I’ve sat on some pretty bad chairs over the years, especially while attending college, but the hard, brilliant blue plastic chair one of the offices set me up with is by far the worse. And I’ve been stuck here for nearly three hours already. My ass went numb after the first hour.

“Hi, I’m Officer Jacobson.” An officer, a pretty woman with dark skin and beautiful eyes, sits in the seat beside me. “Here.” She smiles and hands me a cup of coffee.

I accept it, welcoming the heat that seeps through the cheap paper cup and warms my fingers. One of the other things I’ve learned about jail these past few hours. Not only are the chairs ridiculously uncomfortable, but the building feels like an ice locker. Considering how spartan and uncomfortable the visitor area is, I don’t even want to think about what Garret’s night in a cell must have been like.

About five minutes after Eli, Tracy, Hannah, and I arrived at the jail and passed on Eli’s story, I learned that the real-world version of the American justice system is quite a bit different from Hollywood’s interpretation. Two very polite officers led Hannah and Eli down a short hallway, presumably to take their statements, while I was sent to this chair to apparently wait and see what happens.

Tracy stayed for the first hour, but I sent her away with instructions to take Harlan for a walk and a promise that I’d call her if anything exiting happened.

I slide a sideways glance at the officer sitting beside me. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say that you’re not here just to keep me company.”

A smile brightens Officer Jacobson’s features. “It’s only part of the reason,” she admits. “But the main reason is that after talking to that boy who came in, looking at your boyfriend’s computer, and a few other things, we believe that there’s enough evidence to justify arresting Dillion Parker.”

“Oh, thank God.” I blow out my breath and sag against the back of the miserable chair.

“A word to the wise,” Officer Jacobson asks.

“Sure, why not?”

“Just because we’ve arrested him, it doesn’t mean Mr. Holden is off the hook.” Officer Jacobson fiddles with the gold Claddagh ring she’s wearing on her right hand. “It’s going to take a while to sift through the electronic evidence and figure out who is and isn’t telling the truth.”

“So Garret can’t come home.” My heart sinks again. I really want, no need, him to be free and with me, where he belongs.

“The officers who were sent to Dillion Parker’s house radioed in and reported that they had him locked in the back of the squad car. A decision has been made that we’ll release your Mr. Holden after Dillion arrives, though we’re going to tell him not to leave town.”

I nod. “I guess that sounds fair.”

The officer smiles wryly. “Glad you think so, because it’s the only option we’re giving Mr. Holden. The main reason I’m sitting here is because this is a case that involves your current boyfriend and your ex-boyfriend.”

“Dillion and I went on one date. That’s it,” I mutter. “That’s not enough to qualify him as an ex anything.”

Officer Jacobson chuckles, the sound surprisingly deep for such a petite woman. “Anyway, I’m here to ensure that you don’t do anything stupid, such as attack him, forcing us to file assault charges against you.”

I open my mouth, prepared to protest. Officer Jacobson holds up a single finger as her pretty eyes narrow in warning. “And, if the idea of assault charges isn’t enough to scare you into behaving, consider that if you attack him, it could jeopardize our case if we find enough information to bring charges against him. And since I know you want him rotting in prison, I’m sure you won’t take any chances.”

As much as I hate being treated like a child, I have to admit, she has a point. I’m already mad enough to spit nails. God only knows how I’ll react once I lay eyes on Dillion. The lying, cheating, stalking jackass.

A commotion at one of the entrances that’s just out of sight draws our attention.

A few seconds later, a few officers stomp into view, forming a tight knot around a disheveled Dillion.

The paper coffee cup crunches as my grip tightens.

Officer Jacobson tugs the cup from my hands and sets it on the window ledge beside her. “Remember,” she says softly. “We’ve got this under control, so don’t do anything stupid.”

It takes more willpower than I expected, but somehow, I manage to remain seated, settling for glaring daggers at Dillion.

His eyes widen, white showing all around the iris. “Erin?” His steps falter. “What are you doing here?”

I grip the armrests of the horrible blue chair, literally holding myself down and into the seat.

“You’re doing great,” Officer Jacobson says, her tone warm and encouraging, just the way a voice of conscience should be. “Just keep it up.”

