by Max Walker
Well, that certainly made this case incredibly complicated, as if it hadn’t started that way to begin with.
“Do you have any suspicions as to who those two could have been?”
Oliver shook his head. “I’ve been thinking on it every day since that night happened. I can’t think of anyone in my life, currently or from the past, who’d want to hurt me like that. I don’t make enemies, and I absolutely hate fighting or arguing. Even when someone’s in my face about to throw punches, I’ll still back off with my tail between my legs.”
“Has anyone gotten in your face like that?” The question was part of my job, but for some reason, a flare of defensiveness rose inside me.
“My neighbor. He was a homophobic rhino hemorrhoid.”
That got a laugh out of me while setting off alarms at the same time. “So you and him argued a lot?”
“Yeah, it was a rough year. Until my lease ended and I bounced. He would yell slurs through his window as I walked by, and my rainbow flag was always thrown on the ground and stepped on whenever I’d put it up.”
“Could he be—”
“I don’t think he’s one of the assailants. He’s got a huge beer gut, and his voice is pretty distinct. I would have recognized him if he were one of the guys.”
I jotted down some quick notes in a blue notebook that always sat at the ready on my desk. Even though Oliver might have exonerated his sewage twat of a neighbor, I still wanted to have a sit-down chat with him. In the heat of the moment, Oliver might not have gotten all the details about his assailants.
I wrote down his neighbor’s name and address. We talked for another hour or so, sifting through every fine detail of Oliver’s memory. At times I could see the pain reflected on his face as clear as the Miami sunlight streaming through the window. We would have to stop for him to collect himself. I had a box of tissues that was used quite frequently throughout the meeting. especially when the conversation honed in on Derrick.
It viscerally hurt me to see Oliver in such visible pain, as batty as that sounded. I was normally a pretty empathetic person, but when I was on the clock, I tended to store that empathy away so I could focus solely on the facts and not be swayed by fickle emotions. It was a technique that helped me close my cases with mostly positive results. And once the case was closed, then I’d allow myself to feel the swell of good emotions that usually followed.
It was different with Oliver.
With him, I was becoming fully entwined before this meeting was even over.
Bloody hell, who was I kidding? I had been fully entwined since we first met back in that pub weeks ago.
8 Oliver Brightly
How? What? Who and when?
My head was about to explode with questions, but they weren’t about my case. The questions swirled around Beckham and why the universe was bent on crossing our paths. This was beyond a happy coincidence.
This was an ecstatic epiphany.
A glorious accident.
A what-the-fuck-is-going-on and where-the-fuck-are-the-cameras moment.
I had to keep it all in, though. I didn’t want to seem like I was overly excited or anything. Beckham was the epitome of cool, calm, and collected. I couldn’t come back into his orbit and start blabbering and tripping over my words, so I managed to keep things under control for pretty much the entire meeting. The fact that I was basically reliving one of the most fucked-up nights of my life also factored into my level of focus. I used up a few tissues and had to take one or two breaks, but overall, I made it through without breaking down which was really all thanks to my rock-star therapist.
And then the end of the meeting came around. That’s when I unraveled like a toilet paper roll sent tumbling down the street.
“Thank you for coming today, Oliver.” We were wrapping things up. Beckham was typing something on his computer, but his eyes were jumping back my way. They were a pair of eyes that had been floating through my dreams for weeks now, and I genuinely thought I’d never see them again.
I didn’t want to feel that again. I wanted to see Beckham and his hypnotizing eyes at least one more time. Just once—that would be all I needed to get him out of my system.
“Beckham, what, uhm, are you up to tomorrow? Like, besides working I guess. You work often? This must be a really difficult job, I can’t even imagine where you’d start. Guess that’s why you’re the detective and I’m just the vet student, huh? But if you ever need a fecal sample analyzed—not yours, obviously, but your dog’s—do you have a dog? Shit, okay, I’m talking way too much about shit. Literally shit… shit. I should, uh, get going.” I had forgotten my original question, and my cheeks were blazing hot. Beckham’s smile threw me off, and his smile seemed to be growing wider. The green-and-gold eyes were frying all my circuit boards.
For a brief and terribly frightening moment, I thought I recognized a flash of hesitation in Beckham’s expression. “I’m free tomorrow afternoon.” He chuckled, the sound instantly throwing me back to the night we met. Our walk along the River Thames was magical, and even despite my anxiety attack, the entire night could be described the same way. I could still remember Beckham’s apartment, his smell, the way he felt when his hard dick was pressed up against—
Okay, relax. I’ve got to stand in like three minutes.
“Great, tomorrow afternoon it is. I’m thinking we can walk the Wynwood Walls and grab a bite to eat?”
“Sounds good, mate. I haven’t been to the walls yet, it’ll be fun.”
“It sure will.” I managed to hold eye contact without melting into a puddle. I didn’t know what exactly it was about Beckham that undid me in record time. Today he looked exceptionally attractive, with a five-o’clock shadow and a white polo shirt that hugged his chest and arms in a way that made me jealous.
