Shattered Glass(102)

Yes. “You didn’t attempt to poke things up there,” I pointed out.

“You’re hurt. I’m not sadistic.” He turned left, swinging the car along the curb as we arrived at The Manhole. “Next time I see your naked ass, don’t count on my self-control,” Peter said. A change of subject was in order.

“I thought he was at the hospital?”

“He was.” At that moment I knew Darryl had gone to the club to set up the gig as Peter had requested. I wasn’t going to think or talk about that. And neither was Peter, apparently.

Darryl leaned against the wall just outside the entrance, dragging a finger down the chest of a man whose neck was nearly the size of Darryl’s waist. “He’s not going to the station like that.”

“Okay.” The smile Peter gave me was tilting on the wrong side of malicious. “You’re going to tell him that?”

“Yes,” I said cautiously.

“Do you know what Darryl does here?” He honked the horn and pointed at The Manhole.

“Bartender? Dishwasher? Go-go dancer?” I couldn’t remember what he’d said Darryl did. The latter seemed most likely. And though I’d been in few gay bars, I was sure somewhere I’d seen go-go dancers. Of course none of them were scrawny, if I recalled scenes from various Vice raids.

“Part-time bartender. Part-time bouncer.”

“He weighs less than my fist!” The subject of our discussion lifted a delicate finger off his prey’s oiled chest and held it up to us in a ‘one-minute’ gesture.

“When you look like him, and your dad’s in the mob, you learn to take care of yourself. Ever since he saw The Matrix, he’s been obsessed with martial arts. Darryl’s got a black belt in Jiu-Jitsu.” My jaw unhinged like screws were yanked from under my ears.

I focused on Darryl’s bright red jeans and the protruding hips jutting out of the waistband. Unconsciously I licked my lips, caught myself and deliberately turned to Peter who was eyeing me with interest. I was not checking Darryl out, goddammit.

“People aren’t always who they seem, Detective. Am I anything like you thought?”

“No,” I admitted. You’re a million times better than I could have imagined. And that was the problem. Looking at Peter, I realized that I was never going to get over him. A distressing thought when I considered I might not ever have Peter.

“I like it when you look at me like that,” he murmured, lifting his fingers to my brow and tugging gently on the strands of hair that had escaped my gel. His hand smelled faintly of soap and leather. I turned my face to his wrist and gently pressed my lips against his pulse, inhaling to find a trace of his usual scent. The moment was so remarkably tender, I forgot to exhale for a few seconds. My pulse raced, demanding a new breath. It was exhilarating, but terrifying, to be this vulnerable in front of him.

So, naturally, I had to ruin it.

“That reminds me. Did you quit smoking?”

His hand dropped, gripping the steering wheel once more. “Cai steals my cigarettes and flushes them.” He scowled. “I gave up.”

Excellent. “Remind me to buy him a boat. Or an island. Or something useful for sixteen-year-olds. Like lobotomy equipment for his human experimentation.” Peter arched a brow and looked at me like I was green and from planet Zeezob; and then his gaze skirted to my left.

Darryl knocked on the window. I got out and pushed up the seat so he could slide in. He folded into the backseat with a gentle “Toodles” to the big guy. “Dennis wants to take me to Hawaii,” he announced with a cross of his legs. I rolled my eyes and got back into my seat, carefully avoiding sitting in a way that might have me screeching like a ten-year-old girl.

Darryl apparently noticed my scowl. “What goat horned his ass? If you plowed him so hard he can’t sit, Rabbit, he should be beaming with joy.”

Peter’s shoulders shook. He turned away from me, not only to check for oncoming traffic, of that I was sure. “I thought maybe he was jealous of you and me, but now I think he just wants you,” Peter baited.

I was not joining in this discussion. Eventually the subject changed to the house, their injured friend and the fire and what they had lost. The pictures, Cai’s paintings, books and little things, like Joe’s pipe and Cai’s last tooth. Things that I hadn’t even thought about. It reminded me, once again, that Peter was taking punches left and right and not even staggering. His maturity and resolve astounded me.

There wasn’t any salvation from Peter at this point. I was falling too hard.

“Another reason we’re going to the station,” I said. “You’ll both have to speak to an officer about the fires.” Just more shit to do for the Day That Never Ended.