by Tal Bauer
They shook hands with the other team—Mike gritting his teeth through the last of their friendly heckles—and then jogged back over to Tom.
Tom beamed at him, caught between laughing and cheering. “You guys were so good! That was amazing!”
“We were amazing, weren’t we? Especially Mike.” Kris sucked on his water bottle, hollowing out his cheeks, and stared at Mike.
Mike kicked sand and licked his lips. “Thanks.” He met Tom’s gaze for a half-second and then looked away. “Um, do you have my—”
“Oh, yeah. Here.” Tom passed his hoodie over, and Mike shrugged it on quickly, zipping it all the way up. He was hot, still sweating, burning up, but he couldn’t just stand in front of Tom half-naked.
“Hey, I’m sorry about what the other guys said. They were just trying to heckle me—”
Kris rolled his eyes, sighing dramatically. He fussed with his hair, staring at them both. He could not have made it more awkward, acting like a dad or an obnoxious chaperone watching their every move.
Tom shoved his hands in his pockets and scrunched up his face. “Honestly? I’ve never been complimented that much in my life.” He gave Mike a bemused kind of smile, a helpless shrug. “They were backhanded compliments. But I’ll take what I can get.”
Kris jumped in while Mike tried to find his tongue. He couldn’t figure out what to say that wasn’t a blatant come-on, wasn’t flirtatious. “We’re all grabbing drinks after. Do you want to come? You’re not allowed to pay this time. Mike’s paying.”
“I can’t.” Tom actually seemed disappointed, not like he was bowing out due to politeness. “I have some stuff I need to do tonight, before tomorrow. I got emails during your game that I need to take care of.”
Almost ten at night, but sometimes, the work never sleeps. Mike knew how that went. “Everything okay?”
“Hope so. Maybe a signal that there is an opening for a new plea agreement. Tell you tomorrow over coffee?”
“Deal.”
Kris stuck out his hand, a delicate gesture, and cocked his head. “Too bad. We’ll miss you tonight. It was good seeing you again. You’re always welcome here.” He smiled when Tom took his hand, and then winked.
Tom flushed. “See you guys later.”
Mike watched him walk away, heading for 23rd Street. Kris hovered just behind his shoulder. “He’s going to turn around and smile. Just wait.” Kris’s voice was soft, a whisper in his ear like the devil on his shoulder. “He’s going to turn around and smile at you.”
Please, please, please…
And then, Tom did.
Mike beamed, and Tom waved before disappearing across Rock Creek Parkway.
But, coffee together the next morning turned into Mike finding a cup of coffee and a sticky note with his name on it in front of his office door. Early morning meeting in chambers. Going to be a crazy day!
He barely saw Tom, only when Tom was ducking in and out of his office or striding down the hall, head tucked together with Solórzano, who was working the stubborn felony murder case. If nothing broke today, the trial began tomorrow afternoon.
He and Kris were going to a movie that night, so he couldn’t stick around after hours waiting to see if Tom would finally have a few minutes to spare for him. The rest of the night he was grumpy and in a fit, and Kris snapped at him before the movie started. He walked home alone, Kris bailing on his bad attitude as soon as the credits rolled.
Friday morning, Winters called him and Villegas into his main office in the big courthouse to review threat assessments against the whole DC federal bench. Threats from prisoners, rumors flying in the detention center, snitches who told of revenge plots against the judges who had sentenced gangbangers and mafioso types to years and years in prison. Only nine percent of the threats made each year were serious, but it was finding the nine percent that really wanted to seek revenge or crazy fame that made the job difficult.
Mike didn’t get back to his office until after lunch. Tom’s door was shut.
But at three PM, Tom appeared in his doorway, suit jacket off, tie loose, and a huge smile splitting his face. “We did it.”
He pushed back from his desk. “The felony murder case? You got the U.S. Attorney’s Office to accept a plea?”
“And a good plea at that.” Sighing, he slouched one shoulder against the doorframe. “Solórzano wanted to focus on another trial she has with Judge King, and wanted to make an eleventh-hour deal. I held a firm line since they wanted to play games until it suited them.”
