Shattered Glass(31)

“Don’t make me lock you in a cell, Glass.” I was never Austin with cops. I was Glass. It was a terrible nickname. I was not breakable; and being linked to my family name was distasteful. My dislike of that tether was probably why Luis was just “Luis” with me.

“What kind of gifts do people give their partner on hump day? Lube? Vibrators? Issues of Bazooms with a box of tissues?”

“The gift of silence,” Luis replied. We stopped at a light, and he leaned over to grab his lighter, cupping his hand as he lit his cigarette. I sighed, my mind automatically imagining tongue rings, pink lips and pierced…things. All my orders to stop thinking about Peter accompanied Luis’s smoke out the window. “Dios Mio, kids today.” Luis rolled his eyes and shook his head in what appeared to be resignation.

Today’s lovely motor-pool issued car had no working lighter, air conditioning or sirens. What it did have was the strong odors of meth, vomit, urine and bleach. At least I hoped it was bleach. I shuddered to consider what else it might be. And now, it smelled of smoke, too. I coughed and stuck my head out the window for a breath.

“Out of curiosity, when do I grow up and become a full-fledged man with a penis?”

“When words like ‘hump day’ don’t make you giggle like a twelve-year-old,” he retorted, blowing smoke my way.

“Wow, that long?”

We weaved through traffic at a pace considered slow by blue-haired grandmothers. It was another hot and sticky day, with both of us in suits. Luis, who, surprisingly, did not have a trust fund, wore the same mismatched blazer as yesterday, with a pair of nondescript green polyester slacks—which were wrinkled beyond repair. My new Brooks Brother’s grey suit, specially made to remain crease free, fit me like a glove. He was comfortable, barely sweating. I could have squeezed my jacket out and created a neighborhood swimming pool.

We had just completed a four-hour long review of the evidence on the Alvarado case so we could be prepared for the afternoon’s interviews. And we did it while boxed up in a tiny room, the air quality resembling that of a third world country. I had suggested lunch to clear our heads.

Half a block from the station, my cell rang. I clicked it on while waiting for my partner’s reply. “Glass,” I answered.

“I can’t go out with you,” Peter stated, sounding as if he was speaking between tightly clenched teeth.

I pointed at a McDonalds. Luis shook his head and went the other direction. I recognized the route to our favorite Mexican place. “Sure you can,” I said into the phone, relaxing back into the seat without protesting Luis’s decision. “You get in the car, I take you to coffee, we talk, you find out how charming and loveable I am, invite me in to your house, kiss me and take me to bed.”

“You’re frustrating,” came Peter’s reply. Luis glanced over with raised brows as he parked.

“I’m adorable.”

“From a distance,” Peter admitted—grudgingly. I calculated just how tight his lips were clamped by the way he had said it. Grudging or not, he thought I was adorable. Mental victory dance time.

“Up close, I’m sexy as hell.”

“You’re rich, spoiled and used to getting your way,” he said stubbornly.

“Not true. If I had my way you would have kissed me and ridden me like cowboy while screaming ‘yeehaw’.”

I heard a choking sound over the phone. Or was it from Luis? “What makes you think you won’t ride me?”

My turn to choke. And blush. I never blushed. Before now I would have thought the only way I would blush was from sunstroke. Luckily, only Luis could see it. And his brows disappeared into his receding hairline. A difficult thing to accomplish, considering it resided somewhere on the crown of his head.

“Yeah. I think that’s how it’s going to go,” added Peter as the silence stretched. My brain broke again. Images flashed in my head that were really more graphic than I was ready for. “I think you’re going to spread those—”

“Anyway,” I sing-songed and cleared my throat, “about Saturday. I’ll see you at three.” I hung up quickly, checking Luis from the corner of my eye. I’d worry about Peter’s buyer’s remorse later. Right now I was too concerned with finishing that sentence. Spread those what? Cheeks? Legs? Lies? Rumors? Okay, I was just kidding myself with those last two.

“Soooo. That was not Angelica,” Luis said.

“No, that was not Angelica,” I evaded.

“Glass, tell me that wasn’t the Cotton boy.”

Well, if he insisted. “That wasn’t the Cotton boy.” I nodded gravely. “I think I’ll have the Menudo today.” I climbed out of the car while Luis went on a Spanish cursing rampage.