Gambling On Maybe
by Fae Sutherland
Amber Quill Press
www.amberquill.com
Copyright ©2011 by Fae Sutherland
First published in 2011
NOTICE: This eBook is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution to any person via email, floppy disk, network, print out, or any other means is a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. This notice overrides the Adobe Reader permissions which are erroneous. This eBook cannot be legally lent or given to others.
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Gambling On Maybe
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CONTENTS
Also By Fae Sutherland
Dedication
GAMBLING ON MAYBE
About The Author
Don't miss Stone By Stone, by Stevie Woods,
* * * *
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GAMBLING ON MAYBE
By
FAE SUTHERLAND
Amber Quill Press, LLC
www.amberquill.com
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Gambling On Maybe
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Also By Fae Sutherland
Letting In The Light
And By Fae Sutherland And Marguerite Labbe 629 Miles To Love
Entanglements
Fortunate Son
The Mask He Wears
Taking Chances
[Back to Table of Contents]
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Dedication
For all the boys who are just a little bit "too much."
[Back to Table of Contents]
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GAMBLING ON MAYBE
Sergeant Stephen Miranda had never seen so much glitter in one place before. The clubs all up and down the strip in downtown Phoenix were closing and the sidewalks were rapidly filling with all manner of patrons, from the slightly tipsy to the staggering drunk.
Normally, that wasn't anything to bring the Phoenix Metro police to the scene, but there'd been a report of a disturbance in front of one of the nightclubs and he'd been on his way home and nearby, so here Stephen was, playing mediator between a six-foot tall, blonde-wigged drag performer and her apparently unfaithful boyfriend.
The boyfriend was the one sporting a black eye.
Halfway through trying to figure out whether either one wanted to press charges, the boyfriend said what must have been just the right thing, and Stephen shook his head with a chuckle as the two made up at light speed and left him with no reason to linger.
He turned, tucking his notepad back into his pocket, to find he had company. In the form of a small, gamin-faced young man leaning against the side of Stephen's patrol car with a smile on his pink-glossed lips that seemed far too worldly for such an otherwise innocent-looking face.
"Can I help you?" he asked, glancing around briefly before settling his gaze on the young man again. Maybe five-six if Stephen counted the platform-style boots he wore, and he 7
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couldn't be a day over twenty-one. Was he even legal for any of the clubs down here?
The imp smiled wider. "I bet you can." Slim fingers waved in the direction the couple had gone in their cab of escape.
"She was my ride."
Stephen's brows lifted. "The drag queen?"
That got him a roll of heavily lined and thickly lashed brown eyes. "She's not a drag queen. She's post-op."
"Oh. Sorry about that."
A quick lift of one bare shoulder—bare because the young man's shredded black mesh top didn't seem to feel like covering him completely—or at all, really—was in its job description. "It's okay. Not like she flashed her vajay at you so you'd know."
Stephen didn't have time to recover from that shockingly bald statement before he was favored with another sparkling bright smile, with just a touch too much something in it.
"Anyway, she was my DD, designated driver? And you're an officer of the law, right? Do good deeds and all that?"
Stephen chuckled. "I try."
"Awesome!" the young man chirped, pushing away from the side of the car. "I live in Scottsdale." He promptly opened the passenger side door and hopped into the patrol car.
Stephen blinked, brows snapping together as he reached down to stop the door from shutting. "Excuse me, young man—"
"Zach." A wide, cheeky grin. "But you can call me anything you want."
"I'm going to have to ask you to get out of the carEZach."
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Slim legs, as bare as Zach's shoulder, folded under him on the seat, apparently making himself comfortable for the rideEthe one that wasn't happening. "Well, I liquidated all my assets into the economy—code for did too many shots of peppermint Schnapps—so unless you want me to driveE"
Zach tilted his head to look up at him with a cajoling look aided by alcohol-flushed cheeks and slightly too-bright eyes.
"Come onEyou ran off my ride, so the least you can do is make sure I get home in one piece."
Stephen hesitated another few seconds, brows furrowing, before he sighed. Zach must have known what that meant because he beamed. Stephen shook his head with a sigh as he shut the door and came around to the driver's side to climb behind the wheel.
"You should not just get in people's cars that way, you know."
Zach laughed, leaning forward to fiddle with the touch screen of Stephen's onboard computer. "Please, you're a cop.
And you didn't look all disgusted by Shayna, so I figure you're not a queer-hating cop, either. So you're pretty much my safest bet for a ride, you know?"
Stephen glanced over at Zach, reaching out to bat his hand away from the touch screen. "Don't touch that." It was a sad reality that worrying about "queer-hating cops" was a legitimate concern. He sighed and started the car. "Buckle up.
What's the address?"
Zach rattled it off. Stephen keyed it into the GPS and pulled away from the curb. The street, which just ten minutes earlier had teemed with crowds of patrons spilling out as 9
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clubs closed for the night, was already nearly deserted. He decided immediately that he was glad the young man had insisted on a ride. It wasn't the best place to be alone at one in the morning once everything shut down. The area went from a sparkle-doused party to a somewhat seedy ghost town after hours.
