Accidentally On Purpose

by J. M. Snyder

  Alan would drop them off at the mall, then walk the corridors as the shops and kiosks around him began to close. He kept an eye out for the detective, but all he ever saw were uniformed security guards milling about. After he passed by a few times, some of the guards would start to watch him, and Alan knew it was time to leave.

  Back in the car, he drove aimlessly around the mall’s parking lot, but there was no sign of Garrison or that other officer’s car. What was his name again? Harvey, maybe. Harley? No, Harlen. What if he were the one on duty instead of Garrison?

  Then we come back tomorrow, or next week, or the week after that, Alan reasoned. He said Garrison sometimes worked this beat, too, didn’t he?

  Or had he? Alan wasn’t sure now what he’d heard the other officer say exactly. But the kids had known of Garrison, so at least there was a chance Alan would run into him sooner or later.

  * * * *

  It took three weeks, but his perseverance finally paid off. That evening Brooks was with Kylie, a pretty brunette with long, shiny hair, a pert nose, and big eyes. Of the two, Alan liked her best, and not just because he remembered her name. She was a nice young lady, and always took a moment after getting into the car to say hello to him. When he dropped them off at the mall, she always called out, “Thanks, bye!” as Brooks led her into the cinema. Afterward, she’d tell Alan a bit about the movie or what previews they’d seen, sharing their evening with him as Brooks nuzzled against her neck on the drive back to her house.

  That evening, Alan dropped the kids off, then parked nearby. He paced inside the mall, wishing for a bookshop he could linger in, but most of the shops only sold clothes or shoes or jewelry. He wandered around for a good half hour, maybe longer, but didn’t bother going in anywhere. On his third or fourth trip by the food court, he stopped and treated himself to a buttery hot pretzel and a tall cup of something purporting to be freshly squeezed lemonade but probably wasn’t, then sat by a nearby fountain that smelled of chlorinated water and grubby change.

  The pretzel was delicious, but the best he could say about the lemonade was that it was wet. Stopping for a bite to eat had taken up all of…fifteen minutes, according to his watch. Add that to the time he’d spent strolling aimlessly around, and he still had another thirty minutes or so until the movie let out.

  Go home, mate, a voice inside him said. Brooks can call you when they’re ready to be picked up. Let the kids have their date night. Garrison isn’t here and you know it.

  Next time, he promised himself. At least the weather was nice. Cool, not cold, the humidity of the day disappearing as night descended. Maybe he could walk around outside instead of drive. There were a few shops around the mall’s perimeter, some not too far away. A couple might be open late, and if he wasn’t mistaken, one was even a bookshop. He could use a new crossword book.

  But by the time he got outside, he’d changed his mind. His legs were starting to ache and he’d be up half the night with spasms and cramps if he wasn’t careful. He’d wait in the car instead, maybe doze a bit, listen to the radio. Not the local channels, Lord no, but one of the classical stations on SiriusXM might be nice…

  At the curb he glanced left, then right, making sure no one was coming before he stepped off. But something caught his eye and he glanced left again to see what was obviously an unmarked police car parked in the shadows. He squinted at the vehicle, trying to see inside past the glare on the windshield.

  Ah, sod it. Live a little, will you? Take a chance.

  Hands in his trouser pockets, Alan stepped off the curb, but instead of heading straight out into the parking lot, he turned towards the patrol car. No harm in casually passing by, was there? If it was that Harlen guy or anyone else, he’d just keep going. But on the off-chance it might be…

  “Detective Garrison!” Alan was so shocked to see the very guy he was hoping to find that the name slipped out before he could stop it.

  The driver’s side window was down, and sure enough, Garrison sat behind the wheel. He looked up at Alan, then did a double-take, breaking into a grin. “Hey, you’re the guy from the café. The one who backed up and got me all wet.”

  Alan’s face burned at the innuendo he thought he heard in Garrison’s words. “Yeah, well, sorta hoped you forgot about all that.”

  “No, man, I did what you suggested,” Garrison said. “Cold water got the stains right out. Take a look.”

