Nothing Special VI: His Hart's Command, page 5
part #6 of Nothing Special Series
“I hope it’s better than that, ‘just play it cool’ mumbo-jumbo you gave me earlier,” Hart grumbled.
God snorted, dragging Hart back inside the bar, “Nope. I’m about to give you some of my best stuff. Trust me. Your eyes are as good as rolled back, my friend.”
Hart turned off the engine and walked his bike into the garage. He took his time cleaning the small amount of road grime from the chrome while he thought of how the night had gone. Free had flirted with him—there was no mistaking that. He wasn’t sure why the beautiful man wanted to waste his time teaching an old dog new tricks, but he’d enjoy the company for as long as he could.
His smile faded when he thought about the what-ifs. He was a police officer, of course he was a master at assuming possibilities. What if he and Free did start to hang out more, and he started to like him—a lot—but Free didn’t want to get too serious? What if he fell hard and Free wanted to see other people? What if he ended up making a ton of assumptions that a man as fine as Free would actually want to be his, and ended up becoming the laughingstock of the precinct? Shit.
“Shut up. He’s not that kind of guy.” He gritted out, tossing the dusty rag into the bin beneath the work shelf.
He closed his garage and went inside. His house was a little warm since he didn’t run the AC too high when he was out of town. There was also a delicious aroma shocking his senses the closer he got to his kitchen. His single-family, three-bedroom home was small compared to most houses on his street. But it was all his, and he’d put a lot of love into making it that way. When he turned the corner into the cozy eat-in kitchen, he saw the deep dish of untouched lasagna on the stove, with at least a two-inch thick layer of gooey mozzarella cheese on the top.
“Oh, come on.” Hart bent over the stove and took a long whiff. His traitorous stomach growled. He shouldn’t eat it. He should call Teresa and tell her he didn’t need her to bring him food, and to not use his spare key anymore without his permission, like he’d already asked. But, damn, it smelled heavenly. After his real mother had passed away a few months ago, his ex-wife had actually felt bad and started doing some of the things his mom used to help him with after Teresa had dumped him. The main one was feeding him. He swiped the note written in his ex’s flowing cursive from his refrigerator.
You probably haven’t eaten properly the whole time you were gone. Here’s a triple-veg lasagna for you. And you’re welcome for the clean sheets. Try to be mindful of cleaning up behind yourself. The stove was dirty and the refrigerator had food stains.
Hart balled up the paper and slammed it onto the counter. She wasn’t his momma. She wasn’t even his wife anymore! He’d never made a bigger mistake than helping Teresa get a job at the police station as a clerk typist in their records department. The alimony hadn’t been enough to sustain her, so she’d needed additional income, and of course anything not going right in her life, he still had to fix.
Records was located downtown, so he thankfully didn’t have to work in the same building as her, but the police grapevine was a real hot wire, and she was usually privy to his bigger missions. When his team was in high demand, and they were pulling long shifts, she’d somehow always know and would drop off a dish, or try to tidy up when he wasn’t there. While he appreciated it, it sent the wrong message. He’d told her numerous times that he didn’t want her trying to still run his life, but like always, she didn’t listen to what he had to say. He wasn’t looking forward to having another conversation with her about coming and going without notice, as if she still lived there. It was no longer her house, her kitchen to clean, or her bed to make. As he scooped a big fork-full of the lasagna and put it into his mouth, he wondered how the hell he could have a relationship with a man when he had a meddling ex.
He wrapped some plastic wrap over the half he didn’t eat and put it in the refrigerator. He poured himself two fingers of Dewar’s whiskey, grabbed another bottle of cold water and turned the lights off. He shook his head at his recently cleaned bedroom. He’d been in such a hurry to leave for his assignment that he hadn’t had the chance to be neat about it. But, he’d had every intention of cleaning it when he returned. The clothes he’d had strewn across the unmade bed and the floor had been picked up, washed and hung back in his closet. The bed had been stripped and re-covered with a different comforter. Where the ’hell’d she find that thing? It was a floral print duvet with lace around the edges that she’d often used in the summers. Hart took the itchy blanket he’d always hated and yanked it off the bed and tossed it into the corner. He’d tell her she was welcome to it.
