My Favorite Sin Page 5

  Fuck. Maybe Cyrus got into my head. Maybe I do have a crush on Dr. Hottie and that’s what making this decision harder. It’s not about my future, it’s about getting my dick wet.

  Yeah, I can believe that. I’m pacing around the apartment and scrubbing spots that have already been cleaned when my phone rings. I look outside when it does and notice that it’s already getting dark. When I look down at the screen again, my eyes widen.

  It’s Montgomery.

  I blink a little, confused about why he would be calling me. “Hello?”

  “Hey, choirboy,” he says. “Are you busy?”

  “No?”

  “Good,” he says. “Because I need your help.”

  “You what?”

  “I. Need. Your. Help.”

  I blink. “You need my help to do what?”

  “I need someone to pick me up,” he says. “I’m in the drunk tank and they won’t release me if I haven’t got anyone to pick me up.”

  I cock my head. I’m trying very hard not to laugh at him. “You sound perfectly sober.”

  “Exactly,” he says. “I’M SOBER SO THIS IS BULLSHIT.”

  I hold my phone away from my face. “Yikes, okay,” I say. “There’s no need to scream in my ear.”

  “Can I count on you?”

  “I guess,” I say. “I could take a taxi or—”

  “No,” he says. “Just bring my bike.”

  “I don’t know how to drive a motorcycle.”

  “So learn,” he says. “The keys are in the plate by the door. Okay, choirboy. See you soon.”

  He hangs up and I’m left looking at my phone in my hand, wondering what the fuck I got myself into. There are many ways I foresee this going, and none of them are good. The police station isn’t too far, though, and I do need a vehicle to collect him.

  Maybe it’s not that hard. And I am just trying to help him. He did tell me to take his bike. I’ve seen him ride it before and if someone with all the wit and awareness of Montgomery can do it, then I’m pretty sure I can too. I grab his keys and his helmet and step outside the apartment.

  It’s already getting dark. The police station is only about half a mile away, so I don’t think it’s going to be that hard to get there, but I don’t want to accidentally hurt Montgomery’s bike and I definitely don’t want to take a spill.

  I tell myself it’s going to be okay. I get on the bike and position myself the same way I’ve seen Montgomery do it, all while I wonder if I should be wearing more layers. Probably, but I want to have this done as soon as possible.

  I turn the keys in the ignition and the bike purrs under me, vibrating so hard I feel like I’m about to be thrown off the damn thing. I know how to drive a car, I just don’t do it often. This is different. Luckily, the streets look mostly empty. I put the helmet on and I’m surprised at how much darker it seems to be behind the visor. The helmet is snug on me. I think Montgomery’s head must be smaller. Talk about irony.

  It turns out riding a motorcycle is going to be surprising complex. Holding onto the damn handles is hard enough and the metal thing is unwieldy under me. I manage to turn it on, because I’ve heard Montgomery drone on about it for far too much time, but I have to idea how to reverse it and I don’t even know if I’m sitting on it properly.

  Why did I think this was a good idea? I don’t know how to ride a motorcycle. I get off the damn thing, take off the helmet and walk back in the house. I kick the door closed behind me.

  I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I could try to walk over to the station and then wrangle Montgomery until I get him home. I could also ask Cyrus to give me a lift.

  I don’t want to do this alone, but I also don’t want to bother Cyrus again after he helped me today.

  I take my phone out of my pocket and sigh.

  Maybe it would be better to handle this myself, but…

  I don’t know if Cyrus would want to miss it. He loves seeing Montgomery make a fool of himself.

  Fuck it. I don’t want to bother Cyrus any more after he helped drop me off at school and then I ignored him so I could spend the day with Lawrence. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t begrudge me for it, but I still haven’t heard his amazing news and I don’t want to call him just to tell him I need another favor.

  I grab my headphones, put a random song on and head out the door. Sweet music is coming from my phone and I’m completely ignoring the fact that I’m walking right toward the island’s biggest tourist trap: the police station.

  Sure, there are nice restaurants here, and the beach is beautiful—the sand feels nice and cool under your feet even in the hottest of days—but the island really makes the majority of its money from fining drunk college students for their drunk and disorderly behavior. It’s really easy, considering they all come down here in droves for spring break, and they think they can get away with murder.

  And they can, of course, for a fee.

  It’s not like the townies don’t party hard either, they just have a symbiotic relationship with our police force. They call in drunk college parties or throw them out of restaurants right before the police arrive and then the town ends up with a tidy cash sum. Everyone knows it’s an outrage, but it’s not like these kids are going to go crying to mom and dad.

  One of the only people I know who seems to consistently manage to get in trouble is Montgomery. He’s not a townie, he arrived around the same time I did, and we were thrown together by terrible roommate matching.

  I could live on campus, but that’s a long drive away and living close to the beach is both nice and surprisingly more affordable than living across the bridge and in the city. I could never afford to live in the city. Hell, I can already hardly afford to live in the shitty apartment I share with Montgomery.

  My money is going to run out soon and I need to decide what I’m going to do with the rest of my life.

