Going Too Far(33)
Author: Jennifer Echols

I pulled back from the kiss, but Eric followed me. I turned my head. He put his tongue in my ear. Finally I pressed one hand on his chest and held him off. "Give us a moment, won’t you?" I said in a bad British accent, to lift the mood.

"What’s the problem?" he growled, mouth still to my ear. "You want me to send you flowers now?"

Oh, yuck. "I just can’t do this. I don’t have the least desire to have sex with you when I’m not drunk."

His hands stopped in my shirt. Then started again. "Is tonight your last night with John? I’ll call you tomorrow."

I couldn’t believe this. I’d just told him I wasn’t attracted to him when I was sober. He didn’t care.

He had to know there was something going on with me and John—or there had been. I couldn’t help but pronounce John’s name with a dreamy drawl. Eric didn’t trap me in the elevator in the ninth grade, but it was legendary. Just let Eric try to trap me. Just let him try.

Eric probably had sex with Angie last night, and he didn’t care about (hat, either.

I wouldn’t have cared a week ago. But suddenly I did.

I gripped his wrists and tried to extract him from my shirt. "No, I don’t think you should call me anymore."

He pressed me harder. I began to have a creepy feeling, full of fear. I’d expected him to pout, maybe, or tell me I was a stupid bitch. T hadn’t expected him to keep insisting yes when I said no.

John’s definition of a domestic flashed through my mind.

"Are you breaking up with me?" Eric hissed.

"I would, but I don’t think I can," I said, keeping my voice even. "You need a relationship before you can break up."

We glared at each other. I could see him now in the cold dark. His eyes glittered and hardened. I had pushed until his control was gone, and there was nothing left but anger.

He was going to do something.

Feeling the pads of his fingers push into my flesh and my heartbeat pound in my ears, I tried to think through the fear. He was twice as big as me. Still. I didn’t remember exactly what I’d done to Todd Pemberton when he tried to

Chapter 13

He pulled his hands out of my shirt and settled back on his side of the car.

"You shouldn’t play games with me," he said snippily. "My dad knows every health inspector in the county. He could ruin Eggstra! Eggstra! like snapping his fingers."

That’s when I really felt relieved. I’d thought he was going to hurt me. But if he was only going to be petty, I could handle that, easy.

"Eric," I said. "News flash. Your father does not give a shit about you. He does not give a shit whether you break up with your girlfriend. I’ve seen the way he looks at my hair. He’ll be grateful my hair isn’t associated with your family anymore."

"Hey. My father bailed me out of jail. Your father left you there to rot."

That stung, but I managed, "Your father didn’t want to be further embarrassed. My parents are old hands at being embarrassed by me."

His jaw moved a little in the dim night, like he was chewing on something. He reached toward me, and I flinched back. But he was only reaching across me to pull a sandwich bag of pot out of the glove compartment.

"You were holding out on me," I said.

He fished a rolled joint and a lighter out of the loose weed. "Oh, shit. I forgot I lied to you. You want some? Maybe you’ll change your mind about, you know. The other thing."

"No, and I don’t particularly want to ride around with a policeman when I smell like pot smoke."

He flicked the lighter, touched the fire to the end of the joint, and took a long drag. Holding the smoke in his lungs, he suggested, "Roll down the window." He exhaled such a thick cloud that I could have caught a buzz off his breath.

I felt for the window controls before I thought. "They’re automatic windows, Eric. Turn on the engine." He moved to crank the car.

"No, wait!" I exclaimed. "What are you thinking? Why are you smoking pot before you take me back? You’re not really going to drive. Stoned. To. The police station?"

"Why not? My dad can get me out of anything." He took another drag.

What could I do? I could leave the car and call John. Or just stand in the dark and wait for John to show up. since he loved the bridge so. But then I would have to explain how I got here, and why my motorcycle was at the police station.

And I would have saved myself while sending Eric off to have a wreck, killing innocent people. Not that there was any more chance of this now than all the other times he’d driven drunk and/or stoned, and I’d ridden with him. But I had to admit, seeing the dead woman last night had exactly the effect on me that John and the Powers That Be had intended. I hated it, but there it was.

Okay, I would call John and tell him to pull Eric over, then come retrieve me.

I got out and slammed the heavy door of the Beamer. Immediately hearing the low hum, I turned toward the bridge and looked for the train’s headlight.

Blue lights burst to life behind me.

Heart racing, I whirled around and waited for John to say something to humiliate me through his megaphone.

"Driver, stay in the car. And don’t even try to hide that contraband."

It was Officer Leroy’s voice.

He left his engine humming as he walked from his cop car to the Beamer, coming close to me.

"I know what this looks like," I said quickly, before he could take out his handcuffs.

"Looks like every other time I catch kids parking." In the swirling blue light, I couldn’t tell whether he was giving me the Disapproving Adult look.

"But it’s not," I said. I racked my brain for any argument I could possibly make to convince him not to tell John. Even though I didn’t care what John thought.

Officer Leroy nodded over his shoulder. "Go to After’s car. He wants to talk to you."

After. I strained my eyes to see through the darkness. Sure enough, a second cop car was parked behind Officer Leroy’s. Oh, no. "Can’t you just give me the lecture?"

"He’s pretty pissed," Officer Leroy said. "I wouldn’t mess with him if I were you."

"He’s pissed," I muttered. I was really mad. At least, I wanted to be really mad, and yet all I felt was scared and guilty. But there was nothing to feel scared or guilty about. I hadn’t done anything wrong. Well, maybe that was too strong a statement. I hadn’t done anything illegal.

Shaking, I walked past Officer Leroy to John’s car and pulled on the back door handle. It was locked. I slapped the door and heard the lock clunk open. Then I let myself into the backseat, crossed my legs primly, and hauled the door closed. I probably was locking myself in.