His First Surrender (Stonewall Investigations Miami Book 3)

by Max Walker

  I quickly silenced those thoughts before my bulge became any more obvious.

  “Why’d you ask Jesse to meet?” I asked.

  Sam looked down at his scuffed white Converse. “I thought I could help. But, clearly, I only ended up making things worse.”

  “Nah, you helped.”

  He looked up, exactly what I wanted him to do.

  I wanted another chance to look into those eyes of his. “How?” he asked. “I just made a bigger mess. At lease Jesse’s moving out, but… shit.” He winced and rubbed his arm, where a bruise was beginning to appear.

  A part of me wanted to reach out and grab him, only so I could pull him against my chest and tell him it’d be okay.

  And then, after I whispered into his ear, felt him melt like putty in my hands, then I’d ravage him. I’d consume him, every piece of him. Once we were done, sweaty and breathless, I’d whisper to him again. I’d assure him that I’d always make sure things were okay.

  “You did help. The way he reacted today, it’s the way someone who’s guilty would react. Listen, Sam, I believe you. I think Jesse is the one behind this, and today’s meeting helped solidify that for me. Him moving out won’t affect my case. I’ll find proof he was stealing Hazel’s underwear, and I’ve got a feeling that with some digging, I’ll find a lot more.”

  His eyes jumped from mine down to my lips, then down to his Converse. “Is this you apologizing?”

  What? No, absolutely not.

  I cocked my head. “Is that what you’re looking for?”

  “No, I just… well, yeah, kind of.”

  His eyes came back to mine, and, against the strongest and most deeply-rooted instincts tugging inside me, I said, “I’m sorry.”

  He looked as surprised as I felt. “Okay. Well… I accept it.” His lips curled into a warm smile, matching the warmth behind his gaze. “Thank you. Not only for helping Hazel, but for helping me, too.”

  “Anytime.”

  “So,” Sam said, rocking back and forth on his heels. I noticed then that he’d gotten a haircut. Somehow, in all the chaos of the fight and the resulting aftermath, I had missed out on that little detail. “What’s next?”

  I swallowed down a compliment, instead sticking to his question.

  “I’m going to gather more evidence, and I’m going to prove Jesse’s a fucked-up creep. With the way he’s acting, I’m sure he’ll make a mistake soon. He’ll let something slip, and I’ll catch it.”

  “Well, maybe you can start in his room. He’s got a stash of drugs in there. I think he’s getting into dealing.”

  “What? How do you… why didn’t you call the police?”

  “So they can come and find a stash somewhere in my closet that I don’t know about? The same way you found Hazel’s underwear under my bed? I don’t think so. I’m done sticking my head into things I shouldn’t.”

  This was a new detail, and definitely another red flag. I’d have to look deeper into Jesse’s drug pushing.

  Sam licked his lips. Somehow, it looked like the most innocent thing in the world while also being the hottest. My pulse quickened.

  “All right,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. I could see some purple and blue start appearing on his left cheek, where he must have been punched hard. “I should get going. I’ve got work to do.”

  I really had no idea why, but I didn’t want him to leave. Around us, the crowd had shifted from the day-goers to the nighttime partiers. Short, vibrant dresses and white button-ups passed us by, people walking toward the beach for their date night. A car honked nearby, and someone shouted through the window, telling someone else to move out of their way.

  “If you need anything else.” I reached into my pocket and grabbed my wallet. Inside, I had a couple of business cards I rarely used. It didn’t have my personal number, only my work contact. I considered adding my personal number but second-guessed myself, something I also rarely did.

  But with Sam, things worked differently.

  I pulled one of the glossy cards out and handed it to him. Our fingertips touched for the briefest of moments, and yet that was enough to shock me from feet to scalp. He pulled his hand back, as if he’d gotten burned.

  “Thanks,” he said, looking at the card, flipping it over, examining it as if he were trying to memorize it.

