Women's Studies Ch. 15

"Miss Allen, this is Ryan, my associate," she said offhandedly as she scanned the papers. "If for whatever reason you can't reach me you can call him as well."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Allen," Ryan said, giving my hand a quick shake.

"I'll need you to look up anything you can about intentional endangerment of a detainee by law enforcement, as well as any lawsuits that succeeded," she added, flipping to another page.

"In Arizona or the whole country?" he asked.

"Start with Arizona, but don't be afraid to branch out if you need too. Also look into any misconduct complaints, specifically with the Scottsdale Police Department. Focus on any kind of discrimination," she said, setting the papers aside and finally looking up.

"Are you trying to make a case against them, or just looking for leverage," he asked.

"I'm keeping my options open," Patricia replied, dismissing him with a shooing motion.

After Ryan left, Patricia turned her attention back to me. "He doesn't look like much, but he is very good at his job. Now, in order to defend you to the best of my abilities, I need to know everything. If you lie about something, or leave something out, it will only make my job harder, if not impossible. If I don't know what I am supposed to be defending you against, and I'm blindsided...well let's just say I would rather be prepared for anything. So, let's start from the beginning," she said, flipping open a notepad.

Everything. I knew she wasn't joking about her need to know, but it was a hard ask. When I tumbled down this rabbit hole, it wasn't exactly with the best of intentions. I hadn't expected to find myself along the way, nor were my intentions perverted by any means. I just wanted to go to college. Life, it seemed, had a way of taking you in directions you didn't expect. It felt even harder to tell her my story than it had been to tell Dr. Price, but with a resigned sigh I began. "It all started when I received an acceptance letter from Mayweather College..."

As my story unfolded, Patricia never gave any clue as to what she thought, her face never betraying emotion. She only listened quietly, jotting down notes as she saw fit. The only things that I held back were about my sister and I, and anything involving my sexual relationship with Kennedy or Abigail, or their relationship with each other. That was nobody's business. Whatever rumors might be spreading, I would not encourage them in the slightest.

By the time Patricia finished with me I felt wrung out. We had spent nearly four hours going over everything. After I had finished telling my story, she focused back in on certain spots, digging for details, anything that I might have missed. The questions seemed endless, and the whole time I wondered what she was thinking about me.

On the bright side, Ryan returned with takeout from an Asian Fusion place that I had never heard of. The food was delicious, but then again anything would have been welcome after a night in jail.

Once everything was said, and documented in Patricia's neat handwriting, Ryan called for a car to take us to the hotel. Having been awake for nearly 36 hours, I hardly noticed where we were, or how I got into that comfy bed. I didn't even remember Ryan leaving before I fell into a thankfully dreamless sleep.

*** *** ***

Waking up in a strange place, when you can't quite remember how you got there, was not a feeling I would recommend. A slight panic set in as I bolted upright, trying to figure out where I was. After my brain began working, everything came flooding back, and I let myself fall back onto the bed in exhausted frustration.

So many feelings swam through me—fear, anger, shock, shame—as well as others too complex to describe. I wasn't sure what I was ashamed of, but feelings weren't exactly something you can control.

Judging by the light pouring in through the window, it was the next day, Saturday, and at least mid-day already. After fighting with myself about whether or not to stay in bed, suffocating in my emotions, I eventually pulled myself back up and climbed out of bed. The dress Patricia gave me was a wrinkled mess from sleeping in it, and my heels were kicked across the floor. Brown boxes filled with my belongings were stacked neatly on the far end of the large room, containing everything I owned. It took emptying three boxes, all of which were haphazardly filled, clothes mostly bunched up and still on their hangers, before I found my phone charger.

I had to wait a minute before my phone would even power on, but once it connected with the network I was bombarded with a massive stream of voice and text message alerts. My heart immediately leapt, and I quickly searched through them for word from Kennedy or Abigail. From them there was nothing, but it seemed that somehow my phone number had been leaked. Most of the messages were hate mail from people all over the world, judging by their area codes, others were from reporters looking for an interview, and offering money for an exclusive. Buried in all of the chaos, and almost missed, was a single text message from Audrey. It was only two simple words, but in that moment, they meant everything, I'm coming.

