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I try to flutter my eyes' gaze away from her and across the ceiling and walls then back to her. I give my best nonchalante, surprised smile as her eyes meet mine, ten or so paces from me.I touch my cold hands to my cheeks, patting them,breathing steadily,then taking a deep breath to try to dissipate my cheeks' glowing. Maybe she'll mistake my blushing as just windburn.Her white turtle neck shirt is a little scrunched at the top of her neck where it hits the base of her square jaw. She wears a single chain with a locket, one of the few pieces of jewelry allowed at our school beside her small pearl stud earrings she received for her 16th birthday. I wear the third allowable addition : a wristwatch, a gift from my visit with Grandmere last summer.She has chosen to wear the school's pale red pleated trousers, today.Her curve of hips is highlighted by the tiny waste and belt,the trowsers skim her hips and ass perfecty, then fall straight and neat to barely touch the lips of her. His reappearance at that moment wouldn’t have been more welcome if he’d been wearing recently-polished armour and riding a mighty steed. Bastard he might be, but he was the only one who could get me out of this situation. “Thank God,” I muttered, under my breath. “Sorry? What was that?” the Sargent asked, leaning forward. “It’s alright Sarge, her story checks out: it was just a fancy-dress party.” Mick reached across the desk and, to the Sargent’s obvious disgust, scrunched-up my paperwork. I sagged with relief as Mick undid my cuffs. He’d only been away for a few minutes but it felt like a lifetime since I’d seen him. “I’ll just take her through to the back and give her a bit of advice.” The door behind us closed and Mick turned the lights on. “You bastard. You utter, utter bastard,” I hissed angrily, thrusting a dangerously-pointed red nail into Mick’s chest. “What’s the problem?” he asked, with a cheeky smirk. “You said you wanted to meet my colleagues and see where I.
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