by Jay Hogan
The man ran his gaze over Michael. “I saw you were in and wanted to thank you personally for helping our young guy out last night.”
Michael nodded. “Just doing my job.”
“Maybe so. But we might have lost two if you hadn’t been there.” Distress stole into the man’s expression.
“The other officer didn’t make it?” Michael wasn’t really surprised. The guy hadn’t looked too good.
“Unfortunately, no.” Stables cleared his throat. “Lots of overtime getting done on this one. He was well liked.”
“I’m sorry,” Michael sympathised.
“Thanks.” Stables ran a hand over his face. “We don’t lose many, and it always hits hard. You’re American, right?”
Michael grinned. “So they tell me.”
“Don’t suppose you played ball back home?”
“Baseball,” Michael admitted. “Second base.”
Stables looked pleased. “Can you hit?”
Michael frowned. “I do okay. Is this going somewhere?”
“It is. We have a station team, with a few civilian ring-ins, part of a softball summer league starting in a few weeks. We’re down two players. Interested?”
Michael was surprised just how much he was. It would be good to meet people away from the usual hospital crowd.
“I’m not familiar with the rules of softball,” he warned. “I may screw it up.”
The commander laughed. “You and every other mug on the team, including the umpires.”
Michael grinned. “Just so long as you know.”
“Excellent.” The commander slapped Michael on the back, causing him to nearly swallow his tongue. “Leave your email contact with the desk sergeant, and we’ll send you a copy of the schedule and team contacts. Next practice is tomorrow at ten. Knight, here, will pick you up, seeing as how we’ve left you without transport.” He walked off leaving Michael with Knight.
The man snorted. “Looks like I’ll see you at nine thirty, then.”
Michael pulled on his coat. “I’ll be ready.” He hesitated, wondering if he had the balls to ask. Fuck it. “I’m going to go out on a limb here,” he said cautiously. “You mentioned clubbing at the G. Are you and pretty dog boy both—”
“Gay?” Mark grinned. “I am. Josh speaks for himself.”
Michael pulled on his coat. “Yeah, he mentioned it. You both out?”
“Yeah. It’s not always pretty but most of the guys are okay with it. If you want to know about Josh, you’ll have to ask him.”
“Yeah, no,” Michael said. “Guy’s an asshole.”
Mark pursed his lips. “I think you two got off on the wrong foot. He’s a good guy.” He shrugged. “A bit intense, maybe.”
Michael threw back his head and laughed. “Yeah, the guy’s got that nailed as well.”
TRUE TO his word, Mark was at Michael’s gate on the dot of nine thirty, driving a beaten-up, tacky yellow Prius.
He eyed Michael’s hair. “Rough night?”
Fuck. Michael had slept through his alarm and hadn’t checked the mirror, let alone grabbed a shower before flying out the door. “Something like that,” he grumbled, slipping his seat belt on and running his fingers through the tangled nest on his head in an effort to create some style before finally giving up. He popped his can of V, hoping caffeine would help, and cast an eye around. “A Prius, man? Really? My testosterone plummeted just looking at it.”
“Hey, don’t dis my ride, which is actually your only ride today,” Mark protested.
“Yeah, well, don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for the lift, but you may as well write Loser Gay in pink letters down the side, just saying.”
“Now you’re just being nasty.” Mark laughed, pulling away from the kerb. “Besides it’s reliable and efficient.”
“Fuck me.” Michael shook his head and laughed.
“Not today, sunshine.”
Michael snorted. He missed this kind of banter, missed his friends back home. He’d spent the remainder of the previous day alone, again, lazing on his couch watching ESPN with his neighbour’s tabby cat, Scout, perched on his chest. The damn cat spent more time at his place than his own. The animal had offered no opinion on the problem of the good dog handler, except to lift his leg midconversation and clean his balls. Michael reflected that maybe that was about as apt a statement as could be made.
He shot a glance Mark’s way. The man was looking good in a pair of loose grey sweats and a shirt that showed off finely toned muscle. The guy elicited some interest on the part of his dick, but, in reality, Michael saw potential friend more than fuck buddy. Christ. Cats and friends—he must be growing old.