The officers nudge Dillion toward a desk and settle him into another plastic chair that looks every bit as miserable as the one I’m sitting on. One of the officers bends down and removes a handcuff from one of Dillion’s wrists and snaps it to the arm of the chair.  If Dillion makes a run for it, he’ll have to bring the chair with him, which will slow him down considerably.

I hope he tries. If nothing else, watching him get tackled, chair and all, by a group of armed police officers would go a long way toward improving my day. Though not nearly as far as getting to go home with Garret.

A middle-aged officer with more belly than hair pulls a keyboard across the desk. “Full name,” he barks at Dillion.

Dillion tugs at the handcuff and stares at the desk sergeant. “I don’t know why I’m here. I’ve done nothing wrong. This is clearly a case of mistaken identity.”

“Which will be a lot easier to clear up once you provide your full name,” the officer responds without missing a beat.

Beside me, Officer Jacobson chuckles. “Watching bookings is one of my favorite parts of the job. You wouldn’t believe how many people don’t know why they’re here, swear we have the wrong person, or suddenly become stupid when asked the most basic questions, such as how old they are or where they live.”

It takes a full quarter of an hour for the cops to book Dillion. Right after his mug shots are taken, he’s whisked out of sight.

Five minutes later, Garret, looking more tired and rumpled than I’ve ever seen him, is ushered out another door.

I leap out of the hideous chair and onto my feet. “Garret!”

My instincts scream at me to close the short distance separating us and throw myself into his arms, but I hesitate. If it weren’t for me, he wouldn’t have been arrested, he wouldn’t be a hot topic of conversation amongst all the people who attended the party at The Sex Project last night, and he wouldn’t be in the middle of a financial mess that he may never extract himself from.

All things considered, he has every right to hate me.

Garret shoots me a warm smile and takes a couple steps toward me. “I hear that I have you to thank for making me a free man.”

The warmth in his voice goes a long way toward soothing my concerns that he now hates me. I offer him a tentative smile. “It wasn’t me so much as Eli. He’s the one who put two and two together and realized you’d been framed and that he’d accidently had a role in it.” I take a deep breath before rushing to finish the thought. “And it was Tracy who remembered that Dillion got a new job working for the IRS, which apparently makes him sort of a Federal agent who was given both a high-power job and a badge. Not a good choice.”

“Dillion.” Garret says the name slowly. “That’s the name of the guy that the police said might have hacked my computer and done a number on my financial records?”

“Yeah, he’s my—” I glance at Officer Jacobson, who offers me an encouraging smile. “A guy I met through internet dating. Online we hit it off, but in the real world, he didn’t do anything for me. Unfortunately, he refused to believe that, thought that if he kept hanging out on the periphery of my life, that eventually I’d fall in love with him.”

“The cops showed me a picture of him,” Garret says, edging a little closer to me. “Asked if I knew him. It took me a minute to realize I did.”

I blink. “Really?”

Garret shrugs. “I guess ‘know’ isn’t quite the right word, but I have met him. It was that night we went to the food truck and ate those enchiladas.  He approached me and asked a few questions about you and our relationship. Then he toddled away. I thought he was strange, but I wasn’t worried about him. He seemed harmless enough.”

It sounds an awful lot like what I’ve said each time someone pointed out that Dillion was behaving like a stalker. Strange but not dangerous. Nothing to worry about.

If I’d done things differently, filed a restraining order or pressed charges against him, Garret wouldn’t have spent a night in jail and Dillion might have already gotten the help he clearly needed.

“Garret, I’m so sorry.” My voice breaks. “This is all my fault. If what happened makes things too weird for you, if you want to call it quits, I’ll … I promise I’ll understand.”

“Call it quits?” Garret finishes crossing the distance between us. “Didn’t we have a conversation very similar to this one last night, before I was arrested? One where you tried to break up with me? I told you I was falling love with you.”

“But that was before.”

Garret places a light finger across my lips and stares deeply into my eyes. “Nothing has changed since then. I’m still falling for you.”

He doesn’t give me a chance to respond but covers my mouth in a kiss that is better than any of the ones I’ve read about in my favorite romance novels.

We’re both breathing heavily by the time our lips part.

“Hey, Garret,” I whisper.

“Yeah?”

“I’m falling hard for you too!”