"I feel like I should check your ID. Are you even legal to be in those clubs?"
Zach turned wide eyes on him, then laughed, the sound adorably amused. "I think I love you. Nope, I know I do!" He laughed again and propped one foot on the dashboard.
Stephen's mouth went a little dry as Zach slowly unzipped his knee-high boot. He was about to ask what Zach thought he was doing, when the other man produced a driver's license from inside the boot—good thinking considering his outfit consisted of approximately half a yard of shredded fishnet and less than that of shiny, skin-tight pleather—and held it out.
Stephen took it, gaze flicking to watch as Zach re-zipped his boot, before glancing at the card. "Twenty-six?" He gave his passenger an incredulous look. "Is this real?"
Zach lifted one perfectly plucked brow. "Can't you tell?"
Of course he could. He handed the license back, but not before he'd scanned the rest of the information. Zachary, middle initial L, West. Age twenty-six, birthday June 4, 1984.
Five-feet four-inches tall, weight one-fifty-five. Organ donor.
"What's the L stand for?"
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"Lucas." Zach flashed him another of those impish grins.
"Now you know all my details, what about you? Lemme see your license."
Stephen laughed. "Are you serious? No."
"Why not?" He turned in his seat and held out one slim-fingered hand. "Lemme see."
"Um, no." Stephen gave him a sideways are-you-kidding-me? look.
"Got something to hide, officer? Not an organ donor?" He waggled his fingers impatiently, looking expectant.
For reasons beyond him, Stephen sighed and reached into his back pocket for his wallet, dropping it into Zach's hand. "I know exactly how much cash is in there, just so you know."
Zach laughed softly, tsking under his breath as he settled back in his seat and flipped open the wallet. "So distrustful, OfficerEMiranda." Zach's smile was infectious. "As in Miranda rights?"
Stephen cut him a quelling glance at the stifled giggle.
"Yeah, because you're the first to make that joke."
Zach ignored his testy tone, propping both feet up on the dash—which led to his already short shorts riding up to reveal even more of his slender legs—not that Stephen noticed—as he settled in to examine Stephen's wallet. "Thirty-eight years old, born November 28, 1972. Hey, this says you legally need glasses!"
Stephen tapped just beside his eye. "Lasik. I need to get that changed, but just haven't had time." Why was he allowing a complete stranger to sit there peering at his private information, not to mention offering him more 11
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unprompted? He had no idea. But he didn't snatch the wallet back.
Zach hmm-ed under his breath, brushing one fingertip across the license before abandoning it in favor of the series of plastic sleeves for pictures. Only Stephen didn't have any pictures in them.
Receipts, scraps of notes scribbled, a doctor's appointment card, but no photos. Zach turned curious brown eyes on him.
"No kids? Wife? Nieces and nephews?"
Stephen shook his head. "No. I'm an only child. Single. My parents are both dead." He had friends, fellow cops mostly, but no one who deserved a picture in his wallet.
"Mmm. That's kind of sad, Stevie."
Stephen's brows shot up. "Do not call me Stevie. My name is Stephen, but you can call me Officer Miranda."
Zach just smiled and handed him back his wallet. "Stevie suits you better." Before Stephen could protest, Zach gestured toward the road. "Next exit. My apartment's two blocks down on the left. Palm Village." He snorted and turned laughing eyes on Stephen. "Why they call it that, I dunno.
This is the desert; palm trees don't belong here."
And yet they were everywhere. It was one of the things Stephen had found strange about Phoenix when he'd first relocated five years earlier. Why the hell were there so many palm trees in the middle of the desert?
He tucked his wallet back into his pocket as he exited the freeway and followed Zach's directions into one of the many huge, fairly impersonal apartment mega-complexes that flourished in the Phoenix metro area. For reasons he didn't 12
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care to examine, instead of pulling in and just letting Zach out and being done with this strange morning, he parked and shut off the car.
"I'll walk you up. It's really late."
Zach smiled, again a little knowingly, as he climbed out and peered at Stephen across the roof of the patrol car. "And this is a safe neighborhood."
Stephen shrugged. "Still."
"Mm-hmm. Okay. C'mon, Officer Gallant."
Stephen glanced around as he followed Zach past the outer edge buildings and along the sidewalk paths to one of the interior sections of the complex. Zach slowed and gestured.
"That's meEthird floor. You can just leave me here," he said, turning to glance up at Stephen.
He nodded, fiddling with his keys. What was he doing?
"Alright then. Well, have a good night, and next time save aside some of your Schnapps money to pay for a cab home, okay?"
Zach nodded, then, unexpectedly, reached up and fisted his small hands in Stephen's shirt, tugging him down to plant a kiss right on his mouth. Short, firm, brief, still it burned an impression into him and before he could figure out what had just happened or how to respond, Zach was flashing him a sparkling smile and waving before darting up the stairs.
