by J. M. Snyder
He stopped you for speeding. Nothing else about Mark would stand out in the cop’s mind but that.
When Lt. Tench came back to his window, Mark still hadn’t thought of anything to say or do that might make him more than another notch in the cop’s ticket book. Handing over the license and registration, Lt. Tench pushed his hat back and leaned on the door frame. “So I guess I’m your first, aren’t I?”
With his mind full of the two of them, naked and sweating and clutched in the throes of passion, Mark wasn’t quite sure what he meant. “Oh no,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve done it before…”
He saw the frown on the policeman’s face and caught himself. “Oh, wait. You’re not talking about that.”
“No,” Lt. Tench said with a laugh. “I’m not. I meant this is the first time you’ve been stopped for anything.”
Lowering his head, Mark stared at his hands and wondered why he couldn’t just disappear right about now. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean any disrespect, sir, really. I just…” Feel free to stop me at any time, he thought, fumbling for words. “It’s just one of those things, you know? Where your thoughts just tumble out and oh God, you didn’t need to know I was thinking about that. I’ll just shut up now, okay?”
Beside him the cop was grinning. Tell me I’m cute, Mark prayed. Tell me you were thinking the same things I had in mind. Tell me something, please—don’t just stand there and stare at me like that.
But when the cop spoke, he only asked, “Do you know how fast you were going?”
“Too fast,” Mark admitted. And I’m not just talking about driving now, either.
“Do you know what the speed limit is around here?” Lt. Tench persisted.
Mark forced a tight grin. Just give me a ticket, please. And your name. And your phone number. And a kiss. Not necessarily in that order. “I’m guessing it’s a little less than ninety miles an hour, maybe?”
“Just a little,” Lt. Tench told him, still smiling. “Twenty-five miles an hour over the speed limit is considered reckless driving. Do you know what forty miles over is called?”
“Stupid?” Mark asked.
That made the cop laugh.
Now he’ll tell me I’m cute, Mark thought, but he didn’t.
Instead Lt. Tench stood away from the car and sighed. “Here’s what we’re going to do…”
Mark nodded, even though he wasn’t sure what it was yet—anything this man said had to be a good idea, he’d go along with it, he wouldn’t even put up a fight. Right here? he might ask, but only to be coy.
“I don’t want to give you a ticket—”
Mark frowned. Oh, you’re still talking about that. “Why not?”
Lt. Tench ignored the question. “So I’m going to let you go with just a warning, this time. But if I catch you again…”
He let the sentence trail off, fixed Mark with a stern gaze.
If I’m lucky, Mark thought, staring into those pale eyes. When he didn’t say anything, the cop clarified, “Don’t speed, okay? One day you might lose control of your expensive car here and I don’t want to have to scrape your pretty smile off the highway. Now get going.”
For a moment neither of them moved. Lt. Tench watched Mark closely, waiting.
He didn’t just say I had a pretty smile, did he? I think I might have misunderstood, so please, officer, tell me again. You like my smile, right? Is that all?
“Drive safe,” Lt. Tench told him, and before Mark could speak, he was gone.
Staring into the mirror, Mark watched him walk away, then turned his key in the ignition. The radio blared to life and he twisted the knob until the music was just a whisper. Maybe if I go up to him now, he’ll let me ask him out. Dinner and a movie. He’s not a cop all the time, is he? And he thinks I have a pretty smile, didn’t he say that?
Behind him, the police car roared to life with a tiny wail from the siren. The blue lights died and in the rearview mirror he saw Lt. Tench look at him—for a moment their eyes met, freezing them both in place. Go ask him, a small voice inside Mark’s head whispered. Go…
Lt. Tench glanced in his own mirror at the empty stretch of highway behind them, put on his turn signal, and pulled back onto the road. As he passed the BMW, he raised a hand in farewell. Mark watched him drive away, waiting until the car was nothing more than taillights in the growing dusk, and then he steered onto the road, crawled along at just under forty miles an hour, and wondered how the hell he could’ve missed a chance like that.
