Don’t mind us, folks. We’re just a couple of kids bound together with metal on the hunt for what may or may not be a twenty-dollar bill. We’re not desperate or anything.

We reach the car and quickly climb in. The drive to the Copper Springs post office takes less time than it takes for us to get our linked bodies out of the car as Daren climbs over the console with the grace of a one-legged chicken, cursing and thwacking his elbows and knees against the dashboard.

“You’re like a bull in a china shop,” I say.

He tries to fold his long legs into the driver’s seat one at a time but ends up kicking the steering wheel and honking the car horn.

“A very noisy bull.” I shake my head.

He climbs out of the car with a scowl. “Well maybe my bullhorns wouldn’t make so much noise if they weren’t being crammed into an Oompa-Loompa-sized car.”

“If you complain about my car one more time,” I say, “I will track down your precious Porsche and draw all over it in lipstick.”

“Easy, tiger,” he says. “There’s no need for violence.”

We walk toward the post office’s entrance, but stop in our tracks when we see the CLOSED sign on the door.

“Shit,” Daren mutters.

“We’re too late?” I say, wanting to scream. This day has been a complete waste. “What now?”

A muscle flexes in his jaw as he shakes his head. “I don’t know. Come back in the morning?”

“And what are we supposed to do until then?” I say, lifting our joined wrists. “Stay locked together all night? I don’t think so. We need to find Eddie.”

“Okay.” Daren pulls out his phone and calls the lawyer. “Hey, Eddie. It’s Daren… Yeah, so Kayla and I haven’t been able to find Turner’s money yet… Oh yeah, it’s been super fun, but we need to get into the post office and the post office is closed. So it looks like we’re going to have to delay this scavenger hunt until morning. Do you mind if Kayla and I swing by your place in a few minutes so you can unlock the handcuffs? Just until tomorrow of course. We’ll put these babies back on first thing…”

Daren listens to Eddie on the other end of the line for a moment. “Uh-huh… uh-huh… I see… Right, well of course… True, but… uh-huh… uh-huh… okay, then.” He smiles at the floor. “Thank you so much. You have a good night too.” He hangs up and purses his lips.

“So…?” I prod, waiting.

Daren rocks back on his heels. “So Eddie says he can’t unlock the cuffs until we’ve found the money. No exceptions.”

My mouth drops open. “You have GOT to be kidding me. Doesn’t he know that being handcuffed together means we can’t leave each other’s side?”

“I’m pretty sure, yes.”

“Then how does he expect us to sleep tonight?”

Daren holds up our chained wrists with a grin. “Side by side?”

Un. Believable.

If I weren’t so exhausted, I’d be offended by the horrified look on Kayla’s face.

“That’s not happening,” she says, shaking her head adamantly. “No way. We’re going to pick the lock on these things. Now.” She yanks up our wrists and jiggles the handcuffs.

A family of four walks by with confusion in their eyes as they stare at our criminal restraints.

Kayla casually lowers our wrists and half-smiles at the family. “We’re not dangerous. Promise.”

The parents gather their children close and shuffle past us without looking back.

I slant my eyes to Kayla. “People don’t think we’re dangerous. They think we’re crazy,” I say. “And we are. But if we want to pick the lock, we probably need to do it somewhere other than outside the post office. I don’t want someone to see and report us to Eddie.”

She nods at her car. “Let’s just get back in the front seat and do it in there.”

I shrug. “Or we could just do it in the backseat.”

We glance at each other.

The back of my neck grows warm and a tinge of pink stains her cheeks as we stand locked in a hot gaze. I would love nothing more than to do it in the backseat with Kayla. But she’s made it clear that doing anything with me, in the backseat of her car or elsewhere, isn’t on her agenda and I need to respect that.

“You know,” I clarify, “just so I don’t have to climb over the center console again.”

“Right.” She nods. “Of course.”

Walking back to the car, we pass three different guys who stop to gawk at Kayla. They crane their necks to follow her. They eye her lewdly. They adjust themselves.

God. It must suck to be a girl.

Kayla doesn’t pay the guys any attention, but I can’t help but want to pop them in their drool-covered jaws. She’s not a walking centerfold for them to openly ogle. She’s a human being.

The hot protectiveness slipping through my veins is new to me. It’s not the same as when I want to protect Amber or keep Pixie safe. It’s thicker than that. Meaner. And it’s rooted so deep inside me I can’t pinpoint when it came to life. But it’s very much alive and thrashing wildly in defense of Kayla.

I trail my eyes over her face, down her body, and to our joined wrists, oddly satisfied by the fact that she’s literally locked to my side. Twisted, I know. But everything about this girl tangles me up.

Kayla opens the back door on the driver’s side and motions for me to get in. I awkwardly scoot over to the other side, knocking cups and shoes and other miscellaneous items out of my way as I go. She follows after me, slipping into the car gracefully and crossing her legs like we’re sitting down for tea and not about to break into a set of steel handcuffs.

The setting sun warms the car and all the noise from the street—the birds, the pedestrians, the traffic—disappears the moment she closes the car door. The only sound now is our staggered breaths.

She uncrosses and recrosses her legs. Her black skirt rides up, showing more of her legs, and I inhale through my nose. If I have to see her thighs one more time today I might just explode.

Which is weird for me because I don’t explode. I am a cool cat. I do not get worked up and feverish over girls. Until now. Until Kayla.

Twisted. Tangled. I’m a total mess.

“So.” She lets out a breath and lifts our adjoined hands. “Do you know how to pick locks?”

“Nope. But Google probably does.” I pull my phone from my back pocket and search for how to pick handcuff locks. Then sort through the results.

She leans over my shoulder. “Do the wikiHow page.”

I scroll down. “Nah. I’m going to do the How Things Work page.”

She clucks her tongue. “I’m telling you, wikiHow is better.”

I look at her with a cocked eyebrow. “How would you know? Do you find yourself handcuffed often?”

I immediately picture Kayla handcuffed in other, more sexy situations and all the blood in my body darts for my pants. Dammit.

She lifts her chin. “Do you?”

“Yeah, I’m not answering that.” I pull up the How Things Work page and scan the directions. “Okay, we need a paper clip or something that’s small, flexible, and strong.”

Uncrossing her legs, she pulls her purse onto her lap and rummages through it with both hands, forcing my attached wrist to hang above her bag.

“Your purse is as messy as your car,” I say.

“I know. And you’re welcome.”

“For what?”

“For this.” She pulls out a bobby pin and holds it up. “A less messy purse might not have had a lock-picking device inside.”

I nod. “Point well made.”

Readjusting our wrists so I can see better, I read through the how-to process and I bring our hands to my lap. Her wrist falls dangerously close to my love tool, so I have to slyly reposition our hands so those delicate fingers of hers aren’t near any stroking zones. I can’t help but wonder if she’s ever given a guy a hand job.

And has she ever been handcuffed before? Maybe to a bed? I picture her lying in a tangle of sheets with her pink lips parted as she moans, and her blonde hair tossed around her flushed cheeks, and her throat exposed as she arches her back…