The kicker?
I still want one last look before I go home.
“Noted,” I answer him. Rising from my seat, I grab the clipboard off his desk and head out of the box just as the telltale buzzer erupts. In comes Rodriguez, who halts the line just inside the block when he sees me approaching with the clipboard.
“Post-work check?”
“Yup.” I pop the P in time with the echoing slam of the heavy gate.
“Got it?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah, man, I got it. Go take five. They’re just in there bullshitting.”
Rodriguez tips his head and claps me on the shoulder before taking off. Without him as a buffer, I can feel her. It’s instant, rushing through my veins like wildfire, my heart rate kicking back into overdrive. Turning back to the line of inmates before me—with the coolest and collected expression I can manage—I have to force my eyes from not scanning through each face.
“Ladies, if you’re still unfamiliar with me, I’m CO Bala, aka the new guy. That’s not to be confused for newbie. I’ve been doing this a long time. Not sure how the other CO’s handle check-ins, but I’m going to make it as quick and painless as possible, so we can all get on about our afternoons. To do that, I need your full cooperation. Make sure your IDs are visible and move promptly with the line. Sound easy enough?”
Several rounds of “Yes, sir” ring out along with some flirty smiles and overly-appreciative stares.
None of them affect me like hers does. They never have.
Heart thrashing like a stampede, I start going through the process of checking IDs and checking off the matching name on the clipboard. I’m hoping she’ll be somewhere in the middle, rendering her unable to do much of anything, but the list is alphabetical, and I’m checking every single name in perfect succession.
Shit.
The line starts getting smaller and smaller, the number of names left reducing rapidly...until there’s only her. My stare’s stuck on the clipboard, but her frame slides into my line of sight.
“CO Bala,” she coos, stiffening my spine.
My throat bobs, too, and I have to inhale a deep breath as I steel myself to make eye contact.
A breath I lose right after.
She hits me with that subtle smile, peeking up at me beneath her lashes. Hits me harder than I was expecting, the shock of this electric-like current prickling my skin.
“Villanueva,” I return, checking off the box beside her name.
Two seconds later, there’s a tiny balled up paper rolling down the clipboard. The only reason it doesn’t roll right to the floor is because I quickly dig the edge of the clipboard into my stomach. The alarms in my head blare at the sight of it.
A look becomes a wink, and a wink becomes stolen whispers and kites passed in the hallways.
Fuck.
Lips thinning, I drag my gaze back up, am about to ask her what this is, but she’s already gone, striding into the block toward her cell with that natural sway of her hips. I’m not even on edge at this point, I’ve gone right over it, blood roaring through my ears in time with my erratic pulse.
No one is watching me, yet I feel like she’s left me with a giant neon sign hanging over my head. I have to move, though. I can’t just stand here staring after her. As discreetly as possible, I take the note into my possession and maneuver it into my pocket as I stalk back to the box to return the list to Mack.
The damn thing is burning against my thigh, curiosity spinning my mind out of control. But it’s not until I’ve gone through all the motions of clocking out and I make it into the privacy of my car that I pull it free and unball it.
I meant what I said.
If there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that I’m not a snitch.
Plus, you’re not like the rest of them.
You owe me tho…
I think I read it three times, maybe even more. She’s got such pretty handwriting—this elegant wispy sort of script that just flows. Matches her perfectly. Blowing out a breath, I throw my head back into the seat and stare up at the dark cloth roof.
Yeah... I’m. So. Fucked.
♫ Yikes - Nicki Minaj
It’s been almost a week since I gave Andrés that kite, and I haven’t gotten a reply. Was I expecting one? Yes, a part of me was. The others can’t believe I was stupid enough to give him a note in the first place. I mean, really, what was I thinking? So, while sulking in the disappointment of his silence—hell, he’s barely even looked at me since—I’ve also been tearing myself apart about slipping up. I could get into a shit-ton of trouble if he were to rat me out. I don’t actually think he would, but then again, what do I really know about him? Just because we exchanged a few words on top of several heated looks doesn’t mean he wouldn’t protect himself and his position before anything else.
Me especially.
I’m nothing to him.
“So did you hear about Kovitz?” Mari asks quietly, pulling me out of my head.
My vision refocuses on the pile of uniforms in front of me, then on her form beside me. She’s much closer than she was minutes ago, her dark stare scanning the doorway to make sure Birks isn’t listening in.
Folding the uniform top in my hands in half, I flick my gaze that way as well. “What about her? She’s out of medical, right?”
“Yup got out on Friday. She’s already making moves, though…”
It’s not so much the statement itself that gets me, but more how she says it. “What exactly does ‘making moves’ cover? She has to make moves if she wants her shit to keep moving through here smoothly
