Cops & Robbers

Chapter Three (Revised)

I cursed, noticing the time display on the dashboard of my truck and pushed the pedal that much closer to the floor. My brakes screeched as I came to a stop in the parking lot and hauled ass to unlock the studio.

“Adrienne!” a beautiful Puerto Rican woman called as she walked in moments after I connected my iPod to the stereo.

“Hey Natasha,” I smiled approaching her.

“Do you have a minute?” she asked tentatively. When I just shrugged and gave her a carefree “Sure,” she added, “Privately?”

Again I gave her another, “Sure,” though this time I felt slightly uneasy.

We walked to the small storage room that seconded as my office and closed the glass door once we were both inside.

“Did something happen with Alex?” I asked, concerned. If something had happened... it would have been my fault since I had been the one to send him to her.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” she replied anxiously, increasing my concern tenfold. She must have seen the look of worried anticipation on my face because she amended, “Actually, I’d have to say he was more than fine when I left him for your class,” she smirked, “but that’s not what this is about. Well not exactly anyway. You guys have lived together ever since your grandmother died right?”

“Yeah,” I replied sadly as I envisioned her aged, but beautiful face, “It’ll be three years this March.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t actually mean to bring that up,” she apologized patting my hand, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but have you guys ever… you know?”

Confused as to where this was going, but willing to humor her none the less I responded, “We’ve never screwed, if that’s what you’re asking. He’s my best friend. We’d never complicate things like that.”

Nevermind the way we managed to complicate things anyway, I added silently.

“Oh, well that’s a relief,” she smiled, “Can I ask you another question? Does he ever, you know… talk about me?”

He says you’re a good lay, my mind retorted automatically, though I’d never be so unfeeling as to tell her that. The hope in her eyes was blatant, and I couldn’t say that knowing it would hurt her.

After some thought as to how I could reply without lying I replied, “Yeah, of course he talks about you. He says you’re beautiful and charming and always entertaining.” The genuine smile she gave me afterward made it worth the challenge of finding the right words to say. Beautiful was definitely accurate when applied to Natasha, or Tasha, as we often called her. Her russet colored hair flowed down her back in long, shiny locks and her eyes constantly twinkled with the humor of some untold joke. Her natural beauty was offset by a killer body, which she used to her advantage a few nights a week as an exotic dancer at the North Pole. She liked to say they named it that, because Christmas happened every day when you were there.

“Adrienne,” she pleaded, playing with the hem of her turquoise skin tight workout shirt, “I think I’m in love with Alex.”

It was almost pathetic how she couldn’t even make eye contact with me when she said it, and I was struck by the fact that I’d never really ever felt that strongly about anyone. Was this look kindred to pain, what love truly looked like? If it was, I wanted no part of it; I’d had enough painful experiences to last me two lifetimes.

“What should I do? Should I tell him? I don’t want to ruin a good thing. What if he doesn’t feel the same way and then wants nothing to do with me afterward. I’m not sure if I could survive!”