He was introduced to the team, who seemed welcoming to someone they didn’t know from Adam, although Michael guessed his assistance to their colleague was mostly responsible for that. He got his fair share of pats on the back and thank-yous. He couldn’t deny it felt good.
He trialled at second base and was damn grateful he’d boned up on the rule differences, so he didn’t look a complete fuckwit on the field. As much as Stables had downplayed the competitive nature of the league, Michael knew better. No police team chock-full of alpha-male testosterone was going to take losing well. It only took one glance around the field to know these guys were serious.
The end of the practice didn’t come soon enough for Michael’s aching muscles. He thought he’d at least held his own with only a few cock-ups. The worst had been a promising hit he’d made in the second game only to be caught out by none other than Josh fucking Rawlins. The man wore a shit-eating grin for the remainder of the practice. Yep, Mark had omitted that tidbit of information, and Michael hadn’t checked the team list. Josh had arrived wearing a pair of snug training pants and a soft Nike sweatshirt, still managing to look like a damn magazine cover. Unlike Michael, who spent most of the game trying to pat his bed head in place. Josh had some good ball skills too, goddammit.
Still, Michael had hit some good balls as well, scored a couple of runs, and caught three runners out. Not too shabby for a first time, and the captain was pleased enough to offer him the permanent spot. Even Josh had shaken his hand, briefly.
Mark was the last to congratulate him, giving Michael a friendly one-arm hug. “Not bad for a Yank.”
Michael shoved him away playfully. “As opposed to a pretty gay boy driving a nana car, yeah?”
Keeping with their apparent tradition, the team headed for Kendrick’s after the practice, a pub conveniently situated within short walking distance from the field. Michael went along, finding himself sitting opposite Josh Rawlins, not his choice or the other man’s, it would seem. Josh’s expression turned to irritation every time it landed on Michael. Well, fuck him. Michael had really enjoyed the morning, dickheads aside, and he wasn’t about to let one idiot fuck up his mood. Even if that guy happened to look fifty times this side of fuckably delicious with his damp blond hair slicked back and all that freshly showered aroma wafting across the table, playing havoc with Michael’s traitorous dick.
JOSH WAS fuming, again. Fast-pitch was one of the few activities he got to enjoy on his own and now he had to put up with Michael fucking Oliver. Arriving at Kendrick’s, he’d immediately collared Mark at the bar as the guy was buying a round.
“What the fuck, man? Whose idea was it to invite him?”
His friend plastered a huge grin on his face and held up his hands in surrender. “Nothing to do with me, mate. Boss man just asked me to deliver him.”
“And you couldn’t think of any reason that wouldn’t be a good idea?”
“What was I going to say?” Mark studied his friend. “And honestly, he seems a good guy, and he plays a solid game.”
“I don’t give a flying fuck if he plays like Nathan Nukunuku, he’s an arsehole.”
“Funny, that’s what he called you.”
“Wait. He called me an arsehole?”
Mark snorted. “Lighten up, Josh. Anyone would think you actually liked the guy.”<
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“Fuck off.”
Mark whacked him on the back of his head.
“Ow,” Josh protested.
“Suck it up. You deserved it. So, the guy was cruising you. So what? Oh. My. God. What a scandal. And he even got lucky with a gorgeous young man, well good for him. It’s not a crime. And besides, he’s hot. And he hit on you. I would think that was reassuring, that you haven’t lost it. You’re both obviously hot for each other.”
“I’m a father of an eleven-year-old girl for Christ’s sake.”
“And that came with getting your dick cut off, did it?”
“You wouldn’t understand.” Josh dismissed the comment.
Mark glared. “Oh, right. Because I’m an ignorant, single gay guy who can’t keep his cock in his pants, you mean? Not a holier-than-thou family man who’s so sexually constipated that his jizz turned to concrete months ago. You must be jacking off bricks by now.”
The man had a point. Josh sighed. “You’re right. It’s me.”
“Better.”
“It’s just….” Josh sighed.
Mark sighed. “Hey,” he said gently. “Not every guy’s like Jason.”
Silence hung between them.
