Try For You

by J. P. Oliver

  “I like the way you look at me, y’know,” he said.

  I swallowed audibly.

  My hands were pressed flat to my car, but I wanted to put them all over him.

  I just didn’t know how.

  His mouth brushed just shy of my ear and I heard him inhale like he was turned on, too, and that was almost too much, my eyes fluttering shut as I tried not to moan from just…this.

  “Whenever you’re ready to explore the sexuality you’re keeping caged up, I’d be more than happy to help you”—and he pressed his thigh against me just enough to give me a little lick of friction—“test a few things out.”

  I didn’t know what was going to happen next.

  Would he fuck me? Would he come home with me?

  I inhaled softly as Ryder pressed a chaste kiss to my jaw before drawing away.

  Unfairly, he seemed fine, except for the eyes and what was maybe a little flush on his cheeks. I didn’t need to look in the mirror to know how much worse off I looked; I could feel the heat pouring off of me.

  “Goodnight, Ace.”

  It took a long minute for me to respond, my mind spinning with a thousand hot, disheveled fantasies as he backed up towards the bar, grinning like he knew exactly what he was doing.

  “N-night.”

  7

  Ryder

  When I came back to work a few days later, I was anxious.

  Maybe it was for the first time in a long time, only because of how I had left things with Ace. Every other time there was some sort of flirtation or suggestion of attraction, he got all tense and conflicted; not like he was angry at you, but he was angry at himself maybe? I didn’t know how he’d react to seeing me again.

  But there was something hopeful there, too. Our time in the parking lot had been different from every other: he seemed more awkward than angry. It was progress.

  Probably.

  Pushing through the doors by now, my eyes sought out his desk in the office with ease. Usually, I’d see his head bent, hard at work and set on proving himself as a reliable part of Harlan PD, but this time, his eyes were trained on the door, like he was waiting.

  I barely bit back a groan.

  Ace was sexy. There was no doubt about it. When he wasn’t trying to throw hands, he was undeniably fuckable. He had the kind of slim build that made me confident that I could pick him up and fuck him against whatever surface he wanted. His eyes were cool but sharp, and I’d spent most of my weekend thinking about what it would take to make the ice in them melt.

  If our encounter outside O’Neill’s was anything to go by, it wouldn’t take much.

  I wanted a taste out of him.

  But the case came first.

  Approaching his desk, Ace’s eyes followed, giving me a once-over as I greeted him. His tongue wet his lips and then it was over.

  With a shake of his head, he said, “Morning.”

  Too late. I wouldn’t be forgetting that reaction.

  “You get much sleep last night?” I asked, teasing. “You look a little out of it.”

  Ace shot me a wry look, brows knitting as he turned back to his computer. “I’m fine.”

  God, he was cute.

  “Well, no playing solitaire today, rookie.”

  Turning quickly back, “I don’t play solitaire—”

  “Here,” I said, dropping a folder on his desk. “New lead on the burglaries. Fresh this morning.”

  He thumbed through the few papers inside, reading careful and quick. “This came in this morning?”

  “Apparently.” I didn’t bother taking off my jacket. After pulling the squad car keys from my pocket, I tossed them to Ace as he fumbled with his own coat. “You wanna drive?”

  He almost grinned. “That’s awful trusting of you.”

  I gave a light shrug, his footsteps following behind me as I lead the way to the garage.

  “What can I say? I’m in a giving mood today.”

  “Her name’s Mrs. Peters, old, single—well, a widow. Retired elementary school secretary.”

  I paused when I saw the look Ace was shooting me.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” he said slowly as we approached the petite house. It definitely was an old woman’s home with the chicken wire garden and frilly curtains in the windows. “Just—you don’t even have notes.”

  “So?”

  “You just know this town really well.”

  I shot him a lopsided grin, maybe a little flirty on purpose. “I did grow up here. I remember Mrs. Peters from when I was in, like, fourth grade.”

  Ace made a noise. “I can’t imagine that.”

  “What?”

  “You in fourth grade. I’m sure you were just as much a menace then as you are now.”

  If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was joking with me. Not wanting to spoil it, I left it as it was, climbing the pastel front steps to ring the doorbell. A moment later, the door was cracked by the lovely Mrs. Peters. She’d always been a cute woman—cardigans and broaches and big glasses—but her age really made her the cutest old woman in Harlan.

  “Hello?” She adjusted her glasses.

  “Hi, Mrs. Pe—”

  “Sorry, dear, you’ve got to speak up.” She gestured to her ear.

  I licked my lips and tried not to laugh. “Hi, Mrs. Peters. We’re from Harlan PD—you made a call early this morning and wanted to talk to us?”

  “Oh, yes, yes.”

  And then she turned away from the door without a word.

  I shared a look with Ace over my shoulder, whose face twisted a little in confusion, before she called over to us: “Do you boys like coffee? I’ve got the most wonderful Kenyan roast…”

  I huffed a little. “Sure, Mrs. Peters—that’d be great—”

  “Shoes off!”

  Ace and I stalled about a foot into the doorway.

  “Do we have to?” he asked under his breath.

  “You wanna make her mop up our tracks later?”