“Nice.”
“He gets twenty years, which is better than forty, and better than facing the possibility of the death penalty.” Since the death had occurred during the commission of a robbery, capital murder charges brought the death penalty onto the table. “The kid is terrified and knows he screwed up. I’m sentencing him to a prison with a good education center and trade school. He can finish his high school degree and learn a trade.” Tom shook his head. Wrong friends, wrong place, wrong time. “When he gets out, he’ll be in his mid-forties. Hopefully he’ll have a life set up for himself when he does.”
“Well done, Judge B.” Mike couldn’t stop his smile, and he didn’t try. It was the best possible ending for the kid. The very best. “So now your trial calendar has opened up. Going to take a vacation next week?”
Tom scoffed. “Yeah, right. That will be the day. I’ve got hearings on motions for other trials all next week in the afternoon, and I’ve got to finish my opinions and briefs.” He made a face, as if he were a superhero in a bad comic book. “Justice never rests.”
Laughing, Mike threw his head back. “You’re too much, Judge B.”
“Let’s celebrate. It’s after three on a summer Friday in DC. The weekend started hours ago.”
“For other people. But like you said, justice never rests.”
“We’re the only ones still here on the floor.”
“Really?” Not that he was surprised by that. Summer Fridays bled DC workers like a bad head wound. If someone didn’t have to be in DC for the sweltering weekend, they often booked it out of the city.
“Come on. Let me buy you a drink.”
Did Tom know that sounded exactly like he was asking Mike out?
They headed out of the near-empty courthouse and went across the street to the same Mexican restaurant. Their Mexican restaurant, as Mike thought of it. It was full, packed with people for happy hour and celebrating the end of the workweek. Mike steered Tom through the crowd to the patio, and they parked in a corner underneath a fan that helped scatter some of the summer heat. They both shucked their suit jackets and rolled up their sleeves.
Tom ordered a margarita, and Mike asked for a beer. This wasn’t the time to lose his wits.
He managed to keep up the small talk for a while, running through the threat assessments from the day before and then listening to Tom retell the negotiations he’d been through with Solórzano and the U.S. Attorney’s Office all day Thursday and Friday morning.
From there, Tom started talking about the game. Mike squirmed. He’d rather not remember the hot wash of humiliation he’d faced all night long.
“You guys really play well together. You and Kris are a good pair.”
“Yeah, we’re good together. We’re a regular Bonnie and Clyde.”
“Is he seeing someone?”
“No. Kris is a widower.”
“Oh.” Tom’s eyes went wide. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“It’s okay. It was a while ago. He’s dealt with it, in his own way.”
Tom wanted to ask, he could tell, but his eyes shone, bright with grief and hesitation. He took a sip of his drink and changed the subject. “Is the game usually so… ribald?”
Mike groaned. “They were trying to screw with me. I’ve never brought a friend to a game.”
“Your ex never cheered you on?”
“I… never brought a friend. I’m sure they thought we were hooking up.”
Tom flushed and
reached for his drink. He wouldn’t look at Mike.
Heart hammering, Mike tried to figure out the right thing to say. Was Tom’s blushing a tell, a giveaway? Or just a normal reaction for a straight guy? “I’m sorry. Did it make you uncomfortable? I told them all at the bar that you’re just a friend. They know we’re not— I mean, they know you’re not into dudes.”
It was Tom’s turn to squirm. “It didn’t make me uncomfortable.”
He didn’t say anything about not being into men.
“It was kind of flattering. I mean, they think that you’d go for a guy like me?” Tom snorted, and tried to laugh. It sounded forced. “I’m not your type.”
“Not my type?” Mike boggled. “Yeah, I don’t go for super smart, kind, funny, attractive guys at all.”
Tom’s flush was a permanent thing, staining his cheeks, his ears, his neck, bright magenta. He clutched his margarita like it was a shield. He shook his head, looking beyond Mike, over his shoulder with a slight frown. “Aren’t I a little old for you?”