“I know that,” Josh admitted softly. “But guys like Oliver treat people like they’re there solely for their own amusement, and I can’t risk that. Sasha got attached to Jase, and then he screwed everything up. And the worst part, I didn’t even see it. I’m a police officer, for Christ’s sake, and I missed the fact he’d been fucking around on me for two years.”
“What can I say?” Mark said. “People suck sometimes. Jase was a fucking idiot who didn’t know when he was onto a good thing, a great thing. It’s his loss. Doesn’t mean you give up on the rest of us. Besides, I’m not saying marry the guy, just have a bit of fun, a confidence boost. You’ve already said he’s not relationship material for you, so what’s the problem? And he sure as hell looks like fun. You deserve a life outside of Sasha and that damn dog, you know.”
“So everyone keeps saying,” Josh grumbled. “Okay. I’ll think about it. Happy?”
“Deliriously. Also, if you end up chickening out, let me know, so I can tap that?”
Josh couldn’t summon more than a strangled grunt in reply.
Mark sent him a wicked smile. “Thought so. Come on, let’s have a beer, you idiot.” He grabbed the tray of beers from the barman and headed for the two tables the team had pushed together.
JOSH WAS forced to take the only seat left, directly opposite Michael Oliver. Of course it was. His gaze slid over the man, an irritating reminder of just how fit the doctor was. In a pair of tight washed jeans and a black button-down shirt he was hard to take your eyes off.
He watched as Mark made it his mission to educate the doctor on the finer points of rugby. The two were huddled over beer coasters and scraps of paper, laughing and heads bumping. He found the whole thing increasingly irritating for reasons he wasn’t prepared to analyse. God, he really did need to get laid.
On one occasion, when he lifted his beer and glanced across, he found Michael’s gaze locked on his mouth, and there was heat in his eyes, lots and lots of heat. Caught staring, the doctor never even flinched, just raised his water in salute, and Josh’s cock twitched to life. For crap’s sake. It didn’t seem to matter how much he tried to ignore the man, Michael Oliver simply turned him on like a fucking switch. The guy was a menace to Josh’s self-control.
So he swallowed hard and got to his feet to head home. It was either that or drag the good doctor out back and nail his arse against the wall. But of course it was never going to be that easy. Barely out of his chair, and his best friend suddenly decided he needed to visit his sister and could Josh drop Michael back at his apartment, seeing as it was on his way? All said with a shit-eating grin, the fucker.
So here they were again. Michael cracked the passenger door and got in smelling of musky body wash and some kind of citrus cologne that made Josh’s mouth water. His jeans rode tight on his thighs, stretching sinfully as he settled into the leather and ran his fingers through his damp hair.
“So here we are again, officer.”
Michael reached between them to fasten his seat belt, brushing hands with Josh, who was busy doing the same. The contact sent every one of Josh’s nerve endings on high alert, and it was all he could do not to shut the man’s irritating mouth with his own. He sighed and started the car, pulling out into traffic. This stupidity had to stop.
“Look….”
Oliver turned to face him with a curious look.
Josh continued. “You’re a good ballplayer, and I get they want you on the team. So, seeing as we’re gonna be spending time together, as teammates, can we just cut this crap between us and maybe… start again?”
Oliver went quiet, then turned away to stare out the front windscreen. “Okay, done.”
Josh rolled his eyes. “Just like that?”
Michael snorted but kept his eyes front. “This may come as a shock to you, Rawlins, but you’re not as irresistible as you seem to think.”
Well, okay, then. Josh kept his eyes on the road, and they rode in silence for the remainder of the journey. He pulled in at the same spot he had two nights before. “So, um, if you need a lift next weekend, you can call. My number’s on the team list.”
Michael regarded him flatly. “I’m sure I’ll have my car back by then but thanks. See you around.”
“Sure.” Josh watched the doctor disappear up his drive. You got what you wanted, he told himself. So that’s good, right?
CHAPTER THREE
SUNDAY AND Monday could be as hellishly busy in the ER as any Saturday. People didn’t want to screw up their Saturdays stuck in an ER waiting room, but when Sunday afternoon rolled in and work/school loomed, those waiting rooms filled like hourglasses.
