“I won’t.” I start to ask him why he has more than one car, but then I realize he actually has three cars. The car we rode back in from dinner was a Lexus.
How much money does he make doing this?
“Mia?” Eric waves his hand in front of my face. “Why are you standing there talking to yourself?”
“Sorry, I was just thinking out loud.”
“I bet...” Dean mutters under his breath.
“Do you want one of us to come with you?” Eric asks. “I could probably get you there faster.”
“Not at all.” I hold up my smart phone and rush toward the door. “I have GPS. I’ll be fine.” I make my way to the parking garage next door and slide behind the wheel of the Civic.
I type in the address and am surprised that it’s a straight shot along the highway.
I take my time driving there, and go over all the potential questions in my head on the way over, hoping for the best.
***
The interview lasted all of fifteen minutes, and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. I felt like as soon as I sat down it was over, and outside of her asking to see pictures of my previous artwork on my phone, she didn’t ask anything that hadn’t been asked before.
Feeling slightly defeated, I try to replay the interview in my mind to see if I can gauge her facial expressions.
I’m crossing the threshold of the City limits when I suddenly see blue lights flashing in my rear view mirror. There’s a black squad car that’s rushing toward me, but I notice the red car at my left is going way faster than I am.
Is the cop chasing me or the red car?
I speed up a little bit.
Definitely the red car...
I switch lanes.
He switches lanes.
I switch lanes again.
He switches again.
Fuck! He is chasing me...
I pull my car over to the right shoulder and shift to park as the police car slows to a stop behind me. I glance in my rearview again, but he hasn’t gotten out yet.
What the hell did I do?
As I glance back again, the officer gets out of the car and starts walking toward me.
When he approaches my window, I hit the button to lower it.
“License and registration, please.” A familiar deep voice says.
I look up and see the profile of the last person I expect to see right now. “Dean? Is this some type of joke? Is it Halloween?”
“Does it look like I’m joking?” He takes the shades off his face and his green eyes do that same “Yeah, I’m totally fuck-able and I know it” thing they did in high school. “Your license and registration, please.”
This is bull shit.
“Why the hell did you pull me over? Are you really this upset about the protein bars?”
“Ma’am.” He nearly hisses. “I’m only going to ask you one more time, your license and registration, now.”
I retrieve my license from my purse and Eric’s registration from the glove compartment and nearly toss it at him. He takes his PDA from his waist belt and starts typing my information into the system.
“Can you please tell me why you pulled me over now?” I ask through gritted teeth.
“You were speeding.”
“Speeding?” I arch a brow. “I was not speeding.” To make sure, I click on my dashboard and check my last known speed.
“I was only going sixty.”
“The speed limit on this stretch of highway is fifty-five.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? You stopped me for going five over?”
He leans down and glares at me. “I can stop you for going one over, if I choose.” “As a matter of a fact, it’s against the law to speed in front of a hospital exit.” He points to the hospital directly across the street from where we’re parked. “I think I’ll give you a ticket for that, too.”
My jaw nearly hits my lap, I’m so stunned. “You’re being fucking ridiculous. You pulled me over on purpose. You knew I was driving Eric’s car, you knew exactly what it looked like.”
“If you’d like to make a complaint, please do so in writing.” He has the audacity to smile, as he hands me the ticket.
I take it and crumple it, throwing it into the backseat. “Fuck you, Dean.”
“What did you just say?”
“I said, Fuck you.” I cross my arms.
“Okay.” He steps back. “Get out of the car.”
“What?” My heart drops.
“Are you having a hearing problem today, Mia?” My name sounds bitter on his lips. “I ordered you to get out of the car.”
“No...” I remain seated, shaking my head.
“I’m not going to ask you again.” He clenches his jaw, yanking my door wide open. “Get out of the goddamn car.”
Without thinking, I unbuckle my seatbelt and slip out of the car, slowly standing before him.
“This is ridiculous,” I say, unsure of what to feel right now. “Are you really going to arrest me? Do you really have no better way to spend your day? And who the hell made you a cop?”
“You know,” he says writing on his pad, “I could arrest you for a number of things right now, with failure to pull over being at the top of the list. I was clearly chasing you and you sped up. You switched lanes twice. You keep talking and I’m going to take you in,” he says, looking me in the eye.
I stay quiet.
“Are you saying something?” he asks, gently grabbing me, pushing my back against the car so we’re face to face. “Are you implying that I need to call for backup and have them search you for something?”
“No.”
“Because if you’re saying something and want me to search you, just let me know.”
My hands ball to fist at my sides and my breathing speeds up. I’m seconds away from pushing him, but he steps even closer to me, closing the gap between us.
His face softens for a split second, and it looks as if he’s about to apologize, but the hardness in his eyes quickly returns. He puts on his shades and hands me a new ticket for an offense I’m pretty sure he made up.
“Now,” he says smirking, and taking a step back. “Have a nice day and a safe drive home, Miss Gray.”
I almost throw up the middle finger and curse at him, but I get back into the car and simply watch him return to his car in my rearview mirror.
“You can pull off, Ma’am!” He calls out over his car’s speakers. “Now. Unless you want another ticket for unnecessarily blocking the emergency lane.”
UGHHHH....Fucking asshole!
I crank the engine and immediately pull off, driving the rest of the way in silence – three miles below the speed limit.
Chapter 16
MIA
With all of the amazing inventions in the world, I am shocked that someone brilliant hasn’t yet invented “Anti-Asshole Spray.” It should be kind of like personal bug spray, but it should smell much better: You spray yourself with it, wait for it to dry, and for twelve hours, you are less susceptible to any asshole who may approach. This includes coworkers you don’t like; ex-boyfriends who can’t seem to get the hint; and a roommate/police officer who nearly has you arrested one day, and is currently standing in your kitchen and acting as if he’s not eating the last of your Pop-Tarts the next.
“Did you buy those Pop-Tarts, Dean?” I ask, venom in my voice. I would tell him thanks for canceling those dumb-ass tickets he gave me mere minutes after he issued them, but since they were dumb in the first place, I’ll act as if I know nothing about it.
“I’m not sure,” he says. “I don’t keep a running log of the groceries I buy.”
“Well, I do. I keep a running log of the groceries I buy, and that Pop-Tart that’s currently lodged in your mouth? I bought that.”
“Good to know.” He smirks.