“Hypothetically, or for real?” Mike swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “What are we talking about?”
Tom bit his lip. His eyes flicked to Mike’s.
Mike hissed, inhaling. Tom’s eyes, his open, expressive eyes, were bleeding raw, hungry desire. Terror wound through his gaze, but the want, the hope, burned bright.
“Tom?” It was the first time he’d said his name to his face, and Tom gasped. “What’s going on? What’s happening here?”
Tom took his time answering. He set down his margarita, mostly just melted ice, and swallowed. He sat back, avoiding Mike’s gaze, and his fingers clenched on the metal armrests of his chair. “Have you ever had a secret?” he said softly. “Something so huge you buried it where you thought it would die?”
Oh my God. Oh my fucking God. Mike’s jaw fell open.
Finally, Tom looked up. “I…” His lips pressed shut, and he looked pained, for a moment, like he’d been stabbed. “I really want to take you to dinner.” His voice was soft, his words fast.
Fucking Kris. His first thought was blind anger, surging through him like a geyser erupting. Anger hid everything else: shock, confusion, a mix of depression and elation. Tom was into men! He did want Mike!
But to what end? Dinner and a fuck? What was this building between them? How had Tom managed to keep this hidden from a four-inch-thick binder of background investigations?
Tom was waiting, though, for an answer. His eyes, that seconds ago had been full of hope, were dimming, shuttering, boards going up in the depths of his gaze like he was preparing for bad news. “It’s all right, Mike. I knew it wouldn’t happen.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Tom frowned.
Mike nodded. There was something here, something between them, and damn it, he wanted to know what it was. Maybe it was just Tom’s very, very careful playbook of seduction. Maybe Tom wanted a quick, hot fuck and nothing else. But maybe it was something more. Tom wanted to see him, had sought him out, and his smiles were enough to make Mike’s stomach tie itself in knots.
He couldn’t just walk away from that without knowing what was going on.
“Okay. Let’s do dinner.”
Tom went bone white, his eyes boggling. He didn’t think I’d say yes. “Uhh… Okay. Yeah, let’s.” And then Tom smiled, beamed, radiating happiness and surprised shock as he stared at Mike.
“When?”
“Tomorrow night?” Tom answered quickly. “I… Can I cook dinner for you?”
Jesus. None of his exes knew how to cook, and they’d all made him serve them. He was the one who made romantic dinners at home and planned special date nights for the two of them, things that weren’t out to a bar or a club. Was Tom a romantic, like him?
Or was this a way to get Mike to his home, get him up to bed as quick as he could? Fast seduction, nothing more?
Or was this to stay out of the public spotlight? Was there a deeper secret behind the missing information from his background binder?
Mike nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak.
Tom seemed undone, and he kept staring at Mike, blinking like Mike wasn’t really there. He took a deep breath, and then another. Nodded. “I, uh. I should go.” His hands shook as he grabbed his briefcase and his jacket and stood. Mike stayed sitting. “I’m… I’m really looking forward to tomorrow.” He smiled, weakly, and then left, striding away, almost running away.
Mike watched him go.
He leaned forward, burying his face in his hands, and groaned. What the hell was going on? Just who was Tom Brewer, anyway?
Chapter 12
June 20th
Holy shit.
He’d done it. He’d asked Mike to dinner.
So… was that it? He was out now? Partly, to one man. Mike knew, at least. Mike knew he was interested in him. And, that he wasn’t straight.
Elation took him home, and he wore a ridiculous grin for nearly the whole Metro ride.
Mike hadn’t answered his question about being too old for him, though. He’d accepted Tom’s dinner invitation and had agreed to come over, but he’d seemed… Well, of course surprised. Shocked.
Hesitant?
Doubt crept in, slipping from the dark corners of his mind like curling smoke. Old fears followed, skeletons rattling their creaking chains. What was he doing? This was never going to work. Mike would probably cancel. Which would be for the best, really. What was he thinking? He couldn’t do this!
