Take Me Slow

by Shani Greene-Dowdell

  “You make me sound like a low-life stalker, but you know that’s not the case. I’m not watching you. I’m looking out for you, Yan. There’s a difference. I know you’re headstrong and will try to work without me, but it’s too dangerous out here for that,” he argues. “When are you going to get that through your head? Hopefully, before it’s too late!”

  “I know what’s going on out here better than you do, Sloane. Remember, I’m the one that goes into these rooms with men, and you’re the one who stands outside waiting for a signal. I’m always closer to death than you are, and I never flinch; I have no fear,” I tell him.

  “Whoa! That cuts deep. I didn’t know you thought of me like that. I think you know better than I do that I would go in with them if I had the right utensils,” he says, sounding wounded. “I care about what happens to you. That’s why I guard you even when you don’t want me to.”

  “I don’t mean to come off rude, and yes, I appreciate you looking out for me. It just can be a bit much sometimes,” I acknowledge.

  “Well, I want you to know I’m here for you, even though you’re always pushing me away. When I vowed to look after my partner, I meant it,” he says.

  “Thanks, partner. I have your back, too.”

  “You’re welcome, and that’s good to hear. Good night, Yan.”

  “Good night,” I say and hang up.

  A few minutes later, I drive off, heading home. I see Sloane’s car take off in the opposite direction, but as I suspected, when I arrive home, he’s already waiting at the edge of my driveway.

  “Just making sure you get in safely,” he yells out of the window.

  I smile, go inside, disarm the alarm, and do a quick search throughout the house. It’s all clear, so I come back to the door to let Sloane know it’s safe for him to leave. It’s a routine we follow most nights, so I’m used to it. Sloane’s biggest fear is one of the perps finding out where I live and then coming here to attack me. He would have to be swamped with work for him not to see me home safely. It’s become a part of our daily ritual.

  “Everything is good, big brother,” I say because he treats me as if I’m a little sister he has to guard against the world.

  “Sweet dreams,” he says, waving before he pulls off with the turbo pipes on his Camaro raging as he rides away.

  My house is quiet as I go through the motions of getting ready for bed. Once I lay down, the stranger from earlier tonight comes back to my mind. Somehow, when he was around, he made me forget about the crazy old lady’s outbursts. He made me forget my overbearing partner would likely be somewhere close by watching. Heck, he almost made me forget I’m an agent.

  Chapter Three

  Blaze

  I’m five minutes early the next night. When I pull up and get out, I notice the air is even more humid than last night, and the sky is gloomy. I spent the entire drive over lecturing myself about how inappropriate it is to be attracted to a prostitute I’m supposed to be arresting. I also reminded myself of how important it would be that I keep it together this time. For some reason, I have a terrible feeling my pep talk won’t stick—maybe because I spent much of the morning daydreaming about her golden glazed lips, with just enough plumpness to make a strong man weak, being sucked into my mouth.

  Then, I lay eyes on her again. She’s sitting on a park bench looking like a modern-day princess. I thought I had it together before I got here, but now my little head is bouncing at just the sight of her. I pace the sidewalk by the rose garden, muttering encouraging, self-control mantras to myself. Mantras that will help me get my head in the game before I even think of approaching her.

  You’re here to make an arrest, I chant in my mind over and over again. You’re a damn good officer, sworn to protect and serve this community, I tell myself, though I’m not sure I’ll ever gather the constitution to put her in cuffs. Unless it’s for other reasons.

  I quiet my thoughts and approach her.

  She’s wearing another provocative outfit tonight. This time, a candy apple red dress with glittery sparkles that seem to be melding into her cocoa brown skin. The dress shows off her breasts, and the six-inch red heels on her feet bring her just about to my height when she stands, cellphone in hand. The entire outfit is screaming ‘come fuck me,’ and the thought of another man touching her chips at a piece of my sanity.

  “Hello?” I say to take her attention from the phone in her palm.