It wasn't until Stephen was merging back onto the freeway that he realized Zach had said, "See you later!" and not
"Goodbye."
Oh, boy.
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Zach didn't pay much attention to the double takes and outright stares shot his way as he strode confidently up the steps to the 12th Precinct police station and through the doors. In one hand was a bright pink plastic container and in the other was his very favorite Balenciaga satchel in signature sea foam green. Okay, so not only was it his favorite, it was also his only. It'd cost him nearly two months rent, but oh so worth it.
Now, where to find his knight in not-so-shiny armor? He paused in front of the first desk he saw and gave the woman behind it a beaming smile. "I'm looking for Stephen Miranda?"
The only change in her expression was the subtle lift of one brow.
Undeterred, Zach shrugged, still smiling brightly. "That's okay. I'll find him myself!" He turned to traipse off.
The desk officer must have had visions of him twirling through the station leaving glitter in his wake and who would clean that up? Because she huffed a sigh and held up a hand.
"Hold on there, twinkledee. Second floor, ask for Sergeant Miranda at the desk."
Zach's eyes widened. "Oooh, sergeant is it? Thank you!"
He saw her roll her eyes as he hurried off, but he didn't see any point in letting other peoples' negative attitudes affect his own. So he waved cheerfully over his shoulder as he stepped onto the elevator.
It wasn't that Zach didn't know what people thought of him. It was that he didn't care. He didn't imagine they lost any sleep at night worrying what the silly little fag in the 14
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fabulous Dolce scarf thought of them. Why be something he didn't like just to make people he didn't know comfortable?
Besides, who couldn't use more glittery goodness in their lives?
Speaking of someone in desperate need of some sparkleE
Zach spotted his Officer Hotness standing by a desk with his back to Zach and, ugh, his aura just spoke of not nearly enough shiny people sharing their happy with him. Well, that was about to change!
Zach had been thinking about Stevie, aka Officer Hotness, ever since he'd dropped him off and the poor guy had all but begged to be brought upstairs and let out of his sad little box.
Zach had almost done just that, but something had stopped him. If he knew anything, it was when to listen to his instinct, or the Universe, or whatever you wanted to call it. And last night his Universe had told him to wait.
Not a word he was good with.
But, nonetheless, he'd let Officer Hotness leave, looking for all the world like a stunned, disappointed, yet sort of ridiculously sexy puppy who'd just had a bone taken away from him. Zach stifled a giggle. Bone.
He reached the desk, hopping up onto it and reaching out to tap him on the shoulder with one finger. "Officer, I'd like to report a crime."
Stevie turned, his green eyes widening in surprise. Zach beamed, tossing little waves of greeting to the other officers, who were all looking at him sort of like he might be a bomb that needed a squad or something.
"What are youE?"
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Zach set his Balencia
ga on the desk beside him and held up the pink container. "This is evidence." He urged Stevie to take it, nodding. "Be careful; it's delicious."
Heavy, black brows knit. The man had some serious frown wrinkles forming. "It'sEwhat?"
"Delicious!" Zach grinned and peeled off the cover, gesturing. "I hope I made enough for everyone."
Stevie glanced into the container, where two dozen gorgeous, perfectly made, obscenely fattening doughnuts sat in neat rows.
"You made these? You did?"
Zach laughed and shrugged one shoulder. "Okay, so maybe that was a little fib. I bought them, though. And the container's mine! Plus I made it all the way over here still in time for breakfast!"
"It's almost noon."
Zach took the container and set it on the desk. "Exactly!
Here, guys, help yourselves." He gave the box a little push in the direction of the other officers, who were eyeing it like it was a wee baby lamb in the midst of a ravenous wolf pack.
He turned back to Stevie and smiled. "Hi."
Instead of a smile and a "hi" in return, Stevie caught his wrist, tugged him down off the desk and began pulling him toward an office a few yards away. He frowned, glancing back over his shoulder. "ButEmy bagE" Stevie gave him an arch look, and Zach sent a sheepish one back. "Well, it is a room full of policemen, so I suppose it'll be fine."
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The office door shut behind them, a little harder than necessary. Zach smiled and looked around. "Is this your office?"
"Yes. What are you doing here?"
Zach wandered over to the bookshelf, hoping to find some pictures in frames, a few fiction novels, something to tell him what kind of life his officer led outside work, but there was nothing personal. He spotted police manuals, awards for service and bravery, but nothing to give any clue about who Stevie was.
He glanced back over his shoulder. "I brought you doughnuts. With a 'gh' because the Dunkin' way is just bad grammar."
Stevie shook his head, like he was dizzy. If this were a cartoon, he'd have stars around his head or something. "Well, I mean I see that, butEwhy?"
Zach turned to face him. "You don't know why?"
Stevie shrugged. "Not really."
"Aww, that's so sad, Stevie. I brought them to say thank you and because I wanted to see you again." He plopped down in the chair, crossing his legs. "I like you." His smile was a little bit sly. "And I know you like me."
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