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I stand up straighter, pulling the curtain back.
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” is all I can manage before stepping out into the cold, grabbing my towel to dry off. I’ll do better. I’ll prove to her she has infinite, immeasurable value to me.
“Adam, come on,” she says, stepping out of the shower in her underwear, soaking wet.
The animalistic urge to claim her roars inside me again, and I have to turn away.
“Please get dressed. We have somewhere to be,” I clip, my voice sounding much harsher than I intended. I hand her a dry towel from under the sink.
“Yes, sir,” she mumbles, and I have no idea why I like it.
She walks back into the room, still wrapped in a towel. I take much longer to get dressed than necessary, but I really need her to have clothes on, so my jeans will actually fit right.
I eventually swing open the door to see her in tiny cutoffs and a shirt with only one shoulder covered and several inches of stomach exposed. I will never get through this day, seeing so much leg and no bra strap. I take in several deep breaths as I watch her dab a dark red lipstick on her plump lips. It’s a riveting sight, and I wonder if she wants me to stop watching her.
Kenna sneaks past me into the bathroom. I’m standing in the center of the room like a statue, staring like a perverted old man. I scrape a hand over my scalp.
“I’m gonna go wait in the truck, okay? No rush. Wear good shoes,” I grab my keys.
She nods at me in the mirror.
Walking down to the truck, I feel like my head clears up a bit. Being around Harley is a physical need, but I feel like it mentally cripples me.
I look up at the sky as I walk out of the dorm, shooting a prayer up for some kind of clarity of how I can help her. She’s in danger, and the helplessness I feel is making me antsy. Something catches my eye around the skyline, and it’s like a light switch flicks on inside my brain.
Once I climb into my truck, I drive over to the campus police station nearby. I run in, hoping she still needed a few more minutes to doll herself up.
“Can I help you, son?” the small man in a black uniform at the front desk asks me. He’s older with thinning white hair and a large nose.
“Yes, last night, some men showed up in the girls’ dorm. I was taking care of my…friend, so my buddies came in here to report it,” I say.
“The tattooed fellas?” he questions, bushy brows squinching up.
I nod, holding my breath.
He bobs his head. “Yep, we got the report. Ain’t seen any of the likes of them though. Not much else we can do,” he says, sipping on a Styrofoam cup.
“Yes, sir, I understand. I actually wanted to know if you had security tapes though—maybe of the parking lot outside Bailey Hall?” I know there are—at least I saw the cameras high up on the light poles.
He squints at me, slowly setting the cup down. “Well, I guess we might.” His eyes twinkle. “But I can’t just go around, showing security footage to every young man who asks for it. This wouldn’t happen to be about a little lady, would it?” He grins at me, clearly in need of some motivation to help me.
I sigh longingly. It’s not fake.
“Yes, sir, it is. My…well, she’s just a friend really”—that lie is getting old—“but she’s in danger. Those men are from her past, and I think…I know they hurt her. I need to see if I can get their license plates to find out who they were and”—I blow out a breath—“I have to protect her.” I plead with my eyes, rubbing my hands together.
His gray eyes are focused on me, drawn into every word. He reaches a wrinkled hand out to pat my shoulder. “Well, son, if that isn’t the sweetest thing I’ve heard in a minute.” He shakes his head, eyes going distant. “I lost my wife…too many years ago. She was a wild little thing, and…she’d been hurt before meeting me. I was just a young police officer back then…”
I shuffle my feet, thinking of Harley wondering where I am.
“I answered the call to her—” He cuts off, looking back at me and smiling. “Ahh, I know you must be in a bit of a rush; it’s always that way with a woman. Let me say this.” He looks around tentatively, leaning forward and lowering his voice. “I’ll check back over the footage and see if this old retired blue can dig through like a pro again, eh? Our secret.” He winks at me, pushing a little yellow pad and pen toward me.
I write my name and number and the time when I saw the intruders.
“This is when I saw them, but they’d already been there long enough to find her hall,” I set my jaw at the memory of it. “Thank you so much, Mr.—”
He smiles again, taking the notepad. “Call me Russ; they all do.” He folds the paper up and places it in his breast pocket before patting over it, making me smile.
“Russ, thanks again. Please call me if you find anything.”
