Chapter 8

Arsen

You know what annoyed me?

A lot.

But right now? These cops.

How dare that asshole with the ugly tie look at Matthew and imply he was gonna get locked up again. Over my cold and dead body.

Also, I wasn’t sure what was worse: what was mine standing there in some other man’s hoodie or him flashing his rock-hard nipples to the entire room.

Both sucked.

But I guess the nipple flashing was slightly worse because, as much as my fingers itched to rip that navy fabric right off Matthew’s body, I didn’t. It should be my hoodie he wore. Me keeping him warm.

If I wouldn’t get arrested for indecent exposure, I’d rip this shirt over my head and shove it down over his just to have a piece of me on him too.

“What do you mean not that easy?” Coach Resch asked.

“Your swimmer assaulted an officer?—”

“For fuck’s sake, Paul. It was one punch—” Coach was cut off by the bad tie dude.

“That’s Detective Paul to you.”

“There’s extenuating circumstances.” Coach pushed.

Detective Paul’s eyebrows shot up. “Circumstances that would excuse assault?”

Coach pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Would you stop saying assault.” Dropping his hand, he swung his gaze to Matthew. “Prism, tell him about your condition,”

The second I looked at him, I knew he was taking a nosedive into the same place he’d been last night. Again, I didn’t understand, but just like before, it didn’t matter.

I moved without thinking, stepping up to his side, and anchored my hand around the back of his neck. I kept the pressure firm, tight but not too tight.

His eyes were full of uneasiness when they lifted to mine, and though he didn’t touch me, it felt like he’d reached inside my chest and fisted my heart.

“Remember what I told you.” I spoke quietly. “I’ll do the talking.”

“I don’t want to go back in that cell.” His voice was too low to even be considered a whisper, and I was greedy for that tone. For those words meant only for me.

In a room filled with people, including his brother and coach, it was me he confided in. Me he showed the fear deep in his eyes.

“I won’t let that happen, princess,” I promised.

“Prism,” Coach called, impatient.

I knew the man was anxious to get this taken care of, and his frustration was understandable, but impatience was something Matthew did not need.

Leaving my hand collared around his neck, I lifted my stare to Coach. We shared a look, perhaps a brief, quiet battle for dominance in this situation. I wasn’t giving in, and as curious as I was about whatever “condition” Matthew had, I wasn’t going to find out because he was forced to tell the room.

If he told me, it would be because he trusted me enough to share.

“I got this,” I told Coach, holding his stare.

Coach’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell are you going to do? You’re in just as much shit as he is.”

Just then, the door to the same room Matthew had been in last night opened, and a man in a three-piece suit stepped out. There wasn’t a hair out of place, his tie was easily four times the cost and style of the detective’s behind me, and despite the early morning hour, he looked like he’d slept a full eight.

“Niles,” I said, drawing his attention.

Changing direction, his brown Italian loafers moved soundlessly over the floor, the briefcase in his hand merely a prop for the impact of his presence when he was in the room.

“Arsen.” Niles’s voice was clipped. “It’s too early for this. Come on. Let’s go.”

Beneath my hand, Matthew tensed. “He can go?”

Niles flicked a glance at Matthew, quickly dismissing him. Looking back to me, he said, “Now. I have a busy day.”

Matthew rotated toward me, dislodging my hand from his neck. “Who is that?”

“My lawyer.”

“So if you dropped the charges against Arsen, then you did for P too,” Kruger said, relief clear in his tone. “C’mon, P. Let’s blow this joint.”

“The charges have not been dropped,” announced the detective who’d been with Niles.

“What the hell kinda lawyer are you?” Kruger accused Niles.

Impervious to the insult, Niles looked down his nose at Kruger. “And who are you?”

“About to be your worst nightmare,” Kruger answered.

Niles turned his bored expression to me.

“Niles,” I said.

He sighed. “I was sent to collect you, Arsen. No one else.”

“I’m not leaving here without him,” I said, pointedly looking at Matthew. “I’m the reason he’s even here in the first place. How would it look if I let someone else take the fall for my mistake?”

Niles fired a look at the detective. “That was not an admission of guilt. That was my client expressing his deep regret over his…” He paused. “Friend not having legal counsel.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the detective muttered.

“Niles,” I repeated, this time with an impatient edge to my voice.

“Fine,” he said, clearly perturbed.

Ask if me I gave a damn.

“There are no charges to drop because they have no evidence to hold you. Neither of your prints were on the drugs. Your drug tests came back clean. There could be assault charges, but I’m good at my job,” he told the room.

I didn’t bother reminding him that he was good at his job because my father was loaded and probably paid my way out of here.

He glanced at Matthew. “What’s your name?”

“Matthew Prism.”

Niles looked at the detective. “Same deal applies to this one.” Then to Matthew, “It’s your lucky day, Matthew Prism.”

“If you think spending the night in jail is luck, then I hope you don’t play the lottery,” Kruger muttered. “Actually, you should. Hope you lose.”

Niles ignored him. “Draw up the paperwork, please.”

The detective did my lawyer’s bidding, and minutes later, Matthew was free just like me.

“I’ll be in the car,” Niles told me. “Do not keep me waiting.”

“Just go without me,” I told him.

He eyed me. “You know it doesn’t work like that.”

