All Broke Down (Rusk University 2)

The red-haired dude comes out first, and Dylan shuffles behind him, her head down. When she looks up and meets my gaze, she freezes. Her jaw drops a little, and I realize she didn’t believe me when I said I would figure it out.

I don’t know whether to feel satisfied or disappointed at her shock. The two of them talk to the cop a bit, are given a slip of paper each and their confiscated belongings, and then allowed into the general lobby, where I’m waiting.

Then she’s standing in front of me, and that shirt is hanging off her shoulder again, and she’s woven her hair into a long, thick braid that drapes over her shoulder and falls into the valley between her br**sts. I can’t decide whether I liked her hair better how it was before, or like this, where I can wrap the whole length of it around my hand to tug her head back.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says.

“And be labeled a stereotypical, uncaring youth again? No thanks.”

She scrunches up her nose and her lips twist to the side. “God, I was kind of a jerk tonight. I’m sorry.”

I run a hand over the tender place on my jaw where Levi got me and shrug. “It happens. To some of us more often than others. I’ve got a friend on his way to pick me up. You two need a ride?”

The guy answers, “That would be great, thanks. I’m Matt, by the way. I didn’t catch your name.”

He reaches out his hand, and I shake it. When I go to reply, Dylan beats me to it. “His name is Silas.”

Her friend gives her a look, and she swallows and casts her eyes at the floor.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Silas. We’ll pay you back the cash for the citations.”

I shrug. I should probably be all polite and shit and tell them not to worry about it, but I don’t exactly have money to throw around. I nod toward the door and say, “Let’s go wait for my friend outside.”

Matt goes first, and I hold the door open for Dylan. I catch the scent of her hair as she moves past me, and it smells so damn sweet that I want to bury my face in it, to breathe her in. I wonder where else she smells that sweet.

Matt offers to call their friend Javier to fill him in, and he tells Dylan to call her father. But when Matt walks a few paces away to talk, she doesn’t reach for her own phone. Instead she looks up at me.

“Thank you. I don’t really know what to say.”

I shrug. It’s not in me to play the chivalrous good guy, even to pretend. Instead, I tip my chin toward where her red-haired friend paces as he talks on the phone, and I get right to the point. “You two together?”

She’d mentioned an ex in the holding cell, and it sounded recent, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t already hopped to the next guy.

She laughs. “Me and Matt? Seriously?”

From a few yards away, Matt covers the mouthpiece on his phone and shouts, “Hey, I heard that! Could you at least try to sound a little less incredulous?”

The two share a strange smile, and then Dylan looks up at me.

“No. Matt and I are not together.”

Well, that certainly makes things easier.

“Good,” I say.

She lifts her eyebrows in question. When I only smile, she dips her head, and her long hair falls across her face.

“What are you doing for the rest of the night?” I ask. A quick glance at my phone reveals we’re just coming up on midnight.

She tilts her head to the side, and looks up at me from behind the veil of her hair. She shoots me a sly smile that I can picture her giving me in a number of other . . . dirtier scenarios.

“I’m not really interested in witnessing a bar fight,” she says. “If that’s how you spend your evenings. Not really my scene.”

“No bars,” I promise. “There’s actually a party going on at my place. You and Matt are welcome to come.”

Her head tilts even farther, and she’s confused rather than coy now.

“Why were you at a bar if there’s a party going on at your house?”

I shrug. “Was having kind of a shitty night and needed to get away.”

“Doesn’t sound like getting away helped on that front.”

I look into her eyes and say, “Things didn’t turn out so bad.”

She laughs and smiles down at the ground again, and I’m feeling good about my chances.

“You’re really hitting on me? After we just met in jail?”

“Is it working?”

She tries to look stern, but I can see the smile curling at the corners of her lips. I’m about to move in for the kill when Carson and Dallas pull up in Dallas’s tiny little car. She’s driving, and he leans over to kiss her quickly on the mouth before he opens the passenger door and jumps out to greet me.

“You okay?” he asks, eyeing the remnants of the fight that show on my face and hands.

I nod. “Fine.”

“Levi look worse than you do?” he asks.

“A hell of a lot worse.”

He bobs his head in a nod and says, “Good.”

McClain might be the closest thing I’ve ever met to a saint, but the guy doesn’t have an ounce of compassion for Levi. Too much history with Dallas for him to keep a clear head where our former quarterback is concerned. I’m still a little shocked that he’s been as cool to me as he has. Dallas still hates my guts, which I guess I can live with.

“This is Dylan. We, uh, got acquainted in the holding cell.”

Carson lifts an eyebrow, and I can see he’s trying not to laugh. But he stays in control and holds out a hand to shake. “Nice to meet you, Dylan. I’m Carson. I’m a . . . friend of Silas.”

It’s the first time he’s ever really used the word friend in reference to me, and I think he might be doing it just for appearance’s sake. But then again . . . he did come get me. He could have blown me off. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had.

Matt returns then. He starts to say something, but stutters to a halt.

“Holy shit.” He looks at Carson, squints, and then looks back at me. He repeats the process a few times, and then says even louder, “Holy f**king shit.”

Carson scratches at the back of his neck uncomfortably, and I add, “That’s Dylan’s friend Matt.”

He’s still staring, and he’s begun shaking his head back and forth slowly. “Oh my shit.”