  Before Alan knew it, the car door opened and the detective got out. Alan took a hurried step back, surprised by the sudden turn of events. Garrison wore gray pressed slacks and a dark blazer over a white dress shirt and tie. Beside him Alan felt like a slob in an untucked button-down and a battered pair of jeans. He wanted to apologize for his appearance, but Garrison didn’t give him a chance. Tugging up one pant leg, the detective nodded at the ground. “See? All clean.”

  I’ve been waiting to get him alone forever now and all we have to talk about are his shoes.

  Alan tried to focus on that and nothing else. “Oh good.”

  But when he looked down, his gaze was drawn to the thin strip of flesh he could see above Garrison’s sock. Dark hair swirled across pale skin, disappearing up Garrison’s pant leg, hinting at so much more. An image came unbidden to Alan’s mind—those slacks gone, exposing bare skin covered in soft, downy hair that led to a thatch of kinked curls between Garrison’s legs. He could easily imagine dipping his hand into those curls, stroking, rubbing, first with his fingers and then with his tongue, as Garrison’s pleasure stiffened beneath him.

  Bloody hell, where did that come from?

  “Looks great.” Alan’s voice sounded weak and distant to his own ears. He felt faint, the world around him dreamlike, unreal. How’d they get here again?

  Garrison dropped his pant leg and leaned back against the side of his car. Crossing his arms, he studied Alan with a bemused look. The night around them seemed to have fallen silent, all sight and sound narrowed to a point, a spotlight focused only on the handsome detective. Alan felt inadequate beside the man.

  Just when Alan thought maybe they had nothing more to say to each other, Garrison drawled, “So. I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.”

  Alan ran a nervous hand over the top of his head, smoothing down hair already flat against his scalp. “How so?”

  “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.” The hint of a smile toyed at the edge of his mouth.

  “Oh, right.” Alan flushed again, dammit. Grow a pair already, will you? “Sorry about that. I’m Alan. Alan Travers.”

  He held out his hand, then wondered if it was too much. But it was too late to take it back now.

  Fortunately Garrison didn’t leave him hanging, taking Alan’s hand in one of his. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Travers. Or maybe I should say, nice to finally have a name to put to the face. We sort of met already.”

  “Right, sorry,” Alan said again. Was he going to spend the rest of his life apologizing to this man?

  If so, would that really be such a bad thing?

  Get your mind out of the gutter. But Garrison’s hand in his didn’t make it easy. Warm, not exactly soft, but not calloused and hard, either. Strong, firm, a hand that made Alan wonder what it might feel like elsewhere on his body. He easily imagined it on his arm, his chest, his—

  Don’t go there, mate. Holding his frigging hand and getting hard thinking about him. What kind of sick bugger are you?

  He forced a smile that felt fake on his face, then tried to move the conversation away from his sordid thoughts. “Where’s your partner tonight? Detective Farrow, is it?”

  Garrison nodded. “She has the night off. There’s only ever one of us scheduled to work the mall after hours. It’s a bit slow, really. Not a whole lot going on once the place shuts down.”

  “Is it now?” Alan was all too aware they still held each other’s hand. He glanced down, not wanting to be the first to break their connection, but it was getting difficult to keep his thoughts from wandering off.


  Garrison followed his gaze, then gave Alan’s hand a final squeeze before letting go. “So we take turns. It’s a slow shift so why ruin both our evenings? Tonight it’s me.”

  “What is it you do here, exactly?” Alan’s palm tingled where his flesh had pressed against Garrison’s. He shoved both hands into the back pockets of his trousers, not trusting himself to do anything else with them. Garrison was too close, and his cologne wafted over on a light breeze. Alan breathed in deep, taking it in. He didn’t even know what they were talking about, really. He just wanted to stay close to this man for as long as he could.

  “Not much, to be honest,” Garrison admitted. “Run people off the lot. Send kids home if they’re out after curfew. Give them a ride if they need it. Make sure no one breaks in, stuff like that. Mostly I sit in the car and play games on my phone until it’s time to go home.”

