A Hard Call (Stonewall Investigations, #1)

by Max Walker

But it was the man behind the desk who really blew my mind. Never had I seen a sexier man. And never had I reacted so instantly to a man before, either. He was oozing pure sex appeal, from the way his sleeves were rolled up to show off those droolworthy forearms, to the pouty lips that were begging to be kissed, to the five-o’clock shadow that I wanted to lick. Zane was sitting behind his desk, and… holy shit. I never wanted to sit in someone’s lap so damn bad before.

I peeled my eyes away before I eye-fucked his crotch and ended up getting stuck in a dick trance. Those were the worst, weren’t they?

Zane was making me want to fluff out all of my feathers and strut around him like a sex-starved peacock.

That's a fun picture.

Some people were simply dumb and made stupid mistakes, and social media tended to amplify the stupid by a magnitude of a thousand.

“Chiodo scaccia chiodo,” an Italian phrase for “a nail drives out another nail”—basically, one rusty nail can get pushed away by a shiny, much better nail. Or, in more blunt terms, get the fuck over it; someone else is going to come along, and chances are they’re going to be better than the last.

Even though I was confident in myself and my abilities, I still held on to all my insecurities like a five-alarm hoarder.

“Collin? Isn’t he pretty new?” “Yeah, only been with us for a year, but damn he’s good. He sees things in goddamn dirt particles in the air. I don’t know how he does it, but he knows what he’s doing.”

“Cheers,” I said, “to my knight in North Face armor.” There. Finally. A flirty line.

I wasn’t nearly as put off as I assumed I would have been. We talked about vacation fails and embarrassing high school moments, favorite hangouts in New York (his was Central Park, while I really enjoyed the High Line) we joked about politics, and we poked fun at each other over favorite music choices. (He actually enjoyed Katy Perry. I almost walked out of my own apartment when I found that out.)

That's too funny.

“We have a web of contacts at Stonewall that reach out far and wide. We’ll find someone who can talk. It’ll take some time, but I feel confident about where this is heading.” And I did. That was the truth. It was going to be harder than I initially thought, but I was always up for a challenge. It would keep me busy, keep me from obsessing about other things. About Jose. About the Unicorn. About Enzo.

There was a sincere warmth in his tone and in the way he reached over and rubbed a hand on Ricardo’s back, keeping those soft amber eyes on Rick. His eyes were like no one else’s. A liquid gold, a breathtaking yellow. My favorite color, my favorite precious stone, all of it encapsulated in Enzo’s gaze. And it always changed in the light, glittering like a strip of metallic gold one second and the next appearing like a deep pool of amber.

“I thought it was just a look you were going for.” He looked me up and down, a smirk breaking on those big lips of his. “The ‘sexy alcoholic just waking up from a bender and still looking hot’ kind of look.”

It felt like a moment that would have been perfectly punctuated by a kiss. If it were any other guy, I would have gone for it. But with Zane, things were different. It felt like I was coaxing one of the rarest, flightiest birds in all the world. And the last thing I wanted was to spook him or scare him off. Nope. I wanted to grab this rare Amazonian Tweety Bird and never let go.

What precisely is an Amazonian Tweety Bird?

He really did look comfortable in the shorts, and, on the more selfish side of my request, he also looked sexy. as. fuck. They were the short running kind of shorts, made of a thin material that ended inches above his knees and showed off his muscular thighs and biteable calves. That mixed with his button-up dress shirt, and he was a hot, sexy mess I could stare at all damn night.

“I miss him,” I said, being a hundred percent honest with Enzo. “Jose. We were married, and everything was good, great, and then it happened—” “I know,” Enzo said, sparing me from having to say it out loud.

“I was waiting for the right time to bring it up, or until you felt comfortable enough to talk about it. Zane. I’m so profoundly sorry for what happened. My heart breaks knowing that you’ll always have a piece of yours missing.”

“We’ve hooked up, and that’s been explosive enough, I don’t think my body can handle full-on sex with him.” “Well, if I see you walking into the office like a penguin, I’ll make sure to cover and tell the associates you had a really rough spin class.” I snorted at that. “Thank you. I knew I could always count on you.”

Most gangs do have ‘lifetime memberships’ so to speak. Although, I have a feeling it’s harder to cancel a gym membership than it is getting out of the Bloods or the Crypts.” “They make those things impossible to get out of! The last gym membership I had to cancel, they had me send a postcard by raven while I tap-danced dressed up in a bear costume. And it could only happen during a full-blood blue moon.” “Well… that just sounds like a Friday night to me.” Enzo found that hilarious. “Why aren’t I ever invited to your Friday-night bear parties?” “No, no. The bear parties are on Saturdays. Fridays we just tap-dance.” “Got it. So Saturdays are when everyone gets down and dirty with big hairy guys?” “Correct.” “I’ll be there.” “Good,” I said.

I really hated interrogation rooms. This one was smaller than the last. It was as if the chief had a running joke with the rest of the department: how small of a box could they stick us in before we ran out of air? Next, I expected to be sent into an Amazon delivery box, with holes poked through the sides for ventilation.

The Museum of Sex was blasted in neon pink through the glass next to the ticket counter. It was a dimly lit room with smiling employees welcoming everyone to the world-famous museum. I had been wanting to come (ha. ha.) and see it for a while and thought it would be the perfect place to go and lift (ha. ha. ha) Enzo’s mood. Seemed like I was right, because he was giggling like a little Italian schoolboy as we got our tickets and walked over to the entrance.

“I can’t believe I was in the Hamptons this morning and now I’m climbing the stairs into a sex museum.” “Isn’t life grand?” I said over my shoulder as I led the way.

“Boobie… jump house.” Enzo almost snorted. I had made sure to pay extra for the experience because I figured Enzo would get a huge kick out of it. “Hell yeah we want to bounce,” I replied. “Just take your shoes off before going in.” We both slipped off our shoes (“Wouldn’t wanna hurt the boobies, eh, Zane?”) and opened the door into a brightly lit bounce house, except this wasn’t your typical kids’ birthday party bounce house. The floor was two huge boobs, inflated and ready to be bounced on. But that wasn’t all. Around the bouncy boob house were other big inflated balls, all painted to look like different breasts.

It was there, surrounded by ancient sex toys in a dimly lit room, that I realized, holy shit, I think I love this man.