Mother of Mine
Alana is now the planet I live on. Her body the land, her smile the sun, her kisses the water I drink.
It’s close to six a.m., and I can’t sleep. I’m wired beyond all belief. Alana is dreaming peacefully against me. She’s warm. Her body heat is combating the cool summer breeze blowing through the windows. I cautiously slide out of bed, careful not to wake her. I need to burn off some of this energy. I throw on my tan cargos, walk outside, and plant my ass in the sand. A guy could get used to this. The sun is just starting to rise over the horizon, a round fireball lifting slowly above the water’s edge.
After last night, I am positive I would do anything for Alana Remington.
Be anyone she wanted me to be.
She makes me believe that even though I have nothing, it doesn’t mean I am nothing.
I’m going to talk to her about going back to school. About mapping out a plan. If anyone can put me on the right path, it’s my organized, structured, brilliant-beyond-belief goddess.
But before we get started on all that. Coffee.
I hop up and dust the sand off my pants, then scurry inside for my keys, shirt, and shoes. Alana is still out cold. She’s lying on her stomach. Her blonde hair is falling down her back and over her arm hanging off the futon. I notice her shoulders are sunburned. I stare at her a little too long. Like I’m unconsciously trying to commit this moment to memory. Maybe I am.
It might just be my next mindless sketch on my breakfast napkin. I wonder if she’d keep that one too? She keeps all my little drawings. I wish I knew why.
I grab my stuff then lean down and give her a drawn-out kiss on the forehead. I’ll only be twenty minutes. She’ll never know I was gone. It doesn’t look like she’ll be waking up anytime soon, anyway.
I make my way back out the security gate, hop in my Jeep, and head for the promenade. Alana always gets her coffee at this little café that’s usually cluttered with people and has ridiculously long lines. It’s just a short drive away. There’s barely a soul out at this hour, just a few bike riders and runners keeping me company on the side of the road. I make record time getting coffee and breakfast. A blueberry muffin for me and some yogurt and granola for Alana.
The sun has risen completely. There are more people out and about, but my thoughts are lost with a naked blonde who’s completely and utterly mine. I’m anxious as hell to get back to her. I’m not five minutes away from the beach club when I see flashing lights in my rearview.Come on.Not now.The cops around here are notorious for being jerks. They pull you over for the slightest BS. I pull onto the shoulder and grab my license and insurance card. This is just what I fucking need.
When the officer approaches, he has the usual all-business, detached demeanor.
“License and registration please.” He eyes me up. I hand him my stuff, wearing my seatbelt like a good little boy, so at least he can’t bang me for that.
“Where ya going in such a hurry, son?” he asks, still holding my documents. “You were doing fifty in a thirty-five.”
“Girlfriend,” I smirk, nodding to the brown bag and coffees sitting on my passenger side seat.
The officer grunts and not in a bad way. In anI completely understandway. That’s when I notice his name tag, Officer Valentine.
“Well, Mr.—” — he glances down at my license — “Pierce. I would advise the next time you drive through these parts you slow down and wear your seatbelt.”
I glare at the officer. He smiles slyly. “Don’t worry, Mr. Pierce, a seatbelt violation isn’t any points.” I realize immediately he’s going to cut me some slack.
“I’ll be back.” He heads back to his cruiser, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I’ll take a seatbelt ticket over a speeding ticket any day. I just want him to hurry up and write the damn thing. I need to get back.
I continuously glance in my rearview, shaking my leg impatiently as the seconds tick by. Come on.Come on already.
I see Officer Valentine get out of his car. He can’t be more than forty. He has dark black hair and a clean-shaven face. He looks like he works out too. I’d bet money he’s one of those playboy cops who uses his badge to get a kaleidoscope of women into bed.
When he makes his way to my window, he’s frowning. “Mr. Pierce, I need you to step out of the car.”
“Is there a problem, Officer?” Could that line sound any more cliché?
“Yes,” he pronounces as I open the door. “You’re under arrest.” He grabs my arms and turns me around, forcing me up against my car.
“What?”
“There’s an outstanding warrant for your arrest.” He slaps a pair of cuffs on me.
“It’s a mistake!” I turn and glare at him.
“According to my computer, it’s not.” That’s when it dawns on me like the sun.