* * * *
Mark couldn’t get the police officer out of his mind. Three days later, he was still talking about him to anyone who would listen. “And then he leaned into the window,” he told his friends as they sat in a booth at McDonald’s, “and he said—”
“Mark, I love you!” Doug snickered and winked at Tiffany, who choked on her soda, giggling.
Beneath the table, Mark kicked his friend in the shin. “Shut up,” he growled. “Listen, I’m just telling you what happened.”
Doug kicked him back. “We know. You’ve only told us a hundred times. I’m beginning to think I was there.”
Mark glared at his friend as he took an angry bite of his Big Mac. “Well, you weren’t. You don’t want to hear it? Fine. I won’t tell you anymore.”
Across from him, Tiffany smiled sympathetically. “Tell me then, Mark.” She reached out to touch his arm. “I want to hear all about the Prince Charming who swept you off your feet.”
“You’ve heard it already,” Mark muttered.
She was just humoring him now, wasn’t she? Could he help it if he couldn’t seem to think of anything else to talk about but Lt. W. V. Tench? His mind was full of the cop and those sandy brown eyes, that red hair, the faint freckles dotting his nose and chin. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw the cop’s hands and ass and grin, and the way he said, “your pretty smile,” was tattooed onto Mark’s brain. He’d replayed the moment between them over and over again, analyzing every syllable, every nuance of the scene.
Then he thought of all the things he could have said in response, a million witty comments that would have made Lt. Tench wink at him suggestively or dangle his handcuffs from one finger like a promise and ask, “Your car or mine?”
Of course, he hadn’t told his friends that. So Mark had mentioned the guy was cute. He’d only said it once or twice, that was it. To his friends, he grumbled, “I wouldn’t want to bore you with the details.”
“Too late,” Doug told him, laughing. He slid to the end of the booth before Mark could kick at him again. “Go on, tell us one more time. I know you’re dying to. It changes each time you tell it.”
Mark took another bite of his sandwich and ignored his friend. Just because Doug had never hooked up with someone on the fly didn’t mean he had to shoot down Mark’s hope at meeting the cop again.
Nudging Tiffany, Doug added, “Soon he’ll be in your lap, giving you a blowjob instead of a ticket.”
“Stop it,” Tiffany said. She stole one of Mark’s French fries, dipped it in the ketchup on her burger’s wrapper, and stuck it in her mouth. “He’s getting pissy.”
“I am not.” Mark had had enough. Dropping the rest of his sandwich onto his tray, he started to rise. “You know, I don’t have to sit here and listen to you two pick on me. I’m sure you do a good enough job talking behind my back when I’m not around.”
Tiffany tugged at Mark’s sleeve. “Sit down,” she admonished. “We’re only teasing.”
“Yeah,” Doug said with a grin. “Sit back down and take it like a man. Tell us the story again.”
“I’m tired of talking about it,” Mark replied, though that was far from the truth. He was tired of only talking about it—he wanted to see the guy again, have another chance at a first impression, get with him already. Sinking back into the booth, he covered his face with his hands and sighed dramatically. “Fuck. Why didn’t I say something? I mean, how hard would it have been to give him my number?”
�
��He had your number,” Doug pointed out. Mark stared at him through splayed fingers. “He punched in your license and pulled up everything about you. If he was interested, he’d have called you by now—”
“Oh please.” Tiffany rolled her eyes and helped herself to more of Mark’s fries. “He’s a cop, Doug, not a damn gigolo.”
Doug laughed as he sipped at his milkshake. “The way Mark talks, they practically got it on.” Pointing his straw at his friend, he suggested, “Why don’t you try speeding around? Maybe he’ll pull your ass over again.” He winked. “Don’t forget to ask him to frisk you this time.”
Tiffany rolled her eyes. “Doug, that’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said. You can’t go around speeding, looking for a particular cop. That’s just—”
“Brilliant,” Mark declared, rising to his feet. Why hadn’t he thought of that? He could drive around the same spot where he got pulled the first time—cops always had their own little speed traps, didn’t they? Lt. Tench caught Mark the first time, right? So all I have to do is let him catch me again. “Come on, let’s go.”
