Cherry Hollow by Bell Bouvier

Cherry Hollow by Bell Bouvier

Author:Bell Bouvier [Bouvier, Bell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-10-01T05:00:00+00:00


Chapter 15

Cherry checked her face one last time in the rearview mirror. With a spit-drenched thumb, she wiped off any last vestiges of red smudges around her mouth, and smoothed out her red dress. The lights were on in her house.

“You looked beautiful while you were dancing,” Ryan said.

“I wish you had asked me to dance.”

“I can’t dance for shit and you know it.”

“You’re pretty terrible,” she agreed. “I’ll teach you.”

He kissed her hand. “Goodnight, baby.”

She got out of the car and pranced to her doorstep, turning back to blow him a kiss.

Ryan wheeled out of her driveway and drove off. As he crossed the bridge into the city, Michael McKnight called and suggested they get a drink. They met up at a dive bar downtown. Their tuxes clashed with the dingy setting, but the pints of Guinness suited them fine. Wayward strands of gelled-up hair fell over Ryan’s forehead. Michael’s bowtie had come undone.

“How was the auction?” Ryan asked.

“You missed a business tycoon trying to outbid Alejandro over a Fabergé egg. I’m pretty sure that guy was with the mob.”

“You think everyone’s with the mob.” Ryan wiped the frothy foam off his mouth with his thumb, noticing a trace of red lipstick on it. “How’s Jen?”

“You know her; indestructible. Carried on smoothly. I think she left with Alejandro.”

Ryan smiled into his pint; the sweet tang of the dry stout flooding his senses. “He’s a better match for her.”

An attractive, tipsy woman in her fifties approached them, sized them up in their suits, and asked if they were hitmen. “I need to get rid of my husband,” she said. “He farts in his sleep.” “We’re off duty tonight,” Ryan replied. Michael wished her luck with her flatulent spouse. The woman took off. Highway to Hell played on the jukebox.

Finally, Michael addressed the elephant in the room. “Is something going on between Cherry and you?”

Ryan took a swig of beer. “Nothing that would land me in court, counselor.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game, man.”

“I know the stakes.”

“Is she worth going to prison for?”

Ryan shifted on the bar stool. “She’s old enough to consent.”

Michael schooled him on legislation. “Sure, sixteen is the established age of consent in Vermont, and New York sets the bar at seventeen, but if you transport a minor across state lines to engage in sexual conduct, you’re violating federal law.”

“What law?”

“The Mann Act,” Michael said. “You can be subject to some sweet jail time.”

Ryan watched the beads of sweat trickle down his pint. He was quiet for a while, and then said, “I feel at home when I’m with her.”

“Your cellmates will love to make that pretty white face of yours feel at home.” Michael swigged his Guinness. “Even if a sex crime conviction doesn’t stick, her parents can charge you with contributing to the delinquency of a minor.” He dipped into the bowl of mixed nuts. “Just let it go, man. Sparks may fly when you see her, and you two may have a strong intellectual connection, but it’s not worth the trouble.



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