by Brandon Witt
For a second, the man didn’t respond, still studying Marlon, and then he gave a slight nod. “Thank… you.” His accent was thick, and the words sounded like they’d taken great effort.
Marlon smiled and was about to respond, when he heard the car door open and the voice that had begun to fill his nightmares.
“Hey! Back up!”
All three of them—man, woman, and child—flinched and turned toward Andrew.
Marlon instinctively took a step around them, putting himself between the family and Andrew, who was rushing toward them, excitement on his face.
“I told you to wait in the car.”
Andrew’s smile was back, and though he addressed Marlon, he didn’t take his gaze off the man. “And not protect my partner? What kind of cop do you think I am?”
“I’m not in any need of protection.”
Andrew gestured toward the man. “I look in the mirror and see this guy getting aggressive—”
“He wasn’t getting aggressive, as you know.” Marlon took another step, cementing his place in front of Andrew. Andrew stepped around him.
The man said something, whether to them or his wife, Marlon wasn’t sure. Whatever the words, the tone was rushed and worried. Marlon’s heart sank, knowing exactly how Andrew would respond to the man not speaking English.
“Was that a threat?” Andrew stiffened and moved his hand to his gun holster at his waist.
The man said something else, his volume increasing. The woman spoke, clear pleading in her tone.
Marlon didn’t look at them; he moved in front of Andrew and placed a hand on his partner’s chest. He kept his voice low in warning. “Knock it off.”
With his free arm, Andrew knocked Marlon’s hand out of the way. He moved around Marlon once more, addressing the couple. “I need to see both of your IDs. Now.”
At the sound of the man’s response, Marlon turned so his back was no longer toward the couple. There was aggression there now, to be sure. Fear too, but Marlon wouldn’t be surprised if the man launched himself at Andrew or him.
Andrew began to pull his gun, and the woman let out a sharp cry.
Marlon quit trying to whisper. “Andrew, you’re wearing the new body camera, remember?”
Andrew hesitated, then solidified his stance. “You know, I think mine’s broken.”
“Mine isn’t.” Marlon held out a hand toward the couple in a beseeching manner, praying the man would hold on a moment longer before trying to protect his family. “And think about that image on the news tonight. White cop pulls gun on an unarmed black family. Not sure even your uncle could twist that around to your favor.”
The gun was barely out of Andrew’s holster, and he paused for half a second that seemed like a year to Marlon. Then he slid it back in.
Marlon expected him to say something more to the family, another demand for ID or something even more ridiculous. Instead he spared a brief, disgusted glare at Marlon, turned, and stomped off toward their patrol car.
Though hesitant to take his gaze off Andrew, Marlon refocused on the family. The woman had tears rolling down her cheeks, the boy looked terrified, and the father seemed like he might still attack at any moment. Marlon held up both hands, met the father’s gaze, and nodded, then addressed the woman. “I’m so sorry. So very sorry.” Keeping one hand out in front of him, he reached down for the first aid kit, then backed away several feet before walking to the cop car.
He didn’t bother returning the kit to the trunk or even buckling his seat belt. He tossed the kit in the backseat, got in, and just put the car in drive. With barely more than a glance to make sure there wasn’t a car coming, he hit the gas. He wouldn’t put it past Andrew to dart out of the car and start the damned thing all over again.
They were several miles away before Andrew spoke. “You know they were illegals.”
Marlon gripped the steering wheel tighter, his anger causing his arms to shake and the car to swerve slightly. He let out a long breath. “We don’t know any such thing. And even if we suspected that, you’ve no legal cause to ask for ID.”
“You’re such a pussy cop.” Andrew pulled the lever on the side of the seat and leaned back, making a show of lounging. “I need to request a better partner.”
“You do that.” Marlon kept his eyes on the road, afraid if he looked at the man, he’d say or do something he’d regret. If only Andrew could get another partner. Chief Schmidt had made it very clear to Marlon that changing partners wasn’t an option. He didn’t trust any other cop to keep their cool with Andrew and be able to hold him in check.
Such a great reward for being one of the best officers on the force.