  “Oh shit,” she spits out and freezes like a deer caught in headlights when she looks up into my eyes. “You came,” she says sounding extra raspy.

  “Yes, why wouldn’t I?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. I know you said you were coming, and I was hoping you would. I’m glad to see you,” she rambles.

  I have to remind myself it’s all an act for her. She gets paid and has probably been trained by a pimp or, worse, traffickers, to seduce men into a stupor. This innocent girl act is likely part of the scheme.

  “I’m glad to see you, too,” I admit, sounding as if I suddenly have cotton in my mouth. The dryness from me holding it open in awe of her beauty is evident. “I mean, look at you. What man in his right mind wouldn’t come back to meet you?”

  The comment is partially me just doing my job, but mostly I can’t help myself. The flirtations with her are genuine. I want her to hear every word, soak it in, and understand her beauty.

  She blinks, and the sweep of her eyelashes is spellbinding in the dim light of the lamp overhead.

  “I guess you’re right,” she says, smiling. “Now, where were we last night, again? Remind me.”

  I step closer and let my voice drop an octave. “We were talking about what I have to do to get you in my bed,” I say, cutting to the chase. That’s easy enough to do because a larger part of me than I would like to admit wants this bed tango to happen pronto.

  “Right,” she says slowly. She runs her tongue across her plump lips with the promise of something I wish to have. “I was telling you that, I could do that for just for a hun—”

  A loud boom of a thunderclap overhead stops her mid-sentence. It’s an ominous warning that comes out so loud she jumps closer to me. Seconds later, it’s pouring heavy raindrops that soak us both through our clothing to the skin.

  “Shit,” we swear in unison.

  Where did this rain come from? I don’t recall hearing anything about bad weather tonight, but the water is coming down fiercely, and it’s freezing. I can see goosebumps dotting across her arms, and one pert nipple, peeking out from the tight fabric of the dress and pebbling under the water.

  “Fuck,” I say with feeling as my mind races to come up with a backup plan. All I can think about is how much I want to kiss the woman standing in front of me while raindrops coat our bodies.

  She looks pornographic with her dress matted to her compact frame. I never really thought I had a type before today, but now I’m perfectly aware that my type is wet. I’m going to be jerking off to this mental image for months.

  “Tomorrow night,” her beautiful voice says with yet another promise to make this, whatever it is, happen the next night.

  A tinge of disappointment travels through me, yet, I say nothing. I’m staring at her, struck speechless. I’m frozen in my spot watching her ass dance as she runs away in that tight red dress.

  “Let’s do it at the Day Eight Motel tomorrow so that we won’t get rained out,” she yells over the thunder. “Same time!”

  By this time, she’s almost around the corner. I want to run after her, but I’m overtaken by the thought of us being in a room together. With a bed.

  Meeting her at Day Eight Motel is going to be a nightmare of a test for my self-control. Only the shock of cold water raining down on me clears my head and stops my thoughts from derailing to all I can do to this beautiful woman with a mattress to spread her out on and a little privacy.

  “Are you sure I can’t give you a ride?” I ask, a last-ditch attempt to make this happen tonight.

  “No, my car is
parked right over there.” She points to an impressive little red sports car. Whoever has her out here has her out here in style.

  “Wait!” I yell.

  “Yeah!” She turns to face me, firm breasts being caressed by planes of water.

  “What name will it be under?” I ask, stalling.

  “Ar-Ari,” she says and smiles.

  “I’m Blaze!” I yell as she slides into her car.

  She rides off before I jog backward in the direction of where I’d parked my squad car, well out of sight of our meeting location.

  “Dang! Glad she didn’t accept the ride, Magic Mike. You would have blown your own cover inviting the girl to your squad car,” I kick myself as I think about Ari who has that numbing effect on me. She definitely has what it takes to make a man forget his purpose in life, and for his mind to create a new purpose of being all he can be…for her. “Ari,” I repeat her name slowly, simply to hear it again. What a beautiful name?

  Chapter Four

  Ari

  “Hey Sloane,” I answer my buzzing phone the following night.