  Did he feel what I did? Was he trying to stall? Should I say something? Maybe he wanted to hang out before going home… we could get a drink or two.

  What the actual fuck?

  Since when did I ever get this nervous about someone? I rubbed the bridge of my nose. This was childish. Stupid.

  “Sam, do you want to get a drink before going home? Looks like you’re about to get a pretty bad bruise. A vodka tonic should help with that.”

  He tilted his head to the side. I could see him considering it. I could also see the gentle throb of his pulse, marking the spot on his neck I wanted to suck between my teeth. My dick gave a similar throb.

  “It is starting to hurt a little.” He lifted a hand and gently rubbed his cheek, the other bruise on his forearm already taking hold. It made me wish I had intervened sooner. “Maybe one drink…”

  “There’s a bar just around the corner. It’s a chill spot. And they’ve got great drinks, too.”

  He considered it a little longer. “We won’t be long there. I want to work on the case tonight.”

  It felt like I was bartering for a life-saving bottle of medication. For a split second, fear entered me at the thought of Sam rejecting me. I hadn’t tasted bitter rejection in what felt like years, mainly because I hadn’t put myself in a situation like this. Everyone I’d had a “connection” with, if you could call it that, came through an app, and the connection was never emotional. It was only physical. I never opened myself up to this kind of anxiety.

  “Fine, yeah, let’s go. I’d rather not go back home now.”

  The anxiety disappeared, replaced by a buzzing excitement. One that surprised me by its intensity.

  “And I guess I owe you a drink for saving my life.”

  “You don’t owe me anything,” I said.

  On the way to the bar, Sam called Hazel and filled her in on everything that happened. They both agreed that she should stay over at a friend’s house for the next few nights, until things calmed down and Jesse moved out. I wondered if Sam had a place he could stay. He struck me as the kind of guy who’d have a walk-in closet full of friends, all of them obsessed with the bright-eyed and smiley Samuel Clark. He had that kind of air around him. The kind that pulled everyone into his orbit, one way or another. Sometimes it ended up in a catastrophic collision like the one I’d witnessed between him and Jesse, but I had a feeling that there was another type of collision possible.

  A powerful, soulful one.

  The bouncer carded us both and let us into the tiny dive bar. It wasn’t the typical Miami Beach club with their neon lights and loud techno music and sweaty, dancing bodies. This place had one janky disco ball hanging over a barely useable dance floor tucked away in the farthest corner with a classic Madonna song playing. The rest of the bar was taken up by, well, the bar. It stretched from entrance to end, with seating all along the length of it. There were a couple of tables, most of them already taken by laughing patrons, all of them holding mugs of beer or martini glasses. One table still remained empty. We went to it, Sam sitting down and holding the spot as I went to go get our drinks. I returned a few moments later holding a rum and Coke and a vodka tonic.

  “Thank you,” Sam said. “Cheers.” He lifted his glass as I took my seat. I lifted mine.

  “Cheers.” Our glasses clinked and the alcohol went down smooth. I got the feeling neither of us knew exactly what we were cheering to.

  “This is a pretty cool spot.” Sam looked around at the cramped bar while I continued looking at him. He was one handsome fucker. I couldn’t get my eyes off him, even when his returned to mine.

  “Do you come here often?” he asked.

&nb
sp; I shook my head. The spell still not breaking, my gaze hitched on his. “I usually stick to my routine.”

  “And what’s that? Work, work, work?”

  “Work is involved, but I definitely play.”

  Sam arched a brow. “Oh?”

  “I just don’t have to leave my house to play.”

  “Oh.”

  I smiled and drank the smooth rum, tickling the back of my throat with the Coke. “How about you? What’s your routine like.”

  “My routine? It’s, well, not that exciting. I go to class during the day, I’m studying business at FIU, and then I come home and try to stream for as long as I can before my eyes start tearing up.”

  “And how’s the streaming going?”

