Free Fearless (The Story of Samantha Smith #1) by Devon Hartford

twirled my finger through my pony tail.  
    Then I realized I was being played. He’d probably said the same thing to Skylar and a hundred other women this week alone. It was a variation on the some crap I’d heard a thousand times in the past from similar men.
    Guys like Adonis were a dime a dozen. No, make that a penny a dozen. Scratch that. You couldn’t pay me to take anymore of this sort of verbal fertilizer. I’d had my fill a long time ago. “Thanks again for all your help, Adonis. But I’ve got a buttload of homework, and I need to run some errands on my way home. So I’ve really got to go.”
    In the corner of my eye, I noticed a police car turn into the parking lot. It drove toward us.  
    “When can I see you again?” Adonis was determined, I’d give him that.
    “I’m not really—” The police car pulled to a stop right beside us, blocking my car and Adonis’ motorcycle. Two officers got out of the car. Was this campus security?
    “Good afternoon,” the office with a mustache said. “Can I talk to you two for a second?”
    Adonis didn’t respond. I saw his jaw muscles dance.
    “Sure,” I said, eyeing the other officer, who was female. “Is something wrong?”
    “We received a complaint about a tattooed man and young woman trespassing in one of the dormitories,” the female officer said. “Do you two know anything about that?”
    Caught. This was ridiculous. We took some paper towels. So what? I glanced at Adonis. He didn’t appear ready to talk.
    “Are you both students here?” Mustache Cop asked.
    “Yeah.” Well, I was. I’d assumed Adonis was too. But maybe he wasn’t. He hadn’t been carrying any books or a laptop, or even a regular old notebook. Maybe he wasn’t a student. And in that case, what was he doing on a college campus? And how old was he, anyway? Was he even in college? I took a deep breath. I was getting ahead of myself. He obviously was the art model this morning. So even if he wasn’t a student, he was supposed to be here.  
    “Can I see your I.D. and your Student I.D.?” mustache cop asked.
    Adonis pulled out his wallet while I dug through my purse. It was going to take awhile to find anything in my bag. I swear it was bigger on the inside than it was on the outside. I found an old tube of black lipstick I thought I’d thrown out.
    Emo. Goth. Witch.
    I would’ve tossed it into the bushes but I didn’t want to get fined for littering. Adonis handed two I.D.s to Mustache cop. I recognized one was a student I.D. So Adonis was a student. Or had been at some point.
    Mustache cop sat down in the police car and started typing into the car’s computer. I kept digging for my I.D.s. I glanced at Adonis.  
    His hands rested casually on his narrow hips, and was drumming his fingers on his jeans. He stared at the ground, ignoring me.  
    The female cop narrowed her eyes at Adonis and put the heel of her hand on the butt of her gun. Was I missing something?  
    Mustache cop fingered the radio on his shoulder and mumbled something into it.
    After what seemed like forever, I found my wallet and both my I.D.s. I offered them to the female cop. “Here you go,” I said with as much lightness and merriment as I could muster.  
    She looked at them. Looked at me. Looked at the I.D.s again. Flipped them over. Looked at me, then glanced at her partner, who nodded at her.
    A second later, another cop car pulled into the parking lot, lights flashing, but no sirens. Mustache got out of the cop car and walked around Adonis until he was behind him. “Sir, please step up to the vehicle and put your hands on the hood.”
    What was happening?
    The other cruiser stopped behind the first one and two more officers got out.
    “Sir?” Mustache asked again.
    Adonis’ face screwed up tight while he ground his jaw. His full lips compressed into a thin white line and his eyes swiveled menacingly. He looked ready to spring.
    What was he going to do?
    The female cop stepped toward Adonis.