When Tara is caught breaking into her friend's cheating ex's apartment while dressed as a cop for Halloween, she has two options: 1. Come clean to the incredibly handsome officer who caught her. 2. Pretend to be a cop and stick by his side for the n...
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"Fucking cheater," I grumbled as I strode up his driveway. For the first time, I regretted wearing my comfortable sneakers instead of heels. Heels could be used as a weapon. I wished I had a weapon.
"Tara, stop." My best friend Elizabeth pulled on my arm but did not succeed in slowing my pace. She lacked upper body strength and a sense of urgency. Deep down, she wanted me to break into her cheating ex's home. I read it in her eyes. Through her sunglasses.
Tonight, we had gone to a Halloween costume party and found her boyfriend—now ex-boyfriend—trying to see what was in Little Red Riding Hood's basket. Her metaphorical sexual basket, if that was not clear. They made out in the kitchen as he struggled to untie her red hood.
Since Elizabeth had been dating him for over a year and had moved in with him last month, she was distressed about being cheated on. I, on the other hand, was pissed.
She dug through her purse, looking for the key, as we stood in front of the door to their ground level apartment. Mr. Happy Hands was still at the party enjoying himself so no one else was home. "For someone dressed as a cop tonight, you're sure not afraid of breaking laws," she said.
"We're not breaking and entering. This is your apartment too. We're entering, breaking a little, taking your stuff back, then leaving."
In an effort to save money on a Halloween costume this year, I had borrowed my dad's old police officer uniform equipped with his badge and gun holster. For some reason, he would not let me take the actual gun, even after I explained that without the weapon, the costume was fifty-two percent less cool.
When Lizzie had first seen my costume at the party she had said, "I thought you meant you were dressing up as a hot cop. Like a sexy cop with furry handcuffs and a short skirt. Not an old baggy uniform with actual blood on it."
"There's no blood on it," I said, but scratched at the red spots on the bottom of the shirt.
It was better that Douchey McDoucherson was not here or I might have wanted to add more blood to the uniform.
She dug deeper into her purse in search of the key and burst out crying. "How could he do this to me?"
Oh man, tears. I was not good with tears. They were like the ocean, salty and full of danger.
It was obvious she was not in the emotional state to pack up her stuff, so I put a hand over her purse. "Why don't you wait in the car, and I'll get your stuff?"
She sniffled. "Are you sure?"
I lifted one tense shoulder in a half shrug. "I work better alone anyway."
Fifteen minutes later, I picked the lock of their apartment, had set up a revenge "prank" in the kitchen for her ex, also known as Pervert Plebian, and packed her clothes into a big duffle bag. My eyes kept gravitating towards his prized possession: a mounted fish. One he caught? Maybe. Could people stuff fish? Was it a replica? I wanted to touch it. Five seconds after I lifted my hands up towards it, I heard a door slam shut in the next room.