“Where?” Tiffany asked, but she slid out of the booth, gathering up her tray as she stood.
Doug balled up his trash and dropped it on her tray. “I was only kidding.” Standing, he stretched his arms above his head, his shirt pulling up to expose his scrawny stomach. “What are you going to do, break every rule of the road just to find this guy?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
Mark had to see him again. And this time he wouldn’t let him slip away.
* * * *
Doug sat in the passenger seat of Mark’s car, one hand braced against the dashboard as he glanced over at the speedometer. “Aren’t you going a little too fast?”
From the back seat, Tiffany scoffed. “This is nothing. Pull over, Mark, let me drive. I’ll show you how to get stopped.”
“How many times have you been caught?” Mark asked with a laugh as he stepped on the gas. The car barely shuddered beneath him as the needle on the speedometer eased up to ninety miles an hour.
“Do you want the number of actual tickets?” she asked sweetly. She leaned back against the seat and stretched her arms out along its length. “Or are you counting all the times I’ve been stopped? Because I’m pretty good at talking my way out—”
“With a full mouth?” Doug teased. He curled one hand in front of his mouth and mimed a blowjob, pushing his tongue against the side of his cheek as he pumped his fist. “The tickets you did get were when women cops snagged your ass, right?”
“Shut up, Douglas.” Tiffany slapped the back of his head. “I don’t—”
“I hate to interrupt,” Mark told them, glancing in his rearview mirror at the blue lights that suddenly appeared behind them, “but we’ve got company.”
His heart hammered in his chest as he slowed the car down. Please be him, he prayed, keeping an eye on the patrol car as it rapidly closed the distance between them. There were a few other cars on the road and he couldn’t swerve into the other lanes, couldn’t move over, so when the cop flicked on the siren, Mark pulled onto the left shoulder. Coasting to a stop, he turned off the car and adjusted the mirror, trying to get a good look at the officer, but inside the patrol car, the cop bent down and Mark didn’t get to see his face.
“Well?” Doug turned around and looked out the back window. Tiffany turned, too. “Is that him?”
“I don’t know,” Mark muttered. “I’m fucked if it’s not,”
Doug punched his shoulder playfully. “Hell, you’re hoping you’re fucked if it is.”
As the cop climbed out of his car, Tiffany declared, “That’s not him. That’s Bubba Mack.”
“Bubba Mack?” Doug asked, incredulous. “Is that his real name, or just what you call him? I bet he’s one of the ones that lets you off with just a warning.”
Tiffany tried to slap him again, but Doug just laughed at her and ducked out of reach. “One word, Doug,” she warned as the cop approached the car. “One word and you’ll be singing soprano, you hear me? Don’t you dare.”
“Shut up, guys,” Mark warned.
Tiff was right, this wasn’t Lt. Tench—his badge read Lt. B. D. Mackenzie, and the man behind it looked as if he ate small children for breakfast. His gruff features were hidden by a pair of mirrored shades, and his thin lips pressed together into a fine line that seemed to disappear as he glanced into the window to stare at the three friends.
Mark squinted up at the cop. “Hey there, officer. I can explain…” He trailed off, not really sure if he could or not, but willing to take the chance.
“Hey yourself.” The policeman took off the sunglasses and Mark could see his face now—the bunched muscles in his jaw, the chiseled cheekbones, the beady eyes that crinkled into half-moons when he saw Tiffany. His mouth spread into a leer. “Hi there, Ms. Johnson.”
“Hi Bubba.” Tiffany gave him a shy grin, her voice soft and so unlike her usual catty sound that Mark turned around to make sure it was still the same girl in his back seat. “How’re you doing?”
“Nicely,” the officer said. Tiffany stretched her long, tanned legs out between the front seats, the cop watching her every move. “I’m surprised you’re not driving, considering what I clocked you guys at.”
Tiffany laughed. “You know I keep well under the speed limit.”
Mark’s hands gripped the steering wheel as he wondered if they could just leave already. So sorry, he’d say. Wrong cop. Let me try again.
As if she heard that thought, Tiffany nudged Mark’s elbow with one sneakered foot. “And Mark was only what, ten over? If that?”