  Ace sighed. We both removed our shoes and followed her to the kitchen, where we took two seats at her ridiculously tiny kitchen table. Seriously, it was like a table for ants. Ace fit better than I did, but I felt comically huge in the little seat—not that Mrs. Peters even noticed as she placed a mug before each of us.

  “Thank you.”

  “About the call, Mrs. Peters,” Ace started, just shy of impatient. “The transcript of your call said you’re suspicious of a neighbor of yours?”

  “Oh, yes.” She sighed dramatically. “I’m quite worried about it. All those horrible break-ins around town and I might be living next to the very man responsible! My husband left me a real diamond necklace and a couple of fine things from around the world, so I decided I had to call in—I couldn’t bear to have them taken from me.”

  “Well, what makes you suspicious of him, ma’am?”

  “I’ve noticed a lot of strange activity there: older men coming in and out of his house at all hours of the night. He’s increased his spending and he’s been living much nicer. Better clothing and updating his home and—well, he’s even bought a new car, which is all fine, except he’s young and doesn’t have a job.”

  Mrs. Peters clicked her tongue like it was a real conundrum.

  “It just doesn’t make any sense whatsoever. I don’t think he comes from money either, so I got to thinking, connecting the dots—I’ve done the puzzles in the paper for forty years now—and it was the only thing that made sense.”

  It wasn’t enough to get a warrant.

  But it was something.

  Ace and I exchanged a look, draining our small cups quickly.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Peters,” I said. “That’s actually very good to know—”

  “What’s that, dearie?”

  “I said, thank you, Mrs. Peters.” We stood and I shook her tiny hand, biting back an amused recommendation that she invest in a hearing aid of some sort. “I’ll be sure to get this information to the captain right away.”
<
br />   Expensive coffee, it turned out, made me hungry.

  It was around lunchtime and we were out anyway, so we figured it wouldn’t hurt to stop for a quick bite. Or rather, I thought it wouldn’t hurt. Ace, as always, seemed indifferent to the idea, agreeing quietly that Junior’s Diner, right across the street from the Sit and Sip would be an all right pit stop: greasy diner food and cushy booths and a waitress named Pam who never got your order wrong.

  “So, the lead,” I said.

  “What about it?”

  “What do you think of it?”

  Ace grimaced a little, leaning his cheek in his palm, elbow on the table. “My gut isn’t exactly setting off any alarms, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  I deflated a little. “Mine’s not either. It’s weird, but…not call the cops, this guy’s a criminal kind of weird.”

  “Exactly.” Ace glanced off at the other patrons. “Though, it’s worth investigating, I guess. A lead is a lead.”

  I hummed, letting the old wheels spin a little before concluding, “It’s more likely he’s got a couple of sugar daddies taking care of him. There are enough gays and old money in Harlan for it to be viable. And, anyway, the guy we’re looking for isn’t stupid enough to raise suspicion by buying a bunch of big-ticket items in bulk. He’d probably know it would raise suspicions somewhere.”

  Pam was quick with the drinks; she had a dozen tables to tend to, so she was efficient, there one second and gone the next.

  I tore open the paper around my straw. Stuck it in. Took a sip.

  It was…quiet.

  Ace seemed stressed—he had that look on his face. The twisted-up kind that I’d come to figure out meant he was bothered or thinking hard about something, his mind stuck on the subject.

  “What’s up?”

  “Hn?” His eyes snapped up to mine.

  I raised a brow. “You all right?”

  Ace was frozen, tense like a statue, until he broke our shared gaze with a heavy sigh.

  When he spoke again, his voice was barely even a whisper: “The other night outside the bar.”

  I felt my spine stiffen.

  Felt my cock stiffen a little, too.

  The conversation—hell, the whole feeling in our booth—flipped immediately from work to personal; from investigation to rather heated memories.

  “I remember.”

  Ace looked like he was about to pass out. Had his face always been that red?

  “Did you mean what you said?”

  I let it replay in my mind like it had done over and over in the weekend that followed: his hitching breath and wide eyes and me proposing to help him test a few things out.

  I let my voice lower to match his, leaning in to keep our conversation private.

  “It was a serious proposition, if that’s what you’re asking.” I eyed him pointedly. “Very serious.”

  When Ace bit at his lower lip in thought, my eyes followed obediently. It was plush and light pink and all I wanted was to pull it between my teeth and take a bite of it myself. What kind of noise would he make if I did?

  My eyes were still stuck to his mouth and I watched them form the question: “Would you maybe… like to come to my place? Friday night.”

  I met his shy gaze.

  I couldn’t help my smile, wicked and narrowed, locked onto him like he was my prey.

  My delicious prey.

  “I’d love to.”

  8

  Ace

  In the short span of two weeks, Harlan had turned my life around completely.

  Arguably, this transfer had been the best thing to happen to me in a long time. My coworkers, who were mostly some orientation other than straight, were easy to get along with: personable and professional and welcoming. I didn’t need to hide that I was gay, but they never pressed me to share either, which gave me the room to actually breathe at work. Captain Asher was dedicated, and Eli was an excellent lead detective.

