Chapter 15 Tray
TRAY
“So, you’re really Tray Rivers?” A rounded Alpha officer holding a cliché donut in one hand, and a coffee in the other, stared at me with beady eyes.
“Born and raised, Lieutenant Alpha Matthew Edwards.” I used his entire title, not to be respectful, but because I wondered if he realized it spelled out the word LAME.
.. if anyone thought to make it an acronym.
Or was it initialism? Nope, spelled a word, so definitely an acronym.
I debated pointing it out... but decided to be sensible. Mac would be proud.
“Don’t you got some fancy lawyer to come handle this?” Alpha or not, this guy was giving off small dick energy.
“The label has an army of lawyers, but generally we handle small personal matters solo if possible.” I gave him a wink. “Don’t want the paparazzo to get fresh stories.”
“Still think the real Tray Rivers would have a lawyer handling a damn stalking case.” He took an oversized bite of the pastry. Sugary glaze flecked onto his chin.
I’d presented my driver’s license, my hot-off-the-presses college ID, and Catalina had even dropped off my birth certificate an hour ago when the station’s Deputy Chief wanted to triple verify that I wasn’t running some sort of celebrity scam.
Cat hadn’t stayed, though that might have been helpful.
She was already heading this problem off at the pass though, making sure the ‘right’ story hit the presses before the wrong one did.
Nothing would get published, unless necessary though.
Hell, I still wasn’t sure what kind of scam getting a restraining order would require, but I had to salute the LAPD’s thoroughness.
“Lieutenant Alpha Matthew Edwards, have you always been such a paranoid man?” I feigned innocence. “If Knottywood’s hottest starlet Holiday Shaw walked through that door, would you accuse her of being fake? Look at me.” I gave him a model-worthy twirl. “Do I look like a fake Tray Rivers?”
“You always been such a smart ass?” He questioned, followed by a noisy slurp of coffee.
“I’d have to ask my mother,” I quipped with a grin.
“Freaking famous people,” he grumbled, sauntering away to his desk.
As soon as he sat down, bulbous hips straining the chair’s arms, he began to glare at me.
I continued to smile widely in his direction until he finally looked away, making me feel like I’d one an epic police station staring contest.
Without Officer L.A.M.E. to tease, boredom quickly sprouted. I looked around, wondering if I needed to ask anyone for an update. Thankfully, I didn’t have to consider my options for long.
“Mister Winters?” A shy, alto voice called my attention.
I turned to find a sharp-jawed, freckle-faced, petite Omega dude with wide-set green eyes and a thick, moist mouth. Instantly, I forgot my whole ‘don’t screw randoms, maybe I should grow up’ mantra from only a few hours ago.
“Haven’t met you yet,” I shoved my hands in my pockets, trying to look casual cool. Not that I needed to try. Glancing down at his name tag, I frowned when I read his last name. Todd. What were the damn odds?
“I... I typically... I...” the guy gulped nervously, a bloom of freesia scenting from his body.
He smelled pretty good. Not mate good. But very fuckable.
“My name’s Officer Todd. I’m the station’s court liaison.
I typically handle paperwork,” he finally rushed out the words, fanning himself with the folder he was holding.
“Great, does that mean the restraining order was approved?” Smiling softly, I gave him the one-two-punch of the triangle trick—first staring at his right eye, then glancing down to his mouth, before homing in on his left eye—and leaning ever-so-slightly towards him.
His gaze widened. Simply calling his eyes green didn’t do them justice.
They were electric lime spiked with 24 karat flecks.
Unfortunately, he took a step back, licking his lips and clutching the folder to his chest instead of continuing to fan himself. Damn, he was too easily scared off.
“Um, yes. Sort of,” he stammered. I straightened up and took a step back myself, showing him that I wouldn’t bite.
“Sort of?” I quirked an eyebrow. My dick still hoped I could charm the pants off this guy.
“So, it’s...” He paused, taking a steadying breath.
When he spoke again, I could tell he’d steeled his resolve.
“It’s called an emergency protective order.
These are only good for about 5 days. While it’s valid, you’ll want to apply for a temporary restraining order.
That’ll give you another week or two. You’ll have a court hearing to decide on extended protection.
If you are granted a final protective order, it should last two years.
That can be extended too. Reading over the information you’ve given, it sounds like civil harassment, but—"
The officer clamped his mouth closed.
“Go on,” I said coyly, wondering what had suddenly made him so shy.
His face flushed ruby, but he answered. “The accused, Todd Morgenstein, is denying any improper behavior. He’s suggested, quite graphically, that you were consensually, intimately involved.
He claims it was you who crossed boundaries and wouldn’t accept the break-up.
If he has proof, then the judge will likely deny the extended protection. ”
I tipped back my head and laughed riotously; I couldn’t help myself.
This was exactly why I shouldn’t keep sleeping with every Tom, Dick, and Harriet I found attractive.
When I wiped away the tears from my eyes, and controlled my laughter, I locked eyes with Officer Todd.