The more he moved around his room the more upset he became. Everything was in its perfect place…according to her. When he went in the bathroom he almost let out a vicious growl. His products and grooming kit had been moved. No doubt underneath the sink as she’d regularly insisted. He bent down and pulled his things out, then his electric toothbrush, and placed them back where he’d left them.
He felt a little more relaxed after he’d finished in the bathroom. He’d washed up at the station, but it was nothing like using his turbo massaging shower head at home. It was only eleven, he didn’t typically turn in so early, usually spending a few hours in his office researching cases, or organizing his team. But tonight, he wanted to slip under his soft, clean sheets and think about the possibilities of him having a male lover for the first time. Just the thought had him thickening in his shorts. He’d known he was attracted to men the first time he’d been in the locker room after football practice and Ricky Thompson had been demonstrating how forcefully he’d screwed his girl the night before, and Hart’s dick had turned to granite. The way Ricky had repeatedly thrust his lean hips back and forth had put him in such a state that he’d had to run to the showers and cool off.
But one lapse in judgment trying to deny what he knew in his heart had cost him a lot of years of stress. All of his wedded years hadn’t been hell, there’d been a few good times. Trips back home to Lubbock to visit family. A cruise to nowhere, they did that twice. A vacation in Jamaica. And a few dinner parties by her church friends who weren’t all as torturous as nails on a chalkboard. If only Teresa had let him have a say, things might’ve turned out differently.
No more waiting and delaying. He was seizing his life back. Hart took his double shot off his night stand and threw it back, enjoying the strong liquor burning his insides. A little liquid courage for him. He picked up his cell and texted God.
Hart: I’m gonna ask Free if he wants a tour of the headquarters at the end of the week. He sent an angry gif of rapper Ice Cube making his classic angry snarl, then typed.
Hart: You better NOT have him working late.
Hart laughed, anticipating God’s reply. The man hated gifs almost as much as he hated emoticons. So naturally, Hart flooded their message thread with them. Sometimes, he wouldn’t text back words, he’d only answer his friend with gifs just to piss him off more.
God: Fuck off.
Hart sent a gif of a Chris Pratt slowly cranking up his middle finger.
God: Grow up.
He found the perfect ‘make me’ tantrum gif and hit send. He lived for the day God sent him back an angry emoji, a gif of a man with his head exploding, anything. He wouldn’t stop until he did.
God: I’ll make Free work from sun up to sun down tomorrow. He’ll be too tired to do anything but sleep all weekend. Then after your balls fall off from non-use I wanna see what fuckn gif you use for that.
Hart was feeling the effects of his shot. He laughed loudly. He’d expected God to say something along those lines. He slid down farther and put one hand behind his head while he quickly searched for another perfect image.
God: Headquarters will be your first date? I thought we said ordering in at your place and maybe a DVD???
Hart: Right. But I figured I’d invite him back here after we finish the tour for food and a movie.
God: Ugh. Stick with the damn plan.
Hart groaned, “Dumb ass.”
Hart: That WAS the plan, bighead. Take him someplace I’m comfortable with so I don’t say something ridiculous…then eat.
God: Fine then. Go to bed.
Hart: I’m not tired.
God: Well I am. Leave me the fuck alone now.
Hart: I love you too.
Hart reached up and turned the lamp off. The news played in the background on his wall-mounted television and he vaguely paid attention as the weatherman discussed a drop in temperature coming next week. His phone vibrated again.
God: Diner at six.
Hart: I’ll be there. Isn’t breakfast on you this time?
God: Yep.
He sent God the most nauseatingly sweet goodnight gif of a puppy curling up into a ball with his tiny brother pup and settling into a furry mound for sleep. He laughed when the message was marked as read, but God didn’t respond.
