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Detective Sergeant Aaron Fowler massaged the base of his skull. It didn’t relieve the pain in his neck, because that was sitting opposite him in an expensive suit.
The law, in its majestic equality, forbids the rich as well as the poor to sleep under bridges, to beg in the streets, and to steal bread.’”
He clearly understood people, and particularly the two most potent human desires of them all: to be found interesting, and to gossip about others.
He hadn’t served in a war for people to go around not offering other people tea.
“When I read your friend’s letter, I thought that was someone who, in the right circumstances—the right hands—would bang like a barn door in the wind.
Those dark liquid eyes, the mouth that needed to slacken and gasp—Joel had a lot of ideas about that mouth.
Policing is a contract. The public agrees to give people like me the power to ask impertinent questions, give orders, or even deprive people of their liberty, under a strict set of laws and circumstances and restrictions that govern our behaviour. If we don’t respect our part of the contract, the public can’t be expected to respect theirs.
It was absurd. You couldn’t get hot for handwriting.
“Supporting our wounded heroes is one of many things that people feel passionately must be done, by somebody else.”
“Because you look like you need it? You’ve had what sounds like hell’s own responsibility dumped on your shoulders out of nowhere, you seem quite upset, and if I were you, I wouldn’t want to be alone right now. I’ve been alone when I didn’t want to be, and I didn’t like it. So if it helps, you’re welcome to be not alone with me.”
Aaron shut his eyes. He’d found Wildsmith by turn bewildering, provocative, alarming, infuriating, arousing. He thought this kindness might be the most devastating facet yet.
Joel listened and laughed, and wondered how a man with so much love to give could be so lonely.
Painful, he wanted to say. Gutting. Leaving me lonelier than just being alone would.
He should have known it was all going to end in tears; everything did, but he had thought they might have fun on the way.
“They do delicious puddings here. Would something sweet help?” “My life is falling apart and you’re recommending pudding.”
“You asked me what I thought about. I thought about the sounds you make, and how your hips move, all of it. I want to memorise how it feels to make you come because that is what I’m going to be thinking about for a very long time.”
“Problem is, it wouldn’t be easy.” He put his hand over Aaron’s. “Which is your fault, by the way.” “Dear God, Joel,” Aaron said, and pulled him over again.
“He said you wouldn’t be able to help yourself. If the house was burning around your ears, he says you’d put a kettle on the flames.”
“No. I don’t want your gratitude, your thanks, or your obligation,” Joel said. “I simply want wholehearted admiration of my courage, integrity, and intelligence, which can be demonstrated by a good shagging at any time.”