With all that had been happening around me, I had begun feeling more and more alone. I still hadn't heard from Kennedy or Abigail, and with them gone, I felt naked, exposed to the world. Vulnerable. Audrey's text lifted a weight off of me. My problems were still there, but I felt I could breathe a bit easier. My sister was coming to save me, and failing that, to stand at my side as everything came crumbling down. Elated, I immediately called her, and after three long rings the phone answered.

"Awe shit!" I heard my sister's voice, followed immediately by the crashing sound of her cell phone hitting the ground. "Son of a bitch! Hello? Lexi, are you there?" Wherever she was it was loud, and I was barely able to hear her.

"Yeah, I'm here," I answered.

"Thank God! Are you okay? You're not still in jail, are you?" she asked before answering her own question. "Of course you're not in jail. You wouldn't be calling on your cell phone."

"I was bailed out sometime yesterday," I told her.

"I guess it pays to have friends in rich places, huh?" she asked.

"It wasn't Abigail. Her and Kennedy are in Colorado with a whole mess of their own problems right now," I explained. "One of my teachers hired a lawyer."

"That was nice of them," Audrey said. "I heard about Mr. Lockwood on the news, but why is Kennedy there?"

"It's a long story. I'll tell you all about it when you get here," I said, not wanting to go through it over the phone, especially with all the noise. "Where are you? It's really loud."

"I'm at JFK, running to catch my connecting flight. I was in Morocco when I got your voice mail," she replied. "Have you seen the news? You've gone viral."

"Shit, is it really that bad?" I asked. "There were some reporters outside the jail when I got out, but...I don't know. I thought it was just local news."

"You're not a local news story anymore," Audrey sighed. "I saw your mugshot photo on a TV when I was running past the airport bar. As far as mugshots go, yours is pretty good."

"Thanks, that was the biggest worry on my mind," I said sarcastically.

"You're very welcome!" she said in an overly sweet tone. Less than a second later she was swearing like a sailor at someone else. "Out of the way jackass! You think that's the best spot in this whole fucking airport to search through your carry-on? Oh yeah? Fuck you too buddy! Sorry about that," she said, her tone changing back to normal. "I'm gonna have to let you go, I'll be in Phoenix in about four hours."

"Great, I can't wait," I told her.

"Speaking of not waiting," she said, her sweet voice returning. I could almost see her puppy-dog eyes through the phone. "Would you be able to pick me up from the airport?"

"Ugh, if I have to!" I feigned annoyance.

"You're the best!" she laughed. "See you soon!"

After we hung up, I began thinking about what Audrey said about me being on the news. Curiosity quickly overcame me, and I switched on the TV. It didn't take long to find someone talking about me. A lot of it was unkind. Both left- and right-wing outlets were decrying the story of a boy who snuck his way into an all-girls school so he could see naked girls in the showers. Every outlet seemed to be focusing on using the most unflattering picture from my high school yearbook. Just seeing the old me was enough to make me cringe, and if it wasn't, the things they were saying did the job.

Occasionally, there would be a brief shot of me leaving the police station, or the flatteringly good mugshot photo that Audrey had mentioned, but it seemed as if they were more focused on showing the world that I was a socially awkward boy, and not a pretty girl. Frustrated, and growing even more depressed by the second, I shut off the tv.

Trying hard to put that all out of my mind, I began going through the boxes. Those first few were not the exception; all of my things were thrown in haphazardly without any thought. I found my laptop between some dresses and shoes, and my books were scattered between three boxes, and one of the covers was nearly torn off. There were some things missing, and more than a few that weren't mine. With basically three of us sharing a room, it had gotten to the point where closet space was closet space, putting all of our clothes wherever they would fit. I wasn't worried, when Kennedy and Abigail returned, we would sort it out. At least they had the good grace to pack my flat iron and my big makeup case, even if it was upside down.

Sorting through my belongings took a lot less time than I thought it would, and with nothing else to do, and no desire to risk the TV again, I ordered some room service and began taking my time getting ready to pick up my sister. I didn't really need four hours, but I still had to scrub off fourteen hours of county jail, as well as find a way to pick up my car, which I was assuming was still sitting in student parking at Mayweather.