When Marlon left the police station, he drove aimlessly for over half an hour. The day had been nothing but one dig from Andrew after another and left him too angry to be around anyone.
He needed to cool down before meeting the guys at Brother’s Bar. It would be nothing but talking shop, and at the moment, he wouldn’t be able to keep his tongue in check when it came to Andrew. Not that the others wouldn’t understand. They all pretty much hated Andrew, which was one of the main reasons Marlon had the privilege of being his partner. Marlon was about as difficult to rile up as a bushel of frozen cucumbers, at least that was how Chief Schmidt worded it. Still, if Marlon said too much, it was sure to get back to Andrew somehow, and he would make Marlon’s life even more miserable.
Part of him almost wished he’d let Andrew do something. Something that would be big enough to negate Andrew’s ties to his senator uncle and former police chief grandfather. Although, that big enough something would’ve come at the cost to an innocent family who’d had the misfortune of a bike accident.
The possibilities that flooded his mind the past few months rushed through him like a hurricane. Thirty-eight wasn’t too old to start a new career. He’d been on the force for fifteen years. That was a good amount of time, for anyone. A life change could be what he needed.
Except it hadn’t even been a thought until Andrew started occupying the passenger seat. Andrew had been a pain in the ass since day one, but he was steadily getting worse. It was only a matter of time. And Marlon didn’t want to be anywhere near when that time came. But he didn’t want to stop being a cop either. He loved being a cop.
At least he used to.
He could move. California had always been alluring. But he was too much of a family guy to want to leave Denver.
Marlon pulled his car into the Brother’s Bar parking lot, slammed it into park, and smacked his open palm onto the steering wheel, imagining it was Andrew’s face. He’d have to talk to the chief, again. One of these times, he’d listen. And screw cooling down. He needed a drink, and if he happened to spout off too much about Andrew, then so be it. He turned off the engine, got out of the car, and halted.
“Oh. No fucking way.”
He narrowed his eyes and glared at the red sports car glowing directly under the street lamp illuminating the parking lot. He didn’t need to inspect. Didn’t even need to see the vanity license plate to know it was Andrew’s. Just his damned luck. Andrew hated the guys as much as they hated him. It only made sense Andrew would choose this night—the night when Marlon was more fed up than he’d ever been—to try to be one of the boys.
Marlon slipped right back into his car and peeled out of the lot, cursing under his breath. He drove for a bit longer, then realized he was cruising up 17th Street—the old gay section of 17th Street. He’d spent many an hour at JR’s when he was younger and at the Wrangler after that. Both were now gone, making way for upper-class, straight, yuppieville.
The new Hamburger Mary’s caught his eye; at least a bit of the old gayborhood was left, refurbished or not. He drove past it without a second thought. Drag queens weren’t his thing. Although… he’d heard the new location had more of a sports bar feel to it. It didn’t sound as relaxing as unwinding with the guys, but if he couldn’t be with other cops, at least he’d be around gays. And most importantly, A
ndrew wasn’t there.
He made it about another half mile before he turned around.
CHAPTER TWO
Vahin Arora
Most of the time, the mixture of blaring pop music, sports commentary, and people chattering was a smooth comfort for Vahin. Almost like an enveloping blanket of sound. At the moment, though, it was all a little too much. Too frantic and inescapable. It made him wish he hadn’t given up smoking a year ago; it would be nice to have an excuse to hang out in the parking lot for a few minutes.
“I know I keep saying it, but you are so fucking hot. You really won’t take off your shirt for me?”
Actually it wasn’t the music, sports television, or crowd that was getting under his skin. It was the blond twentysomething who was too pretty for his own good and about as interesting as a golf marathon.
Vahin cut off his pour of vodka, spared a glance at the guy, and winked. Smiles and flirting equaled a welcoming environment for all the customers, not to mention good tips. “This skintight tank top isn’t revealing enough?”
The blond licked his lips. Did that honestly ever work for the guy? “It makes me want you more.”