Free
Free closed the blinds in his trailer and made sure he turned off his electric kettle. He never liked the smell of burnt tea when he returned home. The small, mobile trailer was a tight fit for him and all his equipment, but it belonged to him and he could move at the drop of a dime if he needed. With his laptop bag strapped across his back, he locked up his belongings and jogged down the couple of steps to his scooter. Tech and Steele usually rode together, only offering Free a ride if the weather was bad. Otherwise, he liked to take his bike.
He was feeling excited about today. He’d made it clear to Hart last night that he hoped to see him at work. He wondered if he should venture up to the third floor for lunch and happen by his office, or would Hart come down and make one of his regular visits to “check in”? They had a strategy meeting at nine that would probably last most of the day, but there were always breaks. He parked his scooter in the usual spot, a broad grin quickly spreading when he saw Hart’s bike already in his designated space. He had a mind to go inside the building and head straight for the elevators to take him to SWAT Command, but he refrained and went in the direction he was supposed to.
Instead of succumbing to his wants, he teased himself. Hart could pop in at any time throughout the day, and he knew the anticipation was going to drive him wild. Hart would be wearing his office uniform today. He’d have on his midnight-blue APD SWAT T-shirt, the one that stretched impossibly tight across his chest. Those navy cargo pants with the black Beretta strapped to his upper thigh never failed to make his mouth water. Then he’d finish off the impressive look by clipping his gleaming gold SWAT Captain’s badge on the side of his hip.
Free swallowed at the pulsing in his groin. He took a deep breath and exhaled. This is going to be delightful. He wanted to press his bulge down, but he didn’t. He went to the second-floor cafeteria and tried to concentrate on his responsibilities for the morning’s conference. He grabbed a cart and began surveying the selections. As he gathered pastries and coffee, he brainstormed on how he could break the touch barrier with Hart…soon. Nothing major. Just to see if there was a spark, a connection—more than in just his eyes.
He mindlessly performed his task, placing an assortment of Danishes and muffins on the cart, then piling a mountain of Irish coffee creamers in a bowl for Day, and moving on to the fruit. He couldn’t erase the sappy grin off his face. Hart was in the building. He believed the term for how he felt was giddy.
If only his father could see him now—preparing a conference room like a secretary—he’d probably have a Fred Sanford heart attack. The total shock and awe of what his brilliant son had reduced himself to would stop his ticker on the spot. His dad always thought he should’ve been doing more with his talents. Like making astronomical amounts of money by doing cybercrimes for mob families and keeping them in a lavish lifestyle.
Free had been thinking so hard he hadn’t felt the presence of someone beside him until it was too late.
“Morning,”
Free flinched, his breath catching in his throat. He refused to make eye contact when he murmured, “Morning, Officer Vasquez.” He hurried to scoop a decent amount of cut honeydew into a bowl and moved his cart down the row.
“So how’s it going, Freeman? Nice and settled in, yes?” Vasquez was talking so cheerfully it was obviously phony.
“Fine.” Free mumbled, “Excuse me.”
Vasquez respectfully inched to the side and let Free move toward the cereals and granola, but he was quick to follow. “So, I’m finally off the graveyard shift. Those nights have been killing me, ya’ know.”
“Hmm.” Free hummed vaguely, while he tossed four boxes of Frosted Flakes and a carafe of milk onto the cart for Steele. He noticed that Vasquez wasn’t making any selections of his own as he followed him.
“I might be able to have an actual personal life again. Sleeping all day and working all night really sucks.”
“Yep.” Free got to the register but had to wait behind a couple of people. He wanted nothing more than to get away from Vasquez. He didn’t trust him. Being around the man made him feel as if trouble was lurking.
“Look.” Vasquez touched Free’s shoulder, making him jerk involuntarily. He threw his arms up, glancing around. “Chill out, man. I ain’t gone do nothing to you or anything. Why are you so jumpy around me?”
Free shook his head in disbelief. “Are you serious? You talked trash about my friend and my new bosses the first day I arrived. Then you tried to get me into bed, all after you called me a fuckin ‘half-breed’. Yeah, you basically called me a mutt. Or were you that sloppily drunk that you don’t remember?”