Imagine that: jealous of a polyester-cotton blend shirt.
“And thank you for taking my case.” I meant it. More than anything. Things finally felt like they were moving in the right direction, and I hadn’t had that feeling in years. It felt like someone had turned on a fan and all the smog floating around me was on its way out the window. I could breathe a little better. Still not a hundred percent, but I was getting there.
“Thank you for coming to me for help. It’s not going to be easy, I won’t hide that. But I’m dedicated to helping you.” He cocked his head. I gulped.
“I, uh, still think about that night. A lot.”
What the hell made me just say that?
His sparkling eyes lit with a flame, his lids lowering. The stare pinned me in place. “A lot, huh?”
I nodded and managed to swallow, even though I was forgetting how to control any particular part of my body.
“Just how much?”
“Every night.” I licked my lips. This was a new level of crazy, fueled by the insane attraction I felt toward this man. “And then every morning.”
He chuckled, the sound settling deep in my chest, taking root.
“I think about that night, too.” The admission wasn’t as strong as mine, but still, I’d take it. Beckham leaned forward in his chair, placing his elbows on his desk, his hands fisted and covering his mouth.
“You, uhm… I’ve never met someone like you.” I didn’t know what was going on, why I felt the need to fill silence with more proclamations, but I did. I barreled onward. “I was a mess that night. A lot of other guys would have called a cab and sent me off before even taking me upstairs. You… you helped me. You understood.” I tried to ignore the growing heat between my legs. “You also really, really turned me on that night. If it wasn’t for how nervous I felt that night, I would have…”
I would have given you anything you asked of me, Beckham.
He moved his hands from his face, giving me a clear view of the sexy set of lips already glistening wet and ready to be kissed. He grinned and sat back in his chair, dropping his hands on his lap. I couldn’t help but notice a bulge in his khakis. Part of it was covered by the desk, but he wa
s sitting back far enough for me to see that he was equally as excited by our reunion as I was.
“You would have what, Oliver?” He leaned forward again. He was smiling, too. My eyes landed on his lips and froze.
“I would…” Was this crazy? This was crazy. Beckham was releasing some toxic gas into his office through the vents—that was the only explanation for my behavior. “I would do this.” I lifted my butt off the chair and leaned forward, bracing myself on his desk, our lips coming together in a reunion of epic proportions.
It was just as explosive as the night we had first met. Beckham’s kiss was devastating in a way that made me want to clear off his desk and lie down with my legs up in the air.
His tongue parted my lips, slipped into my mouth. I probed with the same vigor, our kiss evolving into something more. The heat was rising far past the usual Miami temperatures which seemed to try and break in through the closed window.
“Jesus, Beckham.” I spoke during a moment we were both catching our breath. Our foreheads were pressed together, my eyes focused in on those beautiful lips. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me.”
“I want to keep doing it,” he said, his voice a low growl. His tongue flicked out, traced the line of my upper lip. It sent a shiver down my back, the heat of it feeling like a lava trail crawling down my spine.
The sound of footsteps outside Beckham’s door startled me, as if we were two little kids caught making out under the bleachers by the history teacher. I jumped back into my seat, the chair almost tipping over from the sudden weight.
The footsteps moved past the door, farther down the hallway, disappearing into the distance.
Beckham looked at me, and he laughed. The motherfucker laughed, and it was the sexiest damn sound I’d ever heard. “You’re something else, Oliver.”
“I get nervous,” I said.
“You don’t have to defend yourself. I like it.”
“You like… my wimpiness?”
He shook his head. “Wimpiness is not how I would describe it. You’re just a cautious guy. It’s endearing. It also makes me want to puff my chest out and fight off whatever shadows you jump at.”
“Okay, one, I do not jump at shadows, let’s not go that far. And two, you can fight off whatever you want, as long as it’s not me.”
“Oh really?”
“Mhmm.”
I was never this bold, this flirty. Not with a man like Beckham, who intimidated me on every kind of level. What was going on with me? Was this even legal? I did just hire him for a job; was it like an employee/boss kind of situation? I didn’t sign anything, so maybe not, but still… No. My mind was ping-ponging all over the place. I had to calm down and focus.
“All right, I should really be heading out now.” It was happening. The full weight of what just occurred was beginning to hit me. I needed to get some fresh air, even if that air was five hundred degrees with a humidity index of a million. “I have to study. But, uhm, we’ve got our numbers, and I’m going to grab crazy glue on my way out.” I stood, the legs of the chair sounding loud against the wood floor. My knees didn’t buckle underneath me like I’d expected they would, so that was a win. “Text me or something. You know, in case you need a break from the case or anything.”
The nerves were evolving into full-blown anxiety.
Not only was it difficult having to talk about my traumatic experience for hours, but having to do it with a man who left a serious impression on me was a special kind of torture. There was no more hiding from him. Even though Beckham had met me under the guise of Jamison and exotic-tiger medicine, there was none of that anymore. He was now familiar with the deepest and darkest part of my psyche. There was no turning back from that.
And here I am, picturing that kiss of his on my lips every damn morning since it happened.