Resigned, I nodded once, and he went to wait in the car. The second he was gone, Matthew turned to me, his stare bouncing between my eyes. “I can really go?”

I found it oddly precious that he looked at me for approval—and maybe even with a little awe—as if he were shocked I’d kept my word and made sure he was free. Feeling all the things, I merely nodded.

A uniformed officer stepped over, handing us each a clear bag filled with everything from our pockets last night.

Matthew’s eyes lit up, and he reached inside the bag instantly, closing his hand around an AirPod case. His fingers tremored slightly when he flipped the top open and pulled them out, sticking them into his ears one at a time. Once they were in, he snapped the lid shut and hugged the empty case to his chest.

Kruger came over and took the bag, reaching in for his phone, and proceeded to unlock the device.

Irrational, hot anger rushed through my veins, and I snatched the phone out of his hand. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I accused through gritted teeth.

Kruger met my eyes. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“I just watched you unlock his phone. You think you can sift through it in front of me? What the hell kind of friend are you?”

“The kind who has his fingerprint saved on it so I can sift through it anytime I want.”

My tongue slid over my teeth at his arrogant tone. I’d never had a problem with Ben Kruger… until now. Until he stood there looking so smug about the access he had to what was mine.

I turned to Matthew, hitting him with an incredulous look. “You can’t just give people access to your phone, Matthew.”

Kruger snorted. “Guess I shouldn’t tell you I have a tracker on him too.”

My hand shot out to fist the front of his shirt so fast that we both were surprised when I dragged him across the floor to get in his face. “You stalking him? You a stalker?”

“How about you get your face out of business that don’t concern you,” Kruger said, no hint of the easy sarcasm he lived by in sight. “I appreciate you helping my bro out with the jail situation, but I’ll take it from here.”

“You aren’t taking anything,” I said, my tone matching his.

Long, cool fingers wrapped around the hand still fisted in Kruger’s shirt and pried it away. “Get your hands off him.”

I glanced at Matthew, incredulous. “Me? He’s the one going through your phone and openly admitting to stalking you.”

Kruger made a rude noise and snatched the cell phone back out of my hand. I growled and moved to grab it back, but Matthew slid between us, laying a hand on my chest. It reminded me so much of when he’d done the same last night that it stopped me in my tracks.

“Kruger has access to my phone because I gave it to him,” he said quietly. “And he isn’t stalking me. We all have trackers on each other’s phones.”

“What?” Was this a friend group or a cult?

“Here ya go, P. I put on your favorite.” The phone appeared between us, and I glanced down to see what was on the screen.

Matthew took the phone as my hand curled around his wrist. “What is that?” I demanded, hearing my heartbeat in my ears.

He attempted to pull his hand back, but I gripped his wrist tighter. “Nothing.”

“Matthew.”

The command in my voice made him go rigid. His eyes met mine, and I almost caved at the way he silently pleaded for me to back down.

I couldn’t. Not right now. “Show me.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he lowered the phone so I could see the screen between us. I stared down at it, realizing it was exactly what I thought.

My ears burned, a sensation I wasn’t really used to, and satisfaction—the kind I’d never really known without an orgasm—made my limbs heavy. After a moment, I ripped my eyes from the screen to look at the AirPods tucked into his ears.

“Is this what you’re always listening to?”

“Look, bro. This is a judgment-free zone.” Kruger interrupted.

Still holding Matthew’s wrist, I flashed my eyes over to his friend. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“That was rude AF.”

Completely ignoring his offense, I turned back to Matthew. “Is this what my princess listens to all the time?”

I spoke softly, but I swear Kruger was an eavesdropping stalker because he asked, “Princess? What the fuck happened in that jail cell?”

Matthew’s eyes burned my face with the intensity of his stare, making me feel as if I were underwater and everything but him was muffled. I craved to crush him to me, to kiss him like I did last night in the dark.

“Give them a minute,” someone, I think Coach, said, and then Kruger was gone and it was just me and the way Matthew stared.

“Princess,” I cajoled, loosening my grip on his wrist. “Is this what you listen to?”

“I told you I like whispering,” he answered, cheeks hot pink.

I groaned deep in my throat, such a fucking slave for him it was almost concerning.

“I know some people think ASMR is weird,” he started, self-conscious and about to defend himself.

“Baby.” I interrupted, letting go of his wrist to quickly take his face in my hands. “I am fucking thrilled you listen to ASMR. Especially that one.”

His eyes glittered like dark gems beneath the sun. I started drowning in those eyes again, how they spoke a language all their own. And right then, they confided he was equal parts enthralled and confused, as if he had no idea what to make of me.

That makes two of us.

Suddenly, he seemed to decide that whatever I was, he would lean into it. Into me. “It’s my favorite,” he confessed.

I swayed toward him, wanting to lap those words off his lips. But he stiffened and pulled away, pushing the phone playing the ASMR I knew so well into the pocket of the hoodie.

“I should go,” he said, backing away like a wary animal.

“Yeah, okay.” I agreed, not wanting to let him go but willing to in order to gain his trust.

As he retreated, I couldn’t help but wonder what he would say if I told him last night wasn’t the first time my whisper had calmed him down. That the ASMR he claimed was his favorite was mine.