  Being friends with Ryder meant being friends with Eli, though I found it infinitely less intimidating to befriend his fiancé, Ty, and the Sit and Sip’s owner, Gavin.

  One of my days off had been spent exploring the coffee shop, and Gavin had actually recognized me. He’d even gone so far as to sit with me while giving me a free cup of coffee and a few good book recommendations. He was friendly and easy to talk to; boisterous with a real nose for people.

  What were once nights alone in my apartment occasionally became nights out to O’Neill’s or any of the number of other places downtown Harlan boasted.

  All in all, things were great.

  I liked all of my coworkers.

  Except Ryder Mueller.

  No, it was impossible to actually like Ryder when every day spent working with him put me at risk for a heart attack, always having to field the charming personality and wicked good looks and, of course, the salacious jokes and light flirtation. Before the dinner was bad enough, but in the week between then and Friday night, I had to double my efforts to keep cool at work.

  I was ready to get on my knees and pray to whoever when I was told Friday would be a day chained to my desk. No tense squad car rides, no close quarters—thank God.

  Not that I got any work done on Friday.

  The whole time was spent looking blankly at the screen, still not quite believing I’d actually fucking invited him over. Part of me thought of a million ways to cancel, but knowing Ryder, he’d never let it go—and honestly, I didn’t want to let it go either. I couldn’t look at him without sweating over how badly I wanted him, so one way or another, this hopeless, touchless pining was ending. Tonight.

  I watched every second pass on the clock, leg shaking, wound up tight not knowing how far we would be taking things tonight.

  With a knot in my stomach, I stood. Every movement felt robotic as I shut my computer down, grabbed my shit, and made for the door—unable to help myself. I looked. I admit it.

  But when I glanced at Ryder’s desk, he was watching me back, a sexy smile on his face.

  I felt my heart trying to kick its way out of my chest.

  I waved lightly, a butterfly feeling bursting, hot and sudden in my chest.

  I need to clean.

  I looked around my rental, feeling sort of frantic—why the hell had I not already cleaned the place? Laundry was tossed into hampers and hidden in closets, dishes were done, things rearranged once and then again. I broke out the vacuum and even lit a fucking scented candle just to make sure the place smelled good.

  It was good. I needed something to keep me busy until he came.

  After the apartment was clean, it was my turn.

  The shower ran obtrusively as I stripped out of my clothes and, with shaking hands, I pulled the convenience store box from under my sink. The label read clinically, Anal Douche.

  I couldn’t believe I’d actually fucking bought it, but looking at it now, I wasn’t sure if I had enough courage left in me to use it. Were we even going to do that, anyway? The plan was to experiment, but….

  I tossed the box back under the sink.

  Maybe one day, but…not today. I wasn’t ready just yet.

  Instead, I opted for a very long and thorough shower.

  I was drying my hair with a towel when I heard a knock at the door. Dressed casually in a t-shirt and sweatpants, I could feel myself trembling, knowing that he was on the other side, and that once I let him in…

  I swallowed.

  Took one deep breath.

  Another.

  Anoth—

  He knocked again, louder this time, and with a flinching push of courage, I threw the door open, my mouth drying at the sight of him.

  Ryder Mueller wasn’t in his work clothes, which meant he’d gone home to change. He had that wintergreen scent around him, but it was soapy too. Had he gone and showered as well? Whatever—he looked fuck me now hot, and his smile had the same energy.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “H-hey.”

  A beat of silence.
r />   Ryder tilted his head, glancing past me, voice lowered. “So…we gonna do this in the hallway or—”

  “Shit—no, here.” I stood to the side, gesturing. “You can come in, uh…make yourself at home. Please.”

  He chuckled as he passed by.

  I locked the door behind us with shaking hands.

  “Nice place.” Ryder plopped down on the couch in the sitting room, large enough for either of us to lie out on. “Really. Some rentals in Harlan can be kind of iffy, but this place is cute.”

  “I’m still working on getting it like home.”

  Carefully, I sat next to him, hands in my lap.

  It’s so tense in here, I’m going to fucking explode.

  I thought of turning on the TV or music or something to fill the silence, but before I could decide on any of it, Ryder shifted on the sofa, facing me as he asked, “Can I touch you?”

  I looked at him with wide eyes.

  He laughed. “If you don’t want to—”

  “I do.”

  I turned slightly to match his posture, unsure of what to do with my hands at first—but I didn’t need to worry because Ryder was there, slow and guiding and careful to give me the room to tell him no—which definitely wasn’t going to fucking happen. I thought maybe we’d kiss first or something, but he guided me down slowly until my back was on the sofa and my breathing was shallow. This was more vulnerable. Undeniably sexual.

  Seeing him hover over me like that had a…pretty instant effect.

  Ryder swung a leg over me, caging me in with his body, a knee at either of my hips though he never put his weight on my cock. A single finger touched just beneath my bobbing throat, drawing a slow and straight line down my torso to the band of my sweats.

  Teasing.

  I felt completely at his mercy.

  He dipped his head close to mine, our lips brushing, breaths mingling, but he still didn’t kiss me—no, we just shared the same hot, damp air, my breathing unsteady compared to his, so in control.

  “Close your eyes,” he whispered.