  “At least they’re paying you to do that,” Alan pointed out.

  That earned him a grin. “True, so I can’t complain. If I did, who’d listen anyway?”

  They shared a laugh, and Alan was surprised at how easy it sounded between them. After a moment, Garrison asked, “What about you?”

  “Oh, me? I’m just waiting for a movie to let out.”

  When he didn’t say anything else, the conversation lulled again. Garrison returned to leaning against the side of his car, hands resting on the open window frame behind him.

  “So…” Alan couldn’t think of anything to talk about. What the hell? He was usually never at a loss for words, but at the moment all he wanted to do was stare at Garrison and let the detective’s easy drawl roll over him. Was that asking too much?

  “I mean do you work here?” Garrison asked. “Or no, it’s somewhere downtown, right? Near the coffee shop. You’re in there every morning.”

  Work, how boring. But at least it was something, a lifeline tossed out that Alan grabbed for eagerly. “Right, downtown, at the Fed building. I’m a financial advisor with First Federal.”

  Both of Garrison’s eyebrows shot up, impressed. “Sounds exciting.”

  Alan laughed. “It is not.”

  Garrison laughed, too, a gruff, throaty sound Alan wanted to hear again.

  Then something Garrison had said struck him. “Hold up,” Alan said. “How do you know I go to the café every morning? I’ve only ever seen you in there a few times.”

  Careful. He’s going to think you’re looking for him and then what?

  Well, if he hadn’t cottoned on to Alan’s interest yet, how dim was he?

  Garrison ducked his head, trying to hide an embarrassed smile Alan still managed to catch. “You do know I’m a detective, right? It’s sort of what I do.”

  Alan nodded as if that made sense, but secretly he was pleased Garrison was keeping tabs on him, detective or not. Had he asked about Alan at the café? If so, was that before or after Alan knocked into him?

  What did it matter? At least he’d been looking.

  With a nod at the mall entrance nearby, Garrison took a step away from his car and placed his hands on his hips. “Looks like the movie’s letting out. You waiting for someone in particular?”

  Suddenly Alan was all too aware of how the distance between them had disappeared. “My boy and his little girlfriend.” He studied the crowd to keep from staring at Garrison instead.

  Garrison shifted his weight from one foot to the other, shrinking the distance further. If Alan rocked forward on his toes, they’d close the gap even more. And then what, mate? Bump his elbow with mine? Nudge him playfully? Take him in my arms and smother him with kisses? Take your pick.

  Fortunately, before he could do anything stupid in front of Garrison (again), Alan caught sight of a familiar face in the crowd exiting the cinema. He raised a hand and waved as his nephew looked around for him. “Brooks! Over here!”

  Brooks had his arm around Kylie’s shoulders, and together they wove around others to extract themselves from everyone else. As they approached, Brooks narrowed his eyes at Garrison. When he was close enough, he asked, “Who’s this?”

  “Detective Garrison,” Alan said, and Garrison nodded at the kids. Then Alan introduced them. “This is Brooks and Miss Kylie. Did you two enjoy the film?”

  Brooks nodded, but from the way Kylie giggled, Alan wondered how much of the movie they had actually seen and how much they missed while making out in the dark. Boy’s barely a teenager and he’s already seeing more action than me. Christ.

  “Right, well.” Alan clapped his hands together and took a deep breath to clear those thoughts from his head. “We should probably get the little lady home.”

  “It was nice seeing you,” Garrison said. “I’d say nice running into you again, but technically that didn’t happen this time.”

  His grin made Alan flush. Brooks looked from Alan to Garrison and back again, obviously waiting for an explanation.

  Alan didn’t want to give him one. “No, not this time. You have a good night.” He held out his hand again. “See you around, I hope.”

  Garrison’s second handshake was quick. “Sure. Take care. Kids.” He nodded their way.

  Brooks returned the nod but Kylie giggled again, burying her face in his shoulder. Brooks stared at Alan, who pointedly ignored him and headed for the car, jingling the keys in one hand. The farther away they got, the more certain Alan was that Brooks would ask him again who Garrison was.