.. really was a shame that was his last name.
“I doubt his proof is going to align with my own,” I chuckled, “but I do have the initial messages saved from the app we used to hook up. I have his relentless text messages I ignored, and I’m sure the second barista at his father’s coffee shop near the library has a thing or two to say about earlier today.
I made my feelings loud and clear. Then Todd managed to track down my home and landline number. ”
Officer Todd nodded slowly. “Great. Let’s make sure we document all of that before you leave.”
Twenty minutes later, the electric eyed Omega and I were alone in an interview room.
We’d finished the necessary paperwork, and he’d made copies of everything on my phone.
I’d flirted my goddamn heart out, and he kept it depressingly professional.
All I’d gotten in return was a few pulls of his shirt collar and the fact that his face never did stop blushing.
“I’ll be right back.” He stood up abruptly, the metal chair screeching against the hard floor.
“Am I done?” I folded my hands in my lap. Shame this wasn’t going anywhere, but probably not the best idea to screw a random guy while I was at the police station complaining about a random guy who’d taken meaningless sex too seriously.
“Yes, I’m just going to make copies of all of this documentation so you can take it with you.”
“Great.” I was sobered now, no longer high on that initial attraction of meeting someone who visually and chemically revved my engine.
Studying the room like something in it might have changed in the last few minutes, my gaze fell on the security camera mounted to the ceiling behind where Officer Todd had been sitting.
I was pretty sure it had once sported a red light.
Not anymore though. Curiously, I turned around in my seat, finding that the second camera had also gone dark. Maybe because the interview concluded?
Absentmindedly, I started drumming on the steel table.
The acoustics in the room weren’t bad. The table was bolted to the floor.
I banged out a quick riff before shifting into a Flock of Seagulls’ solo.
It didn’t take long for me to forget where I was and how probably super fucking inappropriate it was to be beating up police station furniture.
I was standing up, lost in a third epic solo, visualizing a filled arena, when the interview room door swung inward and Officer Todd returned.
I’d just happened to open my eyes seconds before, and I froze in place. “What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” I blurted out sheepishly.
“Was that Chocolate Chip Trip?” As he asked, it was like a different person emerged. He seemed to shake off a shell he typically carried here as an Omega surrounded by mostly Alpha police officers.
“You know Tool?”
“I love Tool,” he breathed out. He closed the door behind him, locked the knob, and walked towards me quickly, as if he didn’t want to give himself time to change his mind. “You were flirting with me earlier, right? I’m shit at it.”
“It being flirting?” I teased.
“It being pretty much all types of human interaction,” he admitted in a shy, low voice. “Your dimples are fucking hot,” he suddenly rushed out next, his face going crimson after he realized what he’d said.
“You like dimples?” I raised my eyebrows.
“Weak for them.” He played nervously with the collar of his uniform, tugging at it as if he could release some of the heat building in his body.
“Before I say anything else, you understand why I’m here today, don’t you?
You didn’t magically forget that I’m the kind of guy who hops into bed, and then directly out of it again.
I’m not looking for anything deeper.” My inner voice started whispering that I was a dumbass, but I didn’t listen.
Was I trying to scare the guy off? His next words surprised me though.
“We’re not scent matches. You don’t smell good enough. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re really hot. I want the fireworks though, and my best chance for a pup. Sorry.” He gave a polite shrug.
“Why sorry?” My voice went husky. “We don’t have to be a match to enjoy ourselves. We can just smell good and feel good.”
“True,” he murmured.
I closed the gap between us, pinching his chin with two fingers and tilting his face up. “Those cameras are off, right?”
He gave an almost imperceptible nod. I leaned down, pressing my mouth to his, and giving him a taste of what he could have... for a night. When I pulled away, his electric green eyes were hooded with need.
“I get off in twenty minutes,” he breathed out, chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Meet me at the Roosevelt. I’ll be checked in under the name Mister Carey. Just say you’re my guest and they’ll give you a key.” I leaned down, tilted my head, and bit his earlobe gently before whispering. “One night. One unforgettable night. And just so you know, I’m a giver and a taker.”
I waltzed out of that police station like I owned the world.
My phone buzzed in my pocket as I unlocked the Jag.
CeeCee: Are you done at the station? These fucking Morgensteins think they’re untouchable.
Me: I’m always getting in trouble for touching...
I followed that up with a GIF of a kid repeatedly touching a sign that says no touching.
CeeCee: What am I going to do with you?
Me: You could touch me, but, alas, you keep telling me you’re old enough to be my mother.
CeeCee: I am not that old, Tray.
Me: Sorry, I’m losing connection. Can’t hear you.
CeeCee: Come back home!
Me: Just... getting... static...
I followed that up with this ancient fucking ‘can you hear me now’ meme.
Then I got in the Jag, cranked it up, and headed towards another hotel to make another mistake. In my defense though, I was pretty sure this mistake was going to feel and taste delicious.