“I don’t get your process.”
Holding his paper straw, Jon explains, “You already gave Eddie the a-okay, the much longed-for right of passage. He passed the gates and now will only need a return flight ticket, not a security clearance.”
“Ohhhh. I see.” Sitting back with my lemonade, I watch Jon get his mind blown by his first taste of caffeine today. He’s trying out a new ‘thing’ where he waits until the afternoon, gives him a pick-me-up. Keeps him sharp later and longer — that’s his claim.
He makes a grimace of ecstasy and release. “Worth. The. Wait!”
Jon has invented the teagasm.
I pull out my phone and type three words to Eddie, who I said goodbye-forever to, just last year.
How are you?
Send.
CHAPTER 6
TWO WEEKS LATER
WYATT
L yne Linguardo calls over with a voice so quiet it barely catches my attention, “Wyatt!” I cross to her slate-gray desk, my swagger subconsciously enhanced from the memory of her sucking my…
“Cocker!”
Fiore’s standing there with a cross-armed glare.
Dipping my chin with respect I greet her, “Chief.”
She doesn’t bother lowering her voice. “Do everyone a favor and leave my female officers alone.”
Snickers spread throughout the desk-sitters.
My glint is amused despite how I feel inside. Never let ‘em see you sweat. “Deputy Linguardo asked to see me. My intentions were nothing but professional.”
Unconvinced, Chief sneers, “Keep it that way,” turning on her shined boot-heel, vanishing down a hall postered with notorious criminals.
Why the fuck does Chief think I’m a bad guy? Those are the bad guys!
I’ve kept my nose clean for the two weeks since she read me the riot act about that fan-group. She hasn’t noticed. I’m starting to think she might transfer me regardless of what I do, if she can’t find a reason to fire me.
New partner.
New beat.
Washington calls out, “You ready?” as he exits the bathroom. “I’m ten pounds lighter. Let’s do this.”
A few cops laugh, his grin growing at the comment’s success. I follow him outside. We both look up at dark storm clouds, the wind so thick it makes us squint all the way to our patrol car. This morning it was blue skies and butterflies.
I’m still irritated by Fiore as I note, “Came hard and fast.”
Washington chuckles, “You make the jokes too easy.” His dark eyes gauge an angry sky. “I love driving in this shit.”
“I’m driving.”
“Like hell you are.”
We flip around at the sound of my name being shouted over the wind, at Lyne hurrying up, curly hair whipping around. She slides her fingers into it over her forehead, clearing her vision as she stops in front of me. “I’m sorry about that back there.”
“It’s not your battle.”
Regret clouds her pretty eyes. “I know how much she rides you. I shouldn’t have called you over to me. It was like throwing a steak outside a lion’s cage when the latch is unlocked. It won’t happen again, Wy. I just saw you walking through the station looking like you look. Remembered our weekend last month…and had to say hello.”
A sideways grin tugs at me. “Nothing wrong with saying hi.” My hand wants to touch her arm. “I’ll call you later.”
“I’ll keep my attitude pro here from now on, Wy, I promise.”
“Better call me Cocker then,” I smirk, glancing beyond her because I’m half-expecting Fiore holding a set of binoculars and a ruler to crack against my fingers.
Lyne and I turn in opposite directions. Our connection breaks.
I shut the driver’s door, mutter, “We take it for granted,” my seatbelt locking into place.
“We take what for granted?” Washington asks, adjusting his weight to get comfortable.
“How people make us feel. The human connection. We take that for granted.”
“I doubt you took Lyne for granted,” he says, glancing back to the austere building that’s our second home as we turn onto the street. “How many times you two hook up?”
I shrug a shoulder. “Couple. But that’s not what I’m talking about. I mean all of us. There’s something going on with this whole life thing. Something we don’t understand.”
He eyeballs me. “Don’t do this shit to me before coffee.”
It’s just a few blocks before the downpour is impressive. Washington leans toward the windshield, grumbling, “I don’t care about the energy of people.”
“Did I say energy?” I cock an eyebrow.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t think I did. I think you said it because you’ve felt it, too. I think you’re getting what I’m throwing down.”
“Focus on the road.”
“Thought you were going to drive.”
His smile spreads. “Like I said, I need my coffee.”
“You mean you forgot we argued about it?”
He jogs his thumb back. “You call that an argument? It was two sentences. Then Lyne practically stroked your cock in front of me.”
A tremor of thunder makes us both silent.
As it disappears I ask, “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
He nods. “Hurricane coming.”
“Coffee has to wait.” I turn the wheel, my mission: Piedmont Park.
We know the drill.
When I get to Monroe, I turn left. Washington and I have our eyes peeled for anyone who needs a hand. We pass Grady High School, quiet across from an emptying parking lot of the very popular Trader Joes. People are running to their cars, some huddled under awnings in a debate over whether or not they should even try to carry paper bags knowing they will surely break. Wait it out?
I think they should go for it, but I’m me.
“Don’t see any stragglers at the school,” I mutter, eyeing Grady High School.
“Teachers have the kids inside.”
“P.E. will be gym-day today.”
“Remember the Academy, Wyatt?”
He and I lock eyes before I turn left on 10th Street so we can check out the park — two football fields-long with a path people jog daily. “Do I remember it? How could I forget? I became a man that day.”
“We were the only ones to stay out there in that miserable storm, training!”
With a huge grin I remind him, “Rodrigo was there, too, don’t forget him.”
The