  But whatever was going through his nephew’s mind stayed there, at least for the moment. Brooks kept quiet and slipped into the backseat beside Kylie as Alan got behind the wheel.

  He had to admit the evening had turned out to be a pretty pleasant one after all.

  * * * *

  Once Kylie was dropped off, Brooks joined Alan in the front seat of the car, and Alan could feel his nephew’s stare through the darkness. He ignored it as best he could, but at the first light they caught, Brooks spoke. “So who is that guy really?”

  Alan decided to play it cool. “What guy?”

  He could almost hear his nephew’s eyeroll. “Um, Detective Garrison? You’ve only been thinking about him since we got in the car.”

  I’ve been thinking about him much longer than you know.

  But he didn’t need to tell Brooks that. With a shrug, he hoped he sounded nonchalant when he said, “I don’t know, just a cop.”

  “Uh-huh.” Brooks wasn’t buying it.

  Alan bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything else. After a long moment, the light turned green and he eased his foot off the clutch as he goosed the accelerator, concentrating on the road so he wouldn’t have to answer any more questions.

  Brooks stared at Alan; he felt the weight of his nephew’s gaze as he drove. He glanced over a time or two, but quickly looked away. What business was it of his, anyway? He was only a kid.

  And a sharp one, at that, because when Alan turned down the road leading into their subdivision, Brooks asked, “Does he know you like him?”

  “Of course I like him.” Alan’s laugh sounded forced but he shook it off. “He’s a nice guy.”

  “I mean like him like him. The way I like Kylie.”

  Alan gave him a quick glance. “And how’s that, exactly?”

  Brooks sighed. “You know what I mean.”

  “He’s just someone I’ve spoken with before,” Alan admitted. “I sometimes see him at the café where I buy my espresso every morning, that’s all.”

  “Uh-huh.” Brooks still wasn’t buying it. “So why was he at the mall?”

  With a shrug, Alan said, “He works there some evenings, that’s all. Catches kids out after curfew, patrols around to make sure no one breaks in, stuff like that.”

  “Hmm.”

  What exactly was that supposed to mean? Alan didn’t know, and didn’t ask. He wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.

  Chapter 7

  All weekend long Alan tries not to dwell on Jim too much, but it’s hard now with the memory of him coming in Friday night. The breakfast bar, t
he Keurig, even the mug Jim used for his coffee all remind Alan of the man. Brooks doesn’t help, his brooding glare a constant reminder he wants Alan to man up and ask the detective out. “It’s easier to do than you think,” he says. “I mean, he already likes you.”

  “You don’t know that.” But Alan can’t deny how much he likes hearing Brooks say such things. “You can’t know it. You’re—”

  “Too young, I know,” Brooks mutters.

  On Sunday evening they’re in the living room watching The Simpsons. Rather, Brooks is watching it; Alan has his nose in the paper solving the crossword. Brooks reclines against the arm of the couch, taking up two of the three cushions. Alan sits at the opposite end, the shade on the end table’s lamp angled so he can see the paper better.

  Without looking up, Alan shakes his head. “I wasn’t going to say that.”

  “What, then?” Brooks wants to know. “I’m what?”

  “Straight. You like girls. It’s different with men.” Alan struggles to find the right word. “It’s harder.”

  Brooks rolls his eyes. “You’re making it harder. Just ask him already.”

  “I appreciate your opinion—”

  “Blah blah blah.” Shaking his head, Brooks uses the remote to turn up the volume on the TV to drown out Alan’s protest. “You’re just chicken, admit it.”

  Alan tamps down his temper. “I am not. You’re being childish.”

  “Am I?” Brooks smirks and nudges Alan’s hip with his foot. “Which one of us is the one with a date next week? Me.”

  “Keep hounding me and you’ll have to call your little friend and cancel,” Alan threatens. “Unless her mother’s willing to drive you to the mall.”

  “Just ask him already,” Brooks mutters under his breath, but that’s the last he says on the matter.