Page 7 of Fuckboy Psychos (Scarlett Force 1)
Sometimes, it feels like the station itself is magic, as if whoever they say will get big does simply because the hosts liked them.
With a grin, I crank up “Trap Door” by Yacht Money, tapping my right hand on the steering wheel as I blow through the next stop sign, triggering the school officer to turn his lights on and take off after me.
That’s what I like, a little police chase in the early afternoon. I drag Officer Feels-Up-Teenage-Girls around the block before skidding into the empty parking lot of the old elementary school.
I’ve got my window rolled down, my left arm resting on the door as I continue to tap my right hand against the wheel as the song plays. Oh yeah, this is fire. Yacht Money are gonna be big.
Officer Douche comes up to my window with his hand on his gun. I don’t even bother to take my shades off, glancing his way with a what? sort of look on my face.
“Can I help you, officer?” I schmooze as he grits his teeth at me. He removes his hand from his gun, but he knows better than to start shit with me. I glance at the GoPro camera on his shirt, but he’s clearly already turned it off.
See what I mean?
He was ready to start trouble before it even began; he just didn’t recognize me in Widow’s car.
Officer Moron puts his hairy hands on the door near my arm and leans in menacingly toward me, his hat and shades still in place.
“You’re going to get yourself into trouble one of these days, Force,” he snaps out, and I laugh.
“Wow, you are such a cliché,” I say, reaching up to push my shades into my dark hair. “Go ahead. Arrest me. But then, I have videos of you fucking Lemon, so …” I trail off and shrug my shoulders, rolling up the manual window with slow, easy cranks, forcing Officer Idiot to remove his hands.
His real name is Brian; it’s right there on his badge. But I feel like names are somewhat respectable to use, and this guy? He doesn’t deserve any respect whatsoever.
Also, what did I say about Lemon? Worst taste in men.
I rocket out of there before Officer Hentai has a chance to move, leaving rubber marks on the pavement as I whip out of the lot, taking the Stingray for a little joyride before circling back toward my house.
I’m the only family member living in it who has a car besides my grandmother. But she likes to park on the curb so our elderly neighbor across the street can get into it without walking up the steep incline of our driveway. Grandma Patricia takes the older woman to the fitness center to swim laps every other morning.
That means our garage is gloriously empty. I grab the button from my purse and hit it with my thumb as I pull into the driveway with Lemon right behind me. She’s a phenomenal driver; she could have a strong career if she’d pull her head out of her ass and leave the boys alone.
I park Widow’s car in my usual spot, snatch my bag—it’s Versace, I know, I’m a great thief, thank you—and then slam the driver’s door shut with my hip. Slipping out into the sunshine, I hit the button again and down the garage door goes.
Lemon is already on her way around to the passenger side of my Pantera (code name: the Devil), slipping in as I take my spot on the butter-soft leather of the front seat, purring and groaning and biting my lower lip as I grind on it.
“Oh yeah, that feels good,” I moan as Lemon gives me a look, and then slaps her hand over her pink-painted lips. Shit. That look … there’s someone behind me, isn’t there?
I spin around with a guilty look on my face to find my grandmother staring down at me, her arms crossed over her chest. She might only be five-two (the same height as Lemon coincidentally), but she’s terrifying. That, and I actually care about her opinion of me.
I can count on one hand the number of people who meet that definition. Even Lemon isn’t one of them.
“Hey Gram,” I say, flashing a big smile as I pull my shades off. “You’re home early.”
“So are you,” she says, gesturing with her head in the direction of the garage. “Whose car is that, and is it going to get me in trouble?”
“No trouble, I promise,” I say, avoiding the majority of her question. “But study period is almost over, so we should probably get back …”
“Come home right after school today. Your mother and your aunt both work; someone needs to watch Alexis.”
Right.
“I’ll be here,” I assure her, noticing her gaze sliding over to the garage again. “Nothing’s going to happen with the car, I swear. Love you!” I hop out of the Devil to give Patricia’s cheek a quick kiss, and then I’m sliding back into the driver’s seat and backing slowly and respectfully out of the driveway, making sure we’re out of my grandmother’s sight before I ride the gas.