With literally nothing else to do, I began getting ready. I tried to drag it out as long as possible, taking a long bubble bath, and even changing my nail polish on my fingers and toes to a nice ruby red. Three hours later I stood in front of the mirror without a single excuse left to keep me from going outside. I looked perfect.

I was wearing a cute layered black skirt that went down to mid-thigh, with a mystery bustier top. It wasn't something I had seen from Abigail, or Kennedy, but it was mixed in with my things. It was white, with black ribbon lace-ups beneath the cups. It fit my body like a glove and did something to my breasts that could only be called magical. I wasn't falling out, but they looked fantastic. And of course, I couldn't say no to my open toe Louboutin's. I had tried my best with my hair, but it had grown so much since the beginning of the school year. The cute asymmetrical bob was now well down to my shoulders in the back, and teasing into my cleavage in the front. I ended up going with soft, barely-there curls that made the jet-black bottom layer pop against the blonde in a fun kind of way.

The hair could have been a little better, but with that top...no one would notice if my hair was on fire. Damn that top made me look incredible. Whether it belonged to Kennedy, Abigail, or someone else entirely, they would have to fight me to get it back. I couldn't even stop the smile tugging at my lips as I checked myself out, and I didn't want to. I looked fantastic.

After a few more moments of ogling myself, I received a short call from Ryan, Patricia's assistant, letting me know that he was coming to pick me up. I had needed a ride to retrieve my car, and Patricia had said to call if I needed anything. Slipping my phone into a small black clutch (one of Abigail's nicer ones), I took one last look before heading down to meet him.

I had only made it two steps outside of the hotel to wait for Ryan when I was accosted by camera flashes and more questions. The onslaught stunned me. I felt like Bambi staring into headlights. I barely heard what they were asking as they closed in around me.

I should have known better. Patricia had told me that I was a big deal, as far as the current news cycle was concerned, and from what Audrey had mentioned about going viral, but I didn't believe it would lead to all this. It wasn't like I had been the first boy to realize that she was really a girl. I couldn't have fathomed that there would be this much attention all centered on me.

My initial shock had doomed me. For every second those reporters snapped pictures and shouted questions, more and more bystanders gathered around to watch the scene. Once some of them realized that I was the girl, or boy rather, that had been on the news, the situation turned from unsettling to frightening rather quickly.

Only a handful of the gathered were shouting obscenities and threats, but it was enough to make me wish I was anywhere else. I also regretted my heels. I wanted to make a run for it, but not in four-inch torture devices.

With every heartbeat, it seemed like the world closed tighter around me, and I was beginning to feel lightheaded. The shouting voices seemed like they were coming from farther and farther away.

All of a sudden there was a loud whistle cutting through the noise, and someone shouted my name. My name, not Alexis, but Lexi. The mob around me turned to look, and with that subtle shift of the crowd, I saw him. At first, I thought I had already passed out. There was no way it could be him. He was standing just off the street next to a white motorcycle with blue decals, even more gorgeous than I remembered in his dirt stained jeans and thin white undershirt, damp with sweat and stretched tight across his broad chest and bulging muscles.

"Trevor?" I asked.

My voice was so quiet, I doubted that he could even hear me at that distance. Still, his eyes locked onto mine and I could see a nervousness there, especially as he glanced quickly back to his bike.

Making a split-second decision while everyone was momentarily distracted, I ran to him as fast as my thousand-dollar heels would allow. I didn't care how or why he was here, only that he was. He must have seen the anxiety all over my face, because by the time I reached him, he was already on the motorcycle and starting it up. Not even thinking about modesty, I hopped on the back, swinging my leg over, and held on tight. As soon as my arms were around him, he dropped the clutch and gunned it, making the tires squeal as we sped away from the hotel, and the prying mob that had formed.

Even after we slowed to a normal speed, I continued to hold onto Trevor for dear life. I still couldn't believe it was him, that he was here. Just when I needed someone the most, he had shown up to rescue me. If I couldn't feel his hard body against mine, or smell that delicious scent, I would have thought it was a dream. I had forgotten how he smelled, but being this close to him again, it brought back a flood of memories, playing them back in even more vivid detail than I had remembered. I felt giddy, and nervous, and like a little girl right before her first date. What did all of this mean? Why was he here? My heart fluttered uncontrollably as I clung to his broad muscled back.