Michael had at least managed to collect his car on Sunday, and with his Monday shift having less than two hours remaining, he looked forward to his couch, a beer, and taped coverage of the recent Lakers game. Desperate for a bit of quiet, he’d snagged a soda and found an empty treatment room and shut the door. He’d missed lunch, and his feet felt like they’d been through a metal crusher.
Cameron stuck his head through the door just as he was taking his first guzzle. “Hiding, are we?”
Michael groaned. “Failed epically, then, didn’t I?”
“Hey, I gave you five before I tracked you down—consider yourself lucky.” He patted Michael’s thigh. “Come on, sexy. The girl in three is ready to go. Just need you to sign off on her.”
“Get Max to do it. My feet are killing me, and Lucinda’s been crawling up my butt with crampons all day.” Lucinda, or Lucifer, as most of the staff called the X-ray technician behind her back, was a weightlifter in her spare time with a mouth straight out of a prison rec room. Interactions with Lucinda usually involved strategic delegation to junior house surgeons if at all possible or failing that, body armour. The woman worked mostly afternoon and night shifts, but she’d swapped that day to attend her daughter’s school drama production. The thought of Lucinda as a parent was almost too frightening to contemplate.
Cameron chuckled. “That charm failing you, huh?”
Michael scowled. They were barely six inches apart, and from that distance, he noted the eyeliner of the day was not in fact purple as he’d first thought but a deep blue embedded with glitter that matched the small-gauge piercing in the man’s right ear. It was… hot.
He cleared his throat. “Firstly, the subject of said charm needs to be of the human variety, and secondly, they shouldn’t possess a venomous overbite and more muscle than me. Neither of those applies to our Lucinda.”
Cameron snorted. “I can always hold your hand if you need it.”
“Shut up, you queer fuck.”
“God, I love it when you talk dirty,” Cameron deadpanned.
Michael laughed. “The offer’s still there, you know.”
“You couldn’t handle i
t, Yankee.” Cameron grabbed Michael’s coat lapels and dragged him through the curtains into the hallway. “Now back to work, Cinders.”
Over the next hour, Michael miraculously avoided being assigned a new patient, though he suspected that was down to Cameron feeling sorry for him. It did, however, mean that he got all his notes up-to-date so he wasn’t held back at the end of shift. Not wanting to push his luck by poking his head into the nurses’ station, he grabbed his duffel and headed for the door, only to be intercepted by Cameron swishing toward him from the waiting room.
“Been a guy at the front desk asking for you,” he said. “Hot date, Doctor?”
Michael frowned. “Do I look like the dating kind? Let alone have his date turn up at his gossip-fuelled workplace?”
Cameron crossed his arms over his chest. “Didn’t think so. Besides, he hardly looked your style, unless you’re crushing ghetto lately.” He leaned sideways as his attention was caught by something behind Michael. “Joanne. If that brand-new infusion pump is going anywhere other than back into Trauma One where you got it, I’ll knit your fallopian tubes into booties. Now put it back.” He straightened and turned back to Michael. “Fucking physicians. Anyway, I gotta go. I swear I’m gonna chain those damn machines to the wall. See you tomorrow.”
They parted company, and Michael headed for the staff car park. He’d just made his way through the alley beside the ER when a guy bent over the hood of Michael’s car brought him to a stop.
“Hey,” he yelled.
The man spun and took off. Michael launched into a sprint and caught him halfway down the row of cars. “Not so fast,” he puffed, latching on to the guy’s forearm. But the man was no slouch. He spun in Michael’s grip, rounded, and threw out his leg, sweeping Michael’s feet from under him.
What the…? Michael slammed into the ground, landing on his shoulder and snapping his head sideways. His temple hit the rough surface with a sickening thud. Pretty lights danced for a moment behind his eyes, but he didn’t pass out. It took some effort, but Michael managed to raise his head to get a look at his attacker, but the man was gone. The sound of spinning tyres ripping through the car park sealed the deal. With nothing else for it, he waited until the swimming mud in his head settled, then set about retrieving what appeared to be a note from his windshield and dragged his sorry ass back into the ER. Just what he needed.