Vasquez’s skin got darker around his cheeks and an angry vein bulged in his neck. “I wasn’t drunk,” he snarled. “And it was just a suggestion. You’re old enough to say ‘no I’m not interested’ aren’t you? Do you really need thirty men coming to your aid?”
Free rolled his eyes.
“Fine. Look, I apologize, again. Okay? Damn, you people are so sensitive.” Vasquez grumbled.
“‘You people’?” Free balked.
Vasquez glared right back, “Stop trying to dissect every fuckin’ sentence I say.”
Free needed to get away. He wasn’t usually one to mouth off to larger men but he’d always felt safe within these walls. He moved up to the register and swiped the department’s company card, failing to give the cashier his usual smile. She threw him and the dark shadow standing behind him a curious frown as Free tried to hurry away with his cart. He was almost to the door when Vasquez caught up.
“Wait.” Vasquez huffed, “Can you just tell God that I apologized again and…”
“You can tell him yourself.” Free went to move around Vasquez again, but this time he didn’t let him. The big officer threw his arm out and stopped him.
“I’m not even allowed in his department anymore, and I’m assuming it’s because of you.”
“It’s not,” Free said, trying to go around him.
“I think it is.” Vasquez stepped closer and bared his teeth. He reeked of sweat—the funky kind—and his breath smelled like two-day old coffee.
Free almost choked on his tongue when he tried to say something else. Panic was settling in and making him clench the handles of his cart. Even with all the self-defense classes he’d taken, he still froze when faced with confrontation. Especially from someone who used his size and boldness as intimidation.
“G-get away,” Free stuttered.
Vasquez quirked one brow and stared down at him with a smug grin, “You afraid?”
Free didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Vasquez inched closer. Other officers moved around them, oblivious to his distress. Free tried not to notice how snugly Vasquez’s blue polyester sleeves clutched his biceps—thick biceps on arms that looked as if they could inflict some serious damage. He tried to open his mouth, but nothing came out.
“Free! There you are. I was looking for you. Tech said you were probably up here. I really need your help. I’ve done it this time, for sure.”
Free was so relieved to see Officer Mason, he didn’t know what to do. His chest was tight and painful, and his breathing was becoming more and more difficult. Mason’s voice was bright and cheery, but his eyes were narrowed on the man standing in front of Free.
“Vasquez. Morning. Hope I’m not interrupting.” Mason lightly touched Free’s shoulder moving him away, “but, I really need Free to help me at my computer again. I know I’m hopeless, but he’s the only one willing to help without the ridicule.”
Free didn’t hear if Vasquez had a retort because Mason had taken control of Free’s cart and was helping him back toward the elevator. When they were closed inside, Mason turned to face him, “Are you okay? None of that appeared to be a friendly conversation. And also…”
Free took a deep breath. The closer he got downstairs the better he began to feel. He immediately recognized the pulsing in his right temple as a tension headache. Free hated to be afraid. His fear was like none other, because very few people had survived what he had. He closed his eyes and began his count backwards from twenty to calm the lingering anxiety.
“Free, do you want me to walk with you to your department?” Mason used the same soothing tone with him that he’d heard him use when he took victim statements.
All he could do was nod since his throat felt closed. Mason gave him a comforting smile as the doors dinged open and several officers and other personnel waited for them to exit.
Mason held the door for him and walked with him into the narcotics department and Tech was the first to stand up. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
Free’s tongue felt too thick to speak. He robotically pushed the cart to the other side of the office and rolled it into the conference room. His best friend came in and shut the glass door behind them.
“FreeBaby.” Tech touched his cheek. “What happened?”
Free stared through the door at Mason as he spoke with God, Day and Syn. He was most likely telling them what he’d just witnessed, and what he’d had to do. God’s scowl got deeper the longer he stood there listening. Syn stormed over to his desk and picked up his phone, his mouth moving fast. He slammed the receiver down then went back to Mason.