  Sam shifted in the chair. I noticed a flush fill his cheeks, even under the dim orange lighting of the bar. “It’s fine, I guess. I’ve got a few subscribers that really love hanging out and watching my stream, so that’s super cool. I know, it’s very Gen Z of me. I just, I dunno, I really love it. I like connecting with people over video games. It’s hard to understand.”

  “Not at all,” I said. “I get it.” Before I amended with an, “I think.”

  Sam laughed before taking another drink. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

  The truth was, I understood it much more than I let on. Video games had played a crucial role in bonding my brother and me. We’d spend hours playing together, leveling up and trying to outgear the other, losing entire weekends to playing games and not caring about a damn thing.

  Fuck. I’d do anything to have one of those weekends again.

  I shot back the rest of my rum and Coke, swallowing it like a shot even though the glass was still half-full.

  We chatted a little longer, going over some of the bare basics. He had asked where I was from, and I told him New York, without going any deeper than that. He was born and raised in Miami, his parents both having immigrated from Cuba when they were in their teens. He was an only child and got along with both his mom and dad. He had never been out of the country and had a dream to go scuba diving in the Great Barrier Reef even though he was terrified of fish.

  I learned a lot about him in a very short amount of time. It was nice, forgetting about the day and just listening to Sam. He had a way of telling stories that wrapped me up from the second he opened his mouth. He was animated and motioned with his hands when he spoke, as if he were painting some kind of elaborate portrait, paint sloshing all over.

  It wasn’t until midway through a story of how he got over his fear of the ocean that I realized something.

  Holy shit. This is a date.

  I sat up in my chair, suddenly feeling like the seat had caught fire. The nape of my neck grew warm. My leg bounced up and down under the table.

  “So,” Sam said, crossing his arms. His cheek hadn’t grown any more purple, so maybe the hit wasn’t as hard as I feared. “What about you? All I know is that you’re from New York. What part?”

  My seat grew hotter. “Manhattan.”

  Sam flashed a grin. “I’ve always wanted to go to Times Square. Is it really as bright as it seems?”

  “Even brighter. Going there at night feels a little surreal. The lights are something else.”

  “And when did you move down to Miami?”

  “Ten years ago.”

  When my entire life was put through a garbage disposal.

  Sam must have sensed the rigid walls I threw up. He cleared his throat and looked around the bar, which had filled up with a mixed crowd. Some people dressed up, others still in their bathing suits, everyone with a drink in their hand. There was a long moment of silence between us.

  Fuck. I messed up. I shouldn’t have even asked him out. What the hell was I thinking? I didn’t do this shit. I didn’t sit and talk about myself, about my past. That wasn’t me. It hadn’t been me in a very, very long time. What was I thinking?

  I was thinking about staring into those gray eyes for the rest of the damn night.

  “All right,” Sam said, clapping his hands on the table. “I should probably get going.”

  Fuck. This isn’t a date, it’s a disaster.

  As much as I felt like this had been a mistake, I also didn’t want him to “get going.” I felt as if the evening were just starting. Like we were poised with our fingers on the floor at the starting line, just waiting for the blare of the horn to go off. I had to make a choice. Did I push and see where this night would take us, or did I let him walk away?

  “If you want to go somewhere quieter,” I said as we stood from our chairs, “my place isn’t too far from here.”

  Why did I want him to say yes so bad? My phone had already buzzed with a message from a hookup that wanted to meet later. I could have let Sam go; I could have gone on with the rest of my night just fine without him.

  So why was I dreading the next words that came out of his mouth?

  “Sorry, Rocky, I can’t.”

  I couldn’t stop my eyebrows from jolting up halfway across my forehead.

  “Right, well.” That was new. Not many people declined an invite over, not that I liked gloating about shit like that. But still, for some stupid fucking reason, I expected Sam to say yes. As if he hadn’t just had a huge public brawl only hours before. All he probably wanted to do was get into his bed and go to sleep, even though all I wanted to do was get him in my bed and forget all about sleep.