“Well, then, sounds like you’re enjoying me clothed.” Vahin licked his own lips, just to see the reaction—a shuddering melting expression—and moved down the curved bar to deliver the drinks to Cody, who was waiting to take them to table six.
He took a second to glance past the bar area of Mary’s and take in the bright, happy room—part exposed brick wall, part vintage pink wallpaper. He loved this place. Truly. It was more of a home than anywhere else. He simply needed a moment to remember it. The flirting used to be a lot more fun. Still was, most of the time, but his tolerance for those inept with the skill was lessening. He plastered on a smile before returning to the blond. “Another Manhattan?”
The man shook his head. “Not yet. Thanks, though.” He leaned across the bar, attempting to peer over the other side, as if hoping Vahin might not be wearing pants below his tank top. “You know, I’ve always wanted to be with an Indian. Ever since watching Slumdog Millionaire. Are you from India? Did you, like, ride elephants and shit?”
Oh God. That again. Probably saw that damn film when he was fourteen and masturbated in his bedroom to the Pussycat Dolls singing “Jai Ho.”
“You know, I rode an elephant at a zoo once, close to where I grew up. In Connecticut.”
“Oh.” His expression fell, and he gave a partial shrug. “There’s only another couple of hours until the bar closes, right? You wanna come over to my place?”
Vahin almost expected him to end the invitation with an offer to pretend to be an elephant he could ride. “Actually the boss man has me staying extra late to clean up the whole restaurant… by myself. There’s several people out sick tonight.” He made a sweeping gesture. “As you can see, this place is three old houses made into one restaurant. It’ll take me quite a while.” Not waiting for a response, he turned to the guy who was seated two stools down, a regular who Vahin knew loved blonds. “Hey, Aron. Have you met—” Shit, he was normally better at this. “—Joseph? He’s a movie buff.”
Aron glanced at Joseph, his eyes brightening, and slid over a seat. “Really?”
Vahin popped open a bottle of Bud Light, Aron’s drink of choice, and set it in front of him. Aron didn’t even notice, already attempting conversation with Joseph.
Aron was of Latin descent, but Vahin figured Joseph was probably too buzzed to tell the difference. Without looking at them again, he moved down the bar, mentally patting himself on the back. He’d managed to distract the blond without offense and helped his friend get laid, even if he’d have to perform while listening to the Pussycat Dolls. Two birds, one stone.
A shoulder shoved into his back, causing him to stumble slightly. Vahin turned around. Steven. “What was that for?”
“The boss man is making me stay late, everyone is out sick?”
Vahin’s cheeks heated. “Oh, you heard that?”
Steven nodded. “Sure did.”
“Obviously not very well. I didn’t say everyone is out sick.”
Steven chuckled, but the sound didn’t carry through the noise of the bar. “Pat’s the only one out tonight, and that’s only because she got called in to the hospital.”
“I know.”
He looked over Vahin’s shoulder, toward Joseph and Aron. “What’s the matter? He’s pretty hot.”
Vahin rolled his eyes. “You’re the one who likes them young, Steven, not me.”
“Since when? I didn’t know there was an age above eighteen you didn’t like.”
“Shut up. I’m trying to work here, boss man. Unless you’re paying to chat me up.”
Steven gave him a confused look, seemed like he wanted to say more, then shook his head slightly. He started to turn away but paused and motioned toward the other end of the bar. “That group of women is here for a bachelorette party. They didn’t bother to call ahead, but we’re trying to get some tables cleared up for them really quick. Will you make them a round of shots on the house, please? One of the dirty-sounding ones. You know, Cowboy Cocksuckers or Orgasms, something like that.”
“Yeah, I think I knew what you meant by dirty-sounding.” Vahin glanced at the women. He wasn’t sure how he’d missed their entrance. Each one of them was wearing a veil and squealing like middle schoolers. He glared back at Steven. “You’re trying to kill me.”
Steven grinned wickedly. “What? You’re turning down hot blond guys all of a sudden. Thought maybe you switched teams.”
He leveled a glare at Steven. “I’m stealing a bottle of top-shelf bourbon tonight for this, just so you know.”