Together we wound our way down one street and then another. I couldn't tell how long we had been riding, and from what I saw around us, I wasn't familiar with the area. We weren't in the downtown district any longer. Things were a little more spread out here, and quieter. After a while, Trevor made another turn, and finally slowed to a stop.

The bike tilted slightly as he put down the kickstand. One of his hands grabbed mine, easing my grip from around him as he helped me down before climbing off the bike himself. Nervously, I brushed at my skirt and made sure my top was in place while simultaneously trying to do something with my windswept hair, until I caught Trevor watching with a small smile.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"I'm fine," I answered awkwardly. I didn't even know why this felt so awkward. It wasn't like he didn't know about me, or like we hadn't already spent one of the best nights of my life together. Hell, I had even dreamed about him more than a few times since spring break. Now he was here, like a knight in shining armor. "What are you doing here?" I asked, before realizing that I might sound ungrateful. "What I mean is, why were you outside the hotel...were you...what I mean is..." I was beginning to feel like a complete idiot.

"I saw the news, and I was worried about you," he explained, saving me from my floundering vocabulary.

"Uh...yeah. Things have sort of taken a turn for the worst," I admitted, trying not to fidget with my skirt, and failing miserably.

"I've been kicking myself for never getting your number," he said, holding out his hand smoothly.

"Really?" I asked, smiling up at him.

"You sound surprised." He guided us away from the bike. Somehow my hand was in his, and I couldn't even remember him taking it. "You made quite the impression."

We were at a park. Green and yellow sunbaked grass spread out in fields, broken up by paved walks. Large trees with sprawling canopies dotted the landscape, bringing the only shade in sight. With the coming summer heat, there were only a few people in sight braving the sun.

"Oh, you made an impression too," I smiled, before blushing at the possible double entendre and quickly changed the topic, "I didn't know you rode a motorcycle."

"I don't normally," he said, walking us toward a bench in the shade. "It's Zach's bike. I borrowed it to come down here and find you."

"So, are you stalking me or something?" I asked jokingly.

"No, of course not! Nothing like that at all," he defended. "I just saw what was happening on the news and wanted to see if you were okay. I had to look on social media for a while to see where you were staying, now that you're not at Mayweather. The receptionist at the hotel wouldn't tell me your room number, or send up a message, so I thought I'd just wait out front to see if I could...Oh my God, I'm stalking you!" he finished, turning away, running his hands through his hair.

I couldn't help but laugh. The way he rambled, and his embarrassment at how hard he worked to find me, it was a relief to know that I wasn't the only one that felt completely smitten. With Trevor, there was just something about him that cut right through me to my heart. Even if he was stalking me, I couldn't say that I minded. I'd thought about trying to track him down a few times myself. Hearing my giggles, Trevor turned to look at me questioningly.

"Thank you for coming," I said, wrapping my arms around him in a hug to show him that I wholly approved of him coming to find me. After a moment of contemplation, I rose up on my tippy toes, and pulled him down for a kiss. Our lips touched and a warmth spread through me. I only meant it to be a chaste kiss, but his big arms engulfed me, lifting me up. My feet dangled almost a foot off the ground as he held me tight. I felt so small, so vulnerable in his arms, but I also felt safer than I'd ever felt before.

As much as I'd replayed the night we had spent together, I had forgotten what it felt like to be in his arms, to feel his lips against mine. Something stirred inside of me, and that chaste kiss became something more. My tongue slipped out to meet his, and the longer they danced, the hungrier I became for something more.

I seemed to be moving on autopilot, my body being controlled completely by my desire. I lifted my legs to brace my knees on his hips and pressed our kiss even harder. Trevor took two steps back and sat down on the bench with me on his lap. With his hands freed up, they began to move over my body, teasing my skin and sending shocks of pleasure through me. Lost in the moment, I began to grind slowly on the large lump forming in his pants. I could feel my own cock, desperately hard, fighting for freedom. I kept kissing him, relishing in the feel of his hard bulge against my bottom, vividly replaying those sensations he had brought out of me all those weeks ago. I didn't even try to stop my aching cock as it strained bit by bit before finally breaking free of my panties beneath my skirt.