“Try forty,” Lt. Mackenzie corrected. Now he turned his attention to Mark. “License and registration, please.”
Thanks, Tif. He might have forgotten about me if you didn’t mention my name. “In the glove compartment,” he mumbled, gesturing at the passenger’s side of the dashboard. “Doug, it’s right on top—”
“From the last time you were stopped.” Doug grinned past Mark at the cop. “He was hoping for someone else. Lieutenant Tench? You know him?”
Mark felt his ears start to burn. “Shut up.”
“Redhead?” Doug continued, ignoring Mark. “Sexy eyes, he says, and one hell of an ass. I hear he’s really hot.”
Mark pushed past his friend and opened the glove compartment, dumping the contents into Doug’s lap. “The damn registration,” he said, growing angry. “It’s right here.”
He handed it to the cop, then pulled out his wallet and handed over his license, as well. “Here,” he said. “Just take it, okay? Just give me a fucking ticket already and let’s get this over with, please?”
Lt. Mackenzie took the offered license and registration and frowned. For a long moment, he studied them. Mark sighed. “Can we get on with this?”
“I’ll be right back,” Lt. Mackenzie warned. “And watch your mouth. There’s a lady present.”
Doug glanced up from the mess in his lap he was trying to shove back into the glove compartment. “A lady? Where?”
Raising her leg, Tiffany kicked his shoulder. “Well, he sure as hell didn’t mean you.”
Just go, Mark prayed. Other vehicles zoomed past his, each one making the car shudder. What about them? Get back in your patrol car and catch one of those asswipes, let me find Tench. I wasn’t looking for you.
Slowly Lt. Mackenzie stepped away from the door, as if he had all day to dawdle. “Be back,” he said again.
Mark nodded, distracted. Was it too much to ask for a little leeway here? It was only the second time he’d ever been stopped. Maybe Doug was right, maybe Tiff could sneak off with this officer, take one for the team, get him out of the ticket. How hard would she hit him if he suggested it?
“This was all your idea,” he said as Doug jammed the papers into the glove compartment and slammed it shut. “You should pay this thing for me.”
“What?” Doug asked, grinning. “I just said it. I didn’t know if you�
��d do it or not. Hell, when do you ever listen to me?” The glove compartment popped back open and he wrestled to get it shut again. “You need to clean this thing out, boy.”
Mark dropped his head to the steering wheel and closed his eyes. “Don’t talk to me. I hate you.”
Doug laughed.
I’m glad you think this is so goddamn funny. Beneath his forehead, the leather steering wheel grew warm and he squeezed his eyes shut. Who the fuck was I trying to kid? You don’t go around looking for a cop. I should’ve just gone down to the police station, asked if he was on duty, asked if I could speak with him. But no, I had to listen to Doug and his “drive around, get pulled over again” bullshit. What the hell was I thinking?
“Oh,” Tiffany said in a small voice. “This isn’t good.”
“What now?” Mark asked, not raising his head.
Doug said, “Looks like he’s called for backup. Your ass is going to jail, Mark.”
Mark looked up into the rearview mirror and saw a second squad car pull up behind the first, its lights also flashing. Oh God.
“What did you say?” Doug asked. “Just give me a fucking ticket already? He thinks you’re going to be trouble so he’s called in a buddy. That’s what’s taking him so long. He’s going to cuff ya and stuff ya.”
“They don’t send you to jail for speeding,” Mark told him. He glanced back at Tiffany, silently asking for confirmation. They don’t do that, right? I mean, not really. Right?
She shrugged. A lot of assurance that gave him. He sighed and hit his head against the steering wheel again. He didn’t want to see anymore.
Doug didn’t let the issue drop. “Hey Mark.”
“Hush up,” Tiffany said quietly. When Doug started to say something else, she warned, “Don’t.”
Doug fell silent.
For a long moment the only sound was the whizz of the cars passing by. Mark’s mind whirled. How much would a ticket cost him? He’d heard somewhere they charged a dollar for every mile over the limit, wasn’t that right? Or was it three dollars? He didn’t know… how should he know?