  “Hey Ari, just checking on you. I was tied up last night and couldn’t come out to back you up. Sorry about that. I hope everything went okay,” he says sounding distraught.

  “That’s not like you, man. You’re slipping,” I begin, breaking Sloane’s balls since he’s always busting mine. “Where were you, Sloane? You call me with all of this bitching about me not letting you know when I work. Then, last night when I call you to tell you I’m about to work I don’t get an answer, so who’s slacking now?” I ask, playfully sarcastic.

  “Sorry, I couldn’t be out there last night. I was working up an arrest on the Northside, and it was sticky with an officer-involved shooting.”

  “Oh yeah? Who’s the officer?”

  “Me,” he said in a grave tone, and I could have sworn I heard the faintest sniffle.

  “Damn, what happened, Sloane?”

  “This guy was committing an armed robbery of a gas station I just happened to be at filling up my car. When I walked into the store, I saw him waving his gun around in the back. I took out my gun and shot him because he was threatening to kill everyone in the place because they didn’t have a lot of money. He wouldn’t follow commands, and—” he stops midsentence and begins breathing deeply.

  “Did the perp survive the shot?” I almost hated to ask.

  “Yes, but someone videoed the shooting, and now it’s all on social media. The higher-ups had me at headquarters all day working on the paperwork so it could be an open and closed situation when it comes to my reasoning for doing what I did.” He sounds nervous as if he’s not sure of himself.

  “Sorry, you have to go through that. None of us want to be involved in a shooting, but it comes with the territory,” I reassure him.

  “You know me better than anyone else, Yan. With us both being fresh out of college and around the same age when we came into the agency years ago, we have grown together. Through our talks, I have an appreciation for the plight of blacks, Latinos and other races when it comes to police shootings. You know how I feel about that. What they are saying about me is wrong. I don’t deserve to be talked about as if I’m an animal, just because I was trying to save lives,” he says, his voice weakening.

  “Well, Sloane, I haven’t even checked social media, but I do know you will guard any man, black or white, with your last breath. At the same time, you will put a bullet hole in any man involved in criminal activity and threatening the lives of others. So, if I were you, I wouldn’t worry about it. Your name will be cleared in the end,” I say to console him. Yet, we both know in the current polarizing state of media, and especially social media, people have already made up their minds, and there is nothing he can do to convince most of them of his true intentions. This whole situation is messed up, so I don’t know what else to say to brighten his mood.

  “It’s easy to say not to worry about it, but man, oh, man, seeing my name go through the mud is hard. What I don’t understand is how thousands of people who know nothing about me can call me a murderous pig when they don’t have but a few-seconds clip of what happened.”

  “Well, it’s the nature of the beast these days. Bad cops have made it harder for the good ones to do their jobs, that’s for sure. But, don’t worry about it, I’ll speak up for you, Sloane. I know your heart.”

  “Will you do that for me, Yan?”

  “Of course, I will,” I tell him. “And, you’re not missing much on the trafficking case either. I think they’re hiding out because they’ve been tipped off. I haven’t seen any of those girls I was suspicious of since I asked them questions about who they work for,” I update Sloan.

  “I was worried about you last night when I couldn’t make it. That was the hardest part of the night, thinking something might happen to you while I was at the precinct filling out paperwork.”

  Sloane is such a protector. With all he has going on with the shooting and social media slander, he’s still worried about me.

  “It’s okay, partner. I didn’t get into much because it started raining and no one else came by. Just the guy from the other night, but it started raining before we could get to the next level.”

  “Good, because I worry about you. I don’t know what I would do if something happens to you,” he says, his voice cracking once again. Sloane doesn’t have many friends in New York City. We are both implants in the city and have leaned on each other over the years.

  “I know you worry, but I have been telling you since I started that just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I can’t handle the men I deal with. I always think of a way to entrap them before I slap the cuffs on them. If I can’t do that, there’s a bullet for anyone who gets out of line,” I explain.

