As if I were worried about Eric right now. The chain saw had run out of gas.

"No. I’ve known Eric for a long time. I expect that kind of thing from him. And Angie.. .It just seems bitchy, doesn’t it?"

I straightened in my seat and shrugged halfheartedly. "I don’t know anything about her except that she wears clothes made for Bratz."

He couldn’t have been very jealous, because he didn’t argue. Instead, he produced the ol’ clipboard.

Eric sat behind the wheel of the Beamer now, with Angie in the passenger seat. But he was scared to make a move as long as John remained across the parking lot from him. "Aren’t you going to walk over there?" I asked. "I know Eric won’t go to jail for underage drinking, but at least you could get his parents to take away his TV privileges."

John crossed through some of his clipboard forms. "I think I’ll call him and Angie over here. It’s more intimidating to make them move instead of me going to them. They’ll be standing up and we’ll be sitting down, which is not what you want. You want to be higher than the suspects, talking down to them, if possible. But in this case"—he gestured to the official police equipment and the cracked vinyl interior—"the Crown Vic speaks for itself, don’t you think?"

"Oh, yeah, it’s got Authority written all over it." Old, tired, bitter Authority, stuck in this town.

John flashed his headlights and made a big motion with one hand. Eric easily could have pretended he didn’t know John meant him in the crowded parking lot. But he didn’t dare.

He did dare to open Angie’s door for her (a gentlemanly custom I’d had no idea he understood) and hold her hand again as they crossed the lot unsteadily.

John didn’t watch them coming. He bent his head to the clipboard.

"What do you write in those forms?" I asked.

"Nothing. I just do this to look threatening."

I watched him scribble, and I made out his tiny drawing of a martini glass, with olive. It wasn’t often that I got to study him like this, concentrating, in full light. He gently bit his soft bottom lip.

Maybe I was experiencing more Stockholm Syndrome. But that’s not what it felt like. It felt like relief that he was alive, and joy that he was here in the car with me. I couldn’t help showing him my appreciation. "You’re sexy when you threaten people."

He turned to me. And oh oh oh, he gave me the look! Not the dark, threatening look, either. The dark, warm look I had imagined, as if he was in love with me.

But also wary.

Which was smart of him.

The worry lines appeared between his eyebrows. "Don’t tease me," he said.

"I’m not teasing you."

He pointed at me with his pen. "I’m serious."

"So am I." I brushed some imaginary lint from my shirt, or touched my cle**age to catch his eye, depending on your perspective. "Are you afraid you’ll be in trouble? I figure you’d be in trouble if we did something now. But not at 6:01 a.m. on Thursday, when my penance is over and you get off work."

"Thursday," he said thoughtfully. "What day is today?"

"Mon—It’s after midnight. Tuesday."

As he checked his watch, Eric and Angie reached his side of the car. "Look bored," he told me.

Whatever!

He hit the switch to roll down his window. "Mr. Wexler. Ms. Pettit."

Eric nodded and slurred, "Officer After." Angie shrank behind Eric.

"You’re both about a year and a half too young to be here." I loved listening to his calm authoritarian voice, when it wasn’t directed at me.

"So are you," Eric said, but he didn’t sound as cocky as he had at the bridge. Probably not quite as drunk.

"It’s my job to be here," John said. "I come here just about every night to break up a fight, between, oh, eleven forty-five and—" He turned to me. "What would you say?"

"Twelve fifteen."

"Twelve fifteen," he agreed, turning back to Eric. "So keep that in mind the next time you’re thirsty. In the meantime, you’re not driving home drunk. You need to call your daddy to come get you. And Angie, if you’re not riding with Eric’s daddy, you need to call your own daddy."

Angie stepped from behind Eric. In her cute pipsqueak voice, she asked, "Can’t you take me home?"

If she batted her eyelashes, I was going to get out of the car and slap her.

"It’s a law enforcement vehicle, not a taxi," John said.

I pressed a hand to my mouth to suppress a burst of laughter, then acted like I was clearing my throat.

Eric leaned down to give me the evil eye through the open window. I half expected him to call me a stupid bitch. But such things did not happen when you were allied with Officer After.

"Got your cell phone?" John prodded Eric. "Let’s see you call your pop."

"What if I don’t want to do that?" Eric asked.

John bent over his clipboard again. Holding it so only I could see it, he quickly drew an amazingly accurate little Eric face with its tongue sticking out. "My shift ends at six a.m.," he said without looking up. "I can sit here and watch you until then. Turn the ignition over and I’ve got you." He rolled up the window.

Eric took the hint. He led Angie back across the parking lot to the Beamer, weaving a little. He held his head high and swung her hand, trying to save face. But there wasn’t any face to save. I smiled.

"God," John said. "She’s acting like she’s trying to make me jealous or get back at me. And then she asks if I can take her home. Why would she do that? I’m telling you, she’s the one who broke up with me."

I didn’t like this turn in the conversation. I wanted to get back to the beautiful, dark look he’d given me. But if he was interested in Angie, well…A blue-haired girl didn’t have a chance against a midget girl, or a dead girl, either. You gotta box your weight. "She wants you back," I said.

"I don’t want her. She was very decided and very detailed when she explained why she didn’t want me anymore last fall. I’m sure this will pass. College must not be working out for her."