“We’ll be in touch, Oliver.”
Whoa, okay. That was a little cold, wasn’t it?
Then again, what in the glittery heavens did I expect? This was simply a business relationship with intense physical chemistry thrown into the mix, and chances were, it wouldn’t go further than that. Sure, I’d grown enough courage to ask him on a date, but maybe he said yes to placate the broken boy who was paying him to hunt and kill the monsters under his bed? He probably wasn’t interested in dating a guy who was just getting his life started while lugging all his heavy baggage behind him.
“Got it,” I said, smiling, still holding on to my raft of positivity even though the waters were growing stormier and stormier. My hands were clammy, and I was scared my back sweat had seeped through my shirt. I briefly wondered if it would be too weird for me to walk backward out of the office. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“See you tomorrow.” He spoke with a little more warmth. There was a smirk playing on his face, and my gut was suddenly surrounded by flames. A need to make the smile bigger filled me.
I said my goodbyes and left Stonewall Investigations, feeling like my life was on the brink of changing in more ways than one.
The fire didn’t extinguish until I got back home, where I immediately dropped my shorts and loaded up my secret Twitter account. I went right to town, jerking off on my couch and blowing my load after setting my phone down, nothing but the image of naked Beckham in my head.
There were no videos online that could compete with that image, even if I didn’t have it exact. I couldn’t remember every inch of skin, every piece of him that I wanted to trace with my kisses.
I’d get it exact, though. I’d commit that man’s body to memory the second I got him naked again.
That man… what a man he was.
I still wasn’t sure of Beckham’s age, but it was obvious he had at least ten years on my twenty-four. I’d never dated someone older than me by even a day, so this was pretty new territory. It was scorchingly hot territory. There was something about the confidence he carried himself with and the surety he had in all his actions that really set him apart from the previous guys I’d been with. Besides Derrick, who always said he felt like a thousand-year-old soul in a kid’s body, every guy I’d been with was either obsessed with school, obsessed with video games, or dealing with an addiction to both. Maybe I just hadn’t picked them right, but after four failed relationships, I was beginning to give up. At least temporarily.
Then in walked Beckham.
Well, in walked me and intercepted Beckham if you want to be exact.
And the rest was history yet to be written. Just had to cross my fingers that there was a happy ending waiting in the wings, not a tragic one.
9 Beckham Noble
As Oliver walked out of my office, I couldn’t stop my gaze from dropping, admiring those long, lean legs of his, leading all the way up to that firm arse of his that looked like a full-course meal in his tiny white shorts.
The door shut behind him, and my office fell into silence.
“What in the fuckin’ world.”
I leaned back in my chair, the chair leaning with me. The popcorned ceiling filled my vision, a much less desirable sight than watching Oliver walk away.
This felt like a prank. I knew it wasn’t, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that there would be an entire camera crew bursting through my door at any moment. How in the world could we explain this situation otherwise?
Outside, the sun was beginning to set, washing the cotton candy clouds in a beautiful deep purple and red. A palm tree swayed gently in the ocean breeze outside of my window. I stood, opening the windowpane and letting the sounds of Miami Beach fill my space. It was much better than the silence that had taken over from the second Oliver left.
Oliver… what is it about you…
He was something else. He was bubbly and bright but not vapidly so. There was a depth to him that I wanted to plunge into headfirst. I wanted to feel his waters surrounding me, enveloping me. From my toes to my scalp.
And then, on the same token, I wanted to keep my distance. This might have felt like a meeting determined by the fat
es, but I knew there was so much more to this than “destiny.” Sure, I was extremely attracted to Oliver and intrigued by his person, but that didn’t mean we were a perfect match. I’d found out the hard way that not many men I meet are, in fact, a perfect match. Things somehow always fall apart, and I wasn’t about to get my hopes up over Oliver just because we couldn’t keep our lips off each other.
He was clearly younger than me by a good number of years, and that generational gap was a difficult one to cross. It’d sunk a couple of my past relationships, and I could only assume that this would be the same. It didn’t matter how well I felt I got along with the guy, our differences would begin to show and they would outweigh whatever we shared in common. It was just the way things worked. I couldn’t get my hopes up. No matter how attractive Oliver was. No matter how badly I wanted to trail my lips up those lean legs of his before holding them up in the air by his ankles and taking him another way.
Plus, he’s a bloody good kisser.
I stood up so I could stretch my legs. I could still smell Oliver’s fresh cologne in the air, notes of citrus and oak painting a smile on my face.
I could feel myself getting aroused, past the point of walking it off.
That couldn’t be allowed. Not when there was a case on my desk that needed solving. I’d pine over that smiley bastard when I got home tonight.
My attention pivoted. I looked down at the neatly stacked papers and files left on my desk. It was all the evidence Oliver had compiled over the murder and assault. Granted, there wasn’t a smoking gun in any of the morbid photos or documents, but there was still a good amount to go off of.
I took my seat and started digging through the information, searching through each page and photo with a fine-tooth comb. I had looked over them with Oliver, but now I could focus fully on what was in front of me.