  Outside, we awkwardly stood underneath a streetlamp. It felt like neither of us were sure on how to end the night. Instinct made me reach out for his hand. I wasn’t exactly sure where that instinct had even come from, but it was loud and powerful. I reached out.

  Sam pulled his hand back, slipping them into the pockets of his pants.

  “Thanks again for tonight, and for earlier. For saving my life, basically.” Sam looked up at me, his gray-blue eyes glittering like diamonds underneath the yellow streetlamp. The smile on his face softened the hurt from the rejection I’d just felt.

  “Let’s do it again. Not the almost-getting-beaten-to-a-bloody-pulp part, though.”

  I nodded, finding myself smiling even though I was internally berating myself for reaching for Sam’s hand.

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “Good.”

  Fuck. I wanted to kiss him so bad. I wanted to pick him up, carry him to my car, and take him right there in my back seat until we could write an entire goddamn essay on the fogged-up windows. I wanted Sam Clark, and I wanted him in a way that surprised me.

  “Well… have a good night.” Sam offered a weak wave. I wondered if he was thinking the same thing I was.

  We said our goodbyes and started walking in separate directions, my mind whirling in a thousand different directions but always managing to land on one particular subject:

  Sam.

  I wondered when the next time I’d see him would be. I had no idea it would be so soon, and under even worse circumstances than how I’d found him today.

  9

  Sam Clark

  Walking away from Rocky Hudson was one of the hardest things I’d ever done in my life. Not only because his stare, his lips, his arms, his face, his entire gah damn body, was enough to make me want to drop everything and join the church of Rocky, but also because I reaaaally didn’t want to go back to my place. I had a feeling Jesse was home, and I wasn’t entirely sure how he’d react to me walking in after the day we’d just had. The last thing I wanted was more confrontation, but then again, I couldn’t stay away from my apartment forever. I’d have to go back at some point. I definitely wasn’t sleeping tonight, but maybe I could at least blow some steam by getting lost in a game.

  Damn it.

  Spending the night with Rocky sounded like something out of my wildest fantasies. I could tell, just from his gaze, that the man could turn me inside out with his tongue alone, forget about whatever he was packing down between those sexy legs of his, the muscular thighs filling out the dark jeans he was wearing.

  And then
he’d touched me. He reached out for my hand and I freaked. I snatched my hand back like I had touched a hot stove.

  Why even bother with fantasies? That’s all they’ll ever be.

  I freaked the hell out, and I bolted down the street. As badly as my body wanted Rocky’s, my mind threw up a miles-long spike trap, one I couldn’t get over.

  I had baggage, and I wasn’t about to unload it all on the detective. So, instead of taking my virgin ass straight to Rocky’s bedroom, I walked it toward mine, every step filled with more what-ifs, as though they were multiplying like rabbits inside my head.

  At least the night was nice. The gentle breeze carried the scent of salt and ocean with it, camouflaging the smell of the dumpster I walked past. It calmed me down and helped me forget about the still-persistent throbs that came from the places I’d been hit. Hotels stretched up toward the starry night sky, as if they were going to break through the few heavy clouds that threatened a random shower.

  It wasn’t that I hated any kind of touching. I just… needed time. I had to build up that trust. And when Rocky reached out for my hand, I realized that there had been zero time to build trust in the steamy detective. Going home with him would only invite disaster.

  I sighed. Wondering why the hell I was so messed up over something that had happened years ago.

  My phone started to ring. I dug it from my pocket and answered, Hazel on the other end.

  “Hey, girl.”

  “Sam, are you still out, or are you home by any chance?”

  “I’m out but heading home, why? What’s up? Jesse didn—”

  “Everything’s fine. I just need to pick up my laptop but don’t want to be the only one in the apartment with Jesse around.”

  I let out a relieved breath. “Okay, yeah, I’ll be home in like fifteen.”

  “Perfect, same here.” I heard Hazel getting into her car and starting it, the engine coughing to life. “How are you feeling?”