  Ugh, it feels like even when I’m the one bailing him out, I’m worried about my own shit. This sucks. I’m not going to feel better about any of it until I make a decision. I know that for a fact and it makes me angry. I shouldn’t have to bother with making a decision, I should just… know.

  I’ve always known.

  I should still fucking know. I’m thinking about it, completely ignoring the music blasting in my ears, as I arrive at the police station. It’s a square, non-descript building, one that looks like one of the many other houses here. The only signage looks like a historical plaque, so it’s very easy to miss.

  I stand in front of it and take the headphones out of my ears. I can hear footsteps inside and a few people talking in agitated voices. Rolling my eyes, I steel myself to walk inside. I don’t really like dealing with the police, but I guess I’m already here.

  I go to the reception area. A blond officer who looks about my age barely lifts his head. “Hello,” he says. “If you’re here for—”

  “Montgomery,” I say.

  That gets his attention. He sets his gaze on me. “Is that the perp’s last name?”

  “No,” I reply. “His last name is Banks. Montgomery Banks.”

  He smirks at me. “Is he in the drunk tank?”

  I think this line of questioning is truly unnecessary, but I guess I understand why he’s being flippant. There are a lot of people my age here.

  “Yes,” I reply. “He said he was when he called.”

  “Oh, he already called you?” he says, looking a little bored. “Then he has to have been here a while. Take a seat. I’ll let him know someone is here to collect him.”

  “Thank you,” I reply, a little hesitantly. He doesn’t do anything, though, he doesn’t even reach for the phone, and I notice he’s reading a magazine. I clear my throat and he lifts up his face to stare at me. “What is it, son?”

  I resist the urge to tell him that he looks about a month older than me. “I mean, you could go get him now.”

  “I could,” he replies. I wait for him to say something else, but he starts reading his magazine again
.

  I don’t want to challenge the police, but I came here for a reason and the last thing I want to do is spend all night hanging around here, waiting for Montgomery to be released. I don’t want Montgomery to have to suffer with all the other college students, though he probably deserves it.

  “Look,” I say, leaning into the reception area so I can read his name badge. “Officer Roberts, Montgomery isn’t like all the other college kids here. He goes to school across the bridge. He lives with me, in Cedar Cove. He just got a little too drunk. If you let me take him home, you can…”

  He raises his eyebrows.

  “Make room for someone else,” I whisper to him. I don’t feel good about it, but he seems to be listening to me now. “Some out of towner.”

  “And why should I do that?”

  I look him up and down. I don’t know what to say. I mean, I could tell him that he should do it because he’s reading a shitty magazine instead of doing his job and it’s probably illegal to keep people for too long after they’ve been arrested, but I don’t know enough about the law to make a compelling argument.

  I don’t think there’s any money involved. I think Officer Roberts would have to tell me if I needed to pay bail, and so far, he hasn’t mentioned it. Maybe that’s why he’s not inclined to release Montgomery. I’ve heard lots of students around here try and get out without making bail.

  “Why should you do that?”

  Officer Roberts nods. “That’s what I said.”

  “Because it’s your job.”

  “Because I’ll take care of any money he owes.”

  I don’t want to bother Cyrus after I asked him for a lift this morning and he went out of his way to help me. I know he has stuff to get ready. He told me he needed to work on songs before he went to California and I think it would be cruel to take him away from that just because my roommate needs to be bailed out.

  I can handle this myself. It’s one of the few things I can do by myself. I’ll tell him all about it tomorrow, and he’ll laugh. It’ll be great.

  I grab my headphones, put a random song on and head out the door. Sweet music is coming from my phone and I’m completely ignoring the fact that I’m walking right toward the island’s biggest tourist trap: the police station. My foot still hurts, but it’s a little better, and I’m trying my best to keep my mind off it.

  Sure, there are nice restaurants here, and the beach is beautiful—the sand feels nice and cool under your feet even in the hottest of days—but the island really makes the majority of its money from fining drunk college students for their drunk and disorderly behavior. It’s really easy, considering they all come down here in droves for spring break, and they think they can get away with murder.

  And they can, of course, for a fee.

  It’s not like the townies don’t party hard either, they just have a symbiotic relationship with our police force. They call in drunk college parties or throw them out of restaurants right before the police arrive and then the town ends up with a tidy cash sum. Everyone knows it’s an outrage, but it’s not like these kids are going to go crying to mom and dad.

  One of the only people I know who seems to consistently manage to get in trouble is Montgomery. He’s not a townie, he arrived around the same time I did, and we were thrown together by terrible roommate matching.

  I could live on campus, but that’s a long drive away and living close to the beach is both nice and surprisingly more affordable than living across the bridge and in the city. I could never afford to live in the city. Hell, I can already hardly afford to live in the shitty apartment I share with Montgomery.

  My money is going to run out soon and I need to decide what I’m going to do with the rest of my life.

  Ugh, it feels like even when I’m the one bailing him out, I’m worried about my own shit. This sucks. I’m not going to feel better about any of it until I make a decision. I know that for a fact and it makes me angry. I shouldn’t have to bother with making a decision, I should just… know.

  I’ve always known.