When he got home, he let Etta Mae out to the backyard and sat on his deck, gazing out over his small patch of grass and plot of roses. Etta Mae sniffed every square inch of the yard, just like she did every day, and then did her business and flopped at his side.
He stayed on the deck, stroking her fur as the sun set and the streetlights winked on, and the hum of the city faded away.
No matter what happened tomorrow, he’d at least done something. He’d taken a chance, reached out to Mike. Cracked his closet door a little bit wider. Whatever happened next, it wouldn’t be because he hadn’t been strong enough to try.
He was up early, walking Etta Mae around the block and to the grocery store. The manager knew him by name and loved Etta Mae, so Tom handed her Etta Mae’s leash while he ran around, grabbing what he needed for dinner. He almost forgot the coconut and had to run back for a loaf of bread, but finally, they were on their way back home.
He was only a little frazzled.
Time seemed to crawl. He cleaned his house, vacuuming, mopping, scrubbing tiles and washing windows. Cleaned his bathrooms. Changed his sheets, somewhat optimistically. Ran out to the corner store and bought a flurry of paper towels, toilet paper, toothpaste, condoms, and a new bottle of lube. He tried to hide his purchases in the mundane, but the bored checkout clerk didn’t seem to care that he was buying condoms for the first time in twenty-five years, and was so nervous he dropped his credit card four times. He was worse than a high school student.
And then, time sped up, and he raced from the store back home to shower and put himself together. He’d obsessed over what to wear the night before, tossing aside pants and shirts until he found a baby blue polo and some low-slung jeans he’d bought years ago on a whim, when he wanted to feel sexy at least for himself, at least at home, before his soul shriveled up and died.
Now, he was going to try and look sexy for Mike.
God, the thought was ridiculous. And amazing. How had this happened?
His phone buzzed about an hour before Mike was due to arrive.
[What are we having for dinner?]
He grinned and bit his lip. Bounced on the balls of his feet. That’s a secret. I want to surprise you. :)
[That doesn’t help me pick out a wine to bring.]
Oh, his heart shouldn’t flutter over something so simple. Mike was just being polite. But he was bringing a bottle of wine to their dinner date. This was really happening. A nice crisp white will go well with what we’re having.
[K]
Tom exhaled slowly, trying to center himself.
An hour later, his phone buzzed again. [I’m outside.]
Come on in! Tom smoothed his shirt, ran his hands through his hair, and closed his eyes. This was happening. This was really, really happening. His heart raced, pounding, as his stomach fluttered and clenched.
But the door stayed shut.
He padded to his front door, frowning.
Outside, Mike paced at the base of the steps leading up to his front door. He held a bottle of white wine in one hand and had his phone clenched in the other.
“Come in. You don’t have to wait outside.” Mike looked amazing. Dark jeans, a light gray long-sleeve shirt. His hair tousled. Something zinged through him, desire so scorching hot he thought his bones would melt.
Mike took a deep breath and faced Tom, squaring his shoulders as he stood on the sidewalk. “I’m not sure if I should.”
“What?”
Exhaling, Mike’s shoulders bowed. “What’s going on? What is this? Were you… were you lying to me? Why didn’t you tell me—” His lips clamped shut.
Shit. “Please, come in. I need to explain myself, I know. Give me the chance to?”
Mike waited, staring at him.
“Mike… please.”
Nodding stiffly, Mike headed up. He held out the bottle of wine and gave Tom a thin smile.
“Let me put this on ice.”
Silently, Mike headed for Tom’s kitchen, Tom trailing behind. Etta Mae hopped off the couch and trundled across the hardwood, her nails clacking as her tail wagged. Mike focused on her, dropping down and ruffling her ears, scratching her neck, as Tom set the bottle of sauvignon blanc in an ice bucket.
How did he fix this? How did he explain himself? He knew, God, he knew last Saturday night that he was wrong to keep this secret from Mike. He let Mike think he was something he wasn’t, and now… He didn’t blame Mike for being upset.
