Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
He couldn’t say why he’d come back to the diner. He couldn’t say why he’d lied to Raoul about having to take care of another crisis for Janie, especially not while their caseload kept growing and they were still investigating the narcotics case in their free time. He couldn’t even acknowledge how badly he’d ached leaving Azariah’s apartment that morning. All he could do was keep breathing.
He swallowed the desert in his throat. “I gave him the afternoon off from babysitting me.”
“That right?” Azariah cocked a hip and tilted his head like he had all the time in the world to chat. Like he wasn’t bothered in the least by what they’d done. Maybe it happened all the time for him. Hell, he was beautiful enough for that to be true. Once again, the urge to punch someone tensed Connelly’s muscles. To distract himself, he took in his surroundings.
Like always, Sal’s was packed with customers. Only a few tables were left empty and they would, no doubt, be filled soon enough. The usual smells and sounds should calm him a little. The routine should feel sedate, but it didn’t. Not today. Probably not ever again.
“Plus, he was getting on my nerves with all of his pre-papa jitters.”
There was a twinkle in those onyx eyes and Connelly latched on to it like a sign from above.
“I can see how that might be annoying.”
“Right? It’s like he feels the need for everyone else to be where he is, all happily married and expecting.” Connelly shook his head. “He can’t understand how that’s not for everyone.”
“You saying you don’t want to get married and have little Hot Fudge Sundaes?”
The question was awkward considering they barely knew each other, but Connelly answered anyway. “I’ve got enough on my plate rescuing my sister and her two boys from imagined crises. Not to mention my mom’s inability to accept that my dad is gone. What about you?”
Azariah’s scoff was full of resentment and tinged with regret. “Not likely.”
The way he just brushed the idea aside made Connelly push, “Why not?”
Those gray-black swirling pools of mystery sucked Connelly in until he was caught in the vortex of Azariah’s disillusion.
“That kind of shit is not in the cards for people like me, Detective. Happily-ever-afters are for dreamers and I’ve never been one of those. I’m a realist all the way. Reality is dark and gritty and completely fucked-up.”
Another piece of the Azariah puzzle quietly clicked into place. Even though Azariah projected toughness and a cocky attitude, deep down there was a damaged heart he tried so hard to hide. Connelly had seen a lot of the same thing when he’d been a beat cop. The homeless teens who ended up sucking random cocks just to survive often looked at him the same way Azariah looked at him now.
He ached from the comparison.
The beating of the trans woman still weighed heavily on his mind, and now that he’d seen the real Azariah he was filled with worry about his safety. But more, he was struck with deep curiosity about Azariah’s past. What happened to make him so hard? Who’d hurt him?
He didn’t get a chance to ask before Azariah asked, “So, you’ll have the usual?”
“Uh, right.”
Azariah nodded and walked away leaving Connelly feeling closer to the secret treasure he hadn’t even known he’d been searching for, and yet still so far away.
* * *
Z couldn’t shake the urge to apologize even though he hadn’t done a damn thing wrong. Truth was truth. It didn’t matter if it was easy to swallow or if it cut you to shreds. Still, he stomped around the restaurant—earning zero tips because of his attitude—and feeling like a slug. Finally, when Connelly’s order came up he gave himself permission to plead insanity.
“I’m an ass,” he said as he set Connelly’s plate down. “Sorry if I ruined your lunch with my angsty bullshit.”
“I’m the one who should apologize. Nothing is ruined.” Hot Fudge gestured to the seat opposite him. “Sit with me.” His face was questioning but the words were a command.
That voice brought up memories of the night before and how it had felt to have Connelly thrusting into him, growling his name like a prayer. Z shook with the temptation to bend over the table and beg for another round. Instead, he bit his lip and looked at the clock hanging above the kitchen door.
Sal might kill him, but what the hell. “Okay, let me go tell Cindy I’m taking my break.”
A minute later he was pulling off his apron as he slid into the booth across from Hot Fudge and pretending it was normal. He didn’t dare ask himself why he’d agreed so easily because he was afraid of the answer. It was that fucking warmth in those goddamn hazel eyes, they melted all of his usual snark.