  “You definitely know how to entrap a man, and you have ways of doing it without bullets,” Sloane says, his voice lowering an octave.

  “Yeah, and they fall for it every time,” I brag, laughing.

  He laughs along with me. His laughter is a beautiful sound after the misery he’s just shared with me.

  “I’m at home and staying in tonight, big guy, so you don’t have to worry about me. I’m going to watch Netflix until I fall asleep. Tomorrow, I’ll see if I can locate those girls by talking to some of the new ones out there. They were tight-lipped at first, but after being out there a month, I think I’m gaining some of their trust.”

  “You’re good at what you do, Ari.”

  “Thanks, Sloane.”

  “Well, enjoy your evening,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Okay. You try to enjoy your evening, too. Don’t worry about what people are saying on social media. We both know you did your job, and probably saved the lives of the clerk and people in the store, too. It’s what we do,” I remind him.

  “You’re right. I feel better after talking to you.”

  “Good, now let me go. My movie is coming on.”

  “Please, let me know if you get an itch to roll out tonight. Don’t go out alone. Stop trying to be a solo agent,” he fusses.

  “Yeah, yeah, and yeah…” I say, hanging up. He knows me too well.

  I’m already dressed and ready to meet Blaze. I wait for him in the lobby of the motel to save him from an uncomfortable conversation with the check-in clerk at the front desk. The woman is extra chatty, and she likes to give people she thinks are my Johns a hard time.

  When Blaze walks up, he’s wearing comfortable looking gray sweatpants, a gray zip-up jacket, only half-zipped, with nothing on underneath, and a pair of gray LeBron tennis shoes.

  Why Lord? Why must this man be so sexy with so much swag?

  A sound I never heard before escapes my lips. It’s instinctive, and I can’t cover it up once it leaves my mouth.

  “Hello,” he says when he reaches me. “I hope that sound you made means you like what you see.” He’s charming and relaxed.

  “Yes, I do like what I see,” I admit, honestly. I like everythi
ng about him. Still, I will my eyes not to travel down to stare at his package. The site of it, sitting off to his right, thick and long, is calling me by my real name.

  Yan-dyeee, come to the light.

  “Thanks,” he says, eyes narrowing even as half of his face twitches with humor. He knows I want him, and his gestures only make me want him more.

  “I mean, you look…nice,” I correct myself, hoping for a little more ladylikeness in this modification.

  “You’re looking good yourself,” he commends with not only his words but the looks of lust as his eyes roam all over me in approval.

  “Do you always dress like a pimp in a bad hustler movie?” I ask to break the sexual tension between us. I really am playing off the fact that everything about him is candy to my eyes.

  “Only for you, Sweet Ari,” he says.

  All my hopes of my humor dragging me out of the spell he’s bound me in, for the third night in a row, is gone.

  “Big Blaze, I like you. I like you a lot,” I admit.

  He freezes when I call him Big Blaze as if he’s startled by hearing his own name.

  “Did I say something wrong?” I ask.

  “Oh, nothing.” He looks around, checking the mostly deserted lobby and then lowering his voice. “I just like the way you say my name. It’s word porn coming from your lips.”

  “It’s appropriate—because, you know, you’re looking kind of big and blazing in those sweats. I’m just saying.” If I weren’t here to do a job, he is precisely the type of man to have me falling off the deep end. Who doesn’t want a tall, sexy man that’s fine, and he’s packing?

  He chuckles. “You’re too much.”

  “Plus, I need a name to call you when we’re…” I run my tongue over my lips to wet them and to signify what we’re there to do. Am I really about to do it? Sure seems like it.

  Blaze watches my every movement with an intense stare.

  “With you looking so beautiful, it’s pretty fucking easy to remember why we’re here. Also, big and blazing is pretty damn accurate. So, sure, you can call me Big Blaze.” He runs his hand up and down the length of what I am sure is all manhood. If he were any other John, that action would have had me ready to cuff and cart him off to jail, but the ways I want to cuff Blaze are against all the rules.