Steven waggled his eyebrows and headed toward the end of the bar without comment. Vahin watched for a few moments as Steven made his way past the sports nooks and through the tables, stopping to greet the customers. It had been so many years since the two of them had hooked up—before they’d become friends or employer and employee—that he sometimes forgot how attractive the man was. Hot, really, in the stereotypical Colorado way. Rugged and bearded, Steven looked more like he should own a ranch than one of the gayest restaurant and bar franchises to ever exist.
Maybe if they’d met now, things would be different. They could have something more. No, not more. Steven was family, and in many ways, he had made Vahin’s world bright for the first time. Not more, just…. He shook the thought away.
Steven was right, though. Vahin was changing. Had changed, actually. Though none of the others had realized it. He hadn’t taken a random guy home in months. It showed what a stellar job he did with the flirting that none of them had picked up on the gradual shift. Even Vahin hadn’t been aware of it at the beginning. Two weeks without getting laid had gone by before he noticed. It had all gotten… boring.
He realized he was staring at Steven again, picturing what sex would be like with him now, after all the years. Oh, dear Lord, he had to stop that. That wasn’t going to lead anywhere good. And it didn’t feel real. Steven was more of a brother at this point than anything. Vahin was feeling… desperate. Oh holy shit. He was feeling desperate. For what, though? A relationship?
Someone shoot him.
Vahin nearly launched himself at the bachelorette party, their overarching squeals suddenly exactly what he needed to cut through his thoughts.
He puffed up his chest, flashed his brilliant smile that he knew caused hearts to melt, and leaned across the bar, invading the women’s space. “Orgasms, anyone?”
It took nearly half an hour for the women to get their tables, and by the time they left the bar area, Joseph and Aron were MIA and the raucousness of Mary’s had begun to feel comforting again. The women had ended up being a hoot. He was still going to take a bottle of bourbon, just to be a bitch, but maybe not from the top shelf.
He fell back into his routine—smiling, flirting, and making a show of mixing the drinks. The blond might have gotten stuck in his development after watching Slumdog Milli
onaire, but for Vahin, it had been Cocktail. His parents would’ve killed him had they known he’d watched it at a friend’s house, both for the R rating and the topic of alcohol, but it had been worth the guilt he later felt. Tom Cruise twirling around bottles and shakers. He’d clung to that fantasy to escape the lonelier moments of his childhood. He’d watched the film later and had to admit it was terrible, but he still loved it.
Vahin noticed the man the second he walked through the front doors. The guy glanced around nervously, as if expecting to be attacked, stepped in farther, then hesitated, staring at the huge plaster statue of Mary holding up a cheeseburger. He looked like he was about to leave when John, who was taking Pat’s spot at the door, greeted him.
The man was gorgeous—tall, deep black skin, short hair, strong jaw, and solid muscle. A thrill shot through Vahin when the man shook his head at John and moved to take one of the seats recently vacated by the bachelorette party.
What had Vahin been thinking before? That those random hookups had gotten boring? He already knew he’d be telling Steven he’d leave the bottle of bourbon if Steven would let him out of cleaning up after closing.
The man still seemed wary as he settled into his spot at the bar, looking around like he’d stepped into another world. He flinched when he noticed the neon yellow-and-green platform high-heeled shoe on the bar. He reached over and picked up the bachelorette party’s receipt from inside and studied it before rolling his eyes and placing it back.
If Vahin managed to scare the guy by not removing the high heels quick enough, he was going to kick himself. Whatever the man’s deal, he was obviously ready to bolt. Maybe a straight guy, not realizing the kind of place he’d entered. Not that nearly half of Mary’s clientele weren’t straight people and families, but it still wasn’t a place a guy on the prowl for women would typically look. Maybe he was on the down low and afraid of running into someone he knew.
Vahin forced himself to get two more drinks for other customers before he waited on the man. He grabbed a drink menu that had worked its way down the bar and slid it toward the guy he was going to get naked with before the night was over. “Hey, welcome to Mile High Hamburger Mary’s. Here’s a drink menu, in case you’re not sure what you’d like.”