Page 2 of Cuffed (Everyday Heroes 1)
“Can you please have Emerson Reeves gather her things and come to the front office please?”
“Sure.”
Ohhhhh. The whole class makes the collective sound, thinking Emmy’s in trouble.
“Called to the principal’s office,” Cooper says.
But I know the truth.
I dare to look now. To see the worried look on Mrs. Gellar’s face as she watches Emmy get her Strawberry Shortcake lunchbox and cram it into her yucky purple backpack. Emmy keeps her head down, but she misses the first time she tries to grab the zipper to close it.
Mrs. Gellar doesn’t speak. She doesn’t head to the whiteboard or ask us to pay attention like she normally does. Instead, she walks over to Emmy, puts her arm around her shoulders, and bends over to whisper something in her ear. Emmy nods but keeps looking down as Mrs. Gellar gives her a quick hug before standing back up.
When Emmy heads toward the door, I forget all about my alien skin and stare at her from my seat in the last row.
Look at me.
C’mon, Em. Look at me.
She stops right before she walks out the door and meets my eyes. There are tears in hers, kinda like how there are some in mine.
“You pinky promised,” she whispers, her knuckles turning white as she clutches her backpack to her chest.
“Em—”
“I hate you. I never want to see you again.” She mouths the words and walks out the door.
“10-4, Officer Malone.”
>
Her voice, smooth as goddamn silk and full of suggestion comes through the radio. I’m ready for the ration of shit from Nate when I turn his way. His grin is wide as he just shakes his head and chuckles.
“10-4, Officer Malone,” he mimics. “Can I give you a side of blow job with that all clear?”
“Fuck off.” I sigh.
“Dude, if she talked to all of us like that, the whole force would be walking around with permanent hard-ons.”
“Liv does have a great voice,” I murmur as a cheer goes up in the crowd to the left of us, drawing my attention. Drunken guys in board shorts, who are all sporting fraternity tattoos, are taking note of a group of tipsy girls with a skin-to-clothing ratio that should be illegal.
“A great voice. Yeah. Right. I’m sure that was exactly what you were focusing on . . . because hell if that body of hers isn’t a fifteen on a scale of one to ten.”
“I’d give it a twenty.” I shrug, remembering all too well what she looked like as she straddled me. Goddamn perfection. “You’re just a jealous fucker because I won’t give you any details.”
“You won’t give me anything, Malone. For all I know, you’re full of shit,” he says as he adjusts his bulletproof vest beneath his uniform, both of us constantly scanning the crowd.
“We both know I’m not full of shit.”
“Asshole,” he mutters under his breath, and I chuckle in response. This is the same conversation we seem to have every time Liv and I interact on the radio.
“I think the hotline tip was wrong. I don’t see any of Donnely’s gang here.”
“Neither do I. Just a whole lotta hot women in teeny, tiny bikinis, and I’m not complaining one bit.”
“Pig.”
“Well.” He shrugs as he points to his uniform.