  I should still fucking know. I’m thinking about it, completely ignoring the music blasting in my ears, as I arrive at the police station. It’s a square, non-descript building, one that looks like one of the many other houses here. The only signage looks like a historical plaque, so it’s very easy to miss.

  I stand in front of it and take the headphones out of my ears. I can hear footsteps inside and a few people talking in agitated voices. Rolling my eyes, I steel myself to walk inside. I don’t really like dealing with the police, but I guess I’m already here.

  I go to the reception area. A blond officer who looks about my age barely lifts his head. “Hello,” he says. “If you’re here for—”

  “Montgomery,” I say.

  That gets his attention. He sets his gaze on me. “Is that the perp’s last name?”

  “No,” I reply. “His last name is Banks. Montgomery Banks.”

  He smirks at me. “Is he in the drunk tank?”

  I think this line of questioning is truly unnecessary, but I guess I understand why he’s being flippant. There are a lot of people my age here.

  “Yes,” I reply. “He said he was when he called.”

  “Oh, he already called you?” he says, looking a little bored. “Then he has to have been here a while. Take a seat. I’ll let him know someone is here to collect him.”

  “Thank you,” I reply, a little hesitantly. He doesn’t do anything, though, he doesn’t even reach for the phone, and I notice he’s reading a magazine. I clear my throat and he lifts up his face to stare at me. “What is it, son?”

  I resist the urge to tell him that he looks about a month older than me. “I mean, you could go get him now.”

  “I could,” he replies. I wait for him to say something else, but he starts reading his magazine again.

  I don’t want to challenge the police, but I came here for a reason and the last thing I want to do is spend all night hanging around here, waiting for Montgomery to be released. I don’t want Montgomery to have to suffer with all the other college students, though he probably deserves it.

  “Look,” I say, leaning into the reception area so I can read his name badge. “Officer Roberts, Montgomery isn’t like all the other college kids here. He goes to school across the bridge. He lives with me, in Cedar Cove. He just got a little too drunk. If you let me take him home, you can…”

  He raises his eyebrows.

  “Make room for someone else,” I whisper to him. I don’t feel good about it, but he seems to be listening to me now. “Some out of towner.”

  “And why should I do that?”

  I look him up and down. I don’t know what to say. I mean, I could tell him that he should do it because he’s reading a shitty magazine instead of doing his job and it’s probably illegal to keep people for too long after they’ve been arrested, but I don’t know enough about the law to make a compelling argument.

  I don’t think there’s any money involved. I think Officer Roberts would have to tell me if I needed to pay bail, and so far, he hasn’t mentioned it. Maybe that’s why he’s not inclined to release Montgomery. I’ve heard lots of students around here try and get out without making bail.

  “Why should you do that?”

  Officer Roberts nods. “That’s what I said.”

  “Because it’s your job.”

  “Because I’ll take care of any money he owes.”

  I might have abandoned Cyrus this morning, which is a forgivable offense. If I don’t tell him about this, though, I don’t think he would ever forgive me. He can just tell me if he doesn’t want to be part of this and I’ll have a chance to apologize.

  I take my phone out of my pocket and press down on his photo. He picks up almost immediately. “You missed me, huh?”

  I smile. “I always miss you.”

  “Aw,” he says. “You’re adorable. So, how did it go with Dr. Hottie? Did you guys have sex?”

  “Did we
have sex?” I reply with a snicker. “No, we didn’t have sex.”

  “Boo,” he says. “I’m hanging up.”

  I shake my head, a smile on my face. “No, don’t hang up,” I say. “I mean, there was no sex, but something weird did happen.”

  “And you waited until now to call me?”

  “Yes,” I say as I pace around the hallway. “Because that’s not what I’m talking about. Cy, I need a favor.”

  He’s quiet. I know when he’s getting annoyed, and lately, I’ve only called him to ask him for shit.

  “I promise I’ll get you back,” I say. “And look. I think you’ll like this one.”

  “Oh?”

  I stop pacing and lean against the wall. I hadn’t realized how much my foot was still hurting until I stopped pacing around. “Ouch.”

  “You need me to carry you to bed?” he asks. “I’ll be right over.”

  “No,” I say. “Also, good luck. No, no. This isn’t about me. It’s about Montgomery.”

  That gets his attention. “Montgomery, huh?”

  “Yes,” I say. “He just called me, saying he needs someone to pick him up from the drunk tank. I mean, I could try and get him home all by myself, but that seems like a terrible time.”

  “Oh, no, you were right to call,” he says. “I have to see this. Hang tight, I’ll be at your place in ten.”

  He ends the call. I’m left staring at my phone, unsure of what I’m supposed to think about all this. On the one hand, I’m glad Cyrus is coming, and I’m glad he’s okay with helping me pick up Montgomery. On the other hand, I’m sick of making everything about me and my problems.

  I’ve been so focused on myself lately I’ve not been a very good friend, and I know I need to be better at it. The fact that I’m so focused on my own crisis has little bearing on our relationship—or it should, in any case. We’ve always managed to be there for each other, and now, well… now things are different and it sucks.