Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
The avoidance from someone who’d always been so in-your-face direct had all Connelly’s senses firing at once. Azariah’s tongue swept out to wet his bottom lip in a nervous gesture that definitely wasn’t meant to be suggestive. But, fuck, it lit Connelly up inside. His cock began to fill. He pushed at the tight denim around his thighs, silently cursing his fucked-up libido.
“I’m a wreck. It was a mistake getting involved with me. I was trying to let you off the hook.” Azariah’s shoulders hunched.
“Don’t you think that should be my decision? And if you really wanted to end things you could have talked to me instead of letting me flap in the breeze. I didn’t take you as someone who’d be cruel just to avoid conflict.”
“You’re right. I should have just told you to fuck off.”
“Is that what you’re doing, Azariah?” He couldn’t help it. He said it exactly how Azariah liked because he wanted to remind him just how good they were together.
Azariah sighed. “I should.”
Connelly didn’t want to give him the chance. He picked up his pen and looked at the files Briggs had given him.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened tonight?”
* * *
“I don’t understand why you can’t just take me home,” Z complained.
They were in Connelly’s car headed to Connelly’s apartment and Z couldn’t shake the feeling that it was a significant step that would take them over an invisible relationship line he’d never crossed before. He shouldn’t even be in the car, let alone going to Connelly’s place. Hell, he should have shut his damn mouth the moment Connelly appeared at the precinct rescuing him like a damsel.
That still irked.
He was anything but a fucking damsel.
“I told you,” Connelly said.
“And you expected me to listen?”
“Yeah, I did. Sue me.”
“I heard something about needing a judge and pressing charges and the late hour.”
“That’s pretty much it. We can’t get anything done at this time of night. It’s either the precinct or my place, unless there’s a friend you want to wake up and bother?”
There was a hint of curiosity and maybe even jealousy in the question.
“Nah.” There was no one else to call. Nowhere else to go. “Mind if I smoke?”
Connelly pressed a button on his door and the passenger window rolled down just enough for the fresh air to pour through the sedan. Z took that as a yes so he dug through his bag, past the purple Taser he’d been carrying around since after the first time he’d been attacked on the streets, past his travel makeup kit, past his very thin wallet, until he found the glossy pack of Djarum Black and his lipstick lighter. He clutched both like the lifelines they were. As soon as he lit the cigarette, the smoky licorice scent filled the car and Z’s shoulders relaxed.
He looked out the window. They were driving up 1st Avenue toward Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard in East Harlem. On the right, Thomas Jefferson Park came into view. At night it looked eerie and dangerous. Not at all the same picture when the sun was out. Z had walked by a couple times and still remembered the sounds of children playing. All that bright, happy laughter had made his day.
Now, it was asking for someone to risk their life by entering. He shuddered and looked at Connelly instead.
“You live around here?”
“Yeah, just a couple blocks up on 117th. Why?”
“I don’t know, you just don’t seem like the Spanish Harlem type of guy.”
Connelly’s brow scrunched. “What type do I seem like?”
Z thought about it for a minute. “The Hamilton Heights type.”
“So what? You think I’m a posh yuppie asshole?” The tone of his voice was so offended that Z laughed.
“It’s not that bad.”
“Ugh. Don’t get me started. No, thanks. I like things that are real, even if they are beat up and covered in spray paint.”
Hmm, did Connelly even realize he’d just described Z? What was more beat and painted than he was? In fact, it was the perfect metaphor. He was just like a bad neighborhood, gritty and dangerous and covered in scars. He stayed quiet, lost in his own thoughts while the lights blurred into streaks through the windshield. Guilt ate at him because he hadn’t told Connelly the whole truth. He hadn’t told him about the blow job. There was no way to broach that subject without getting into all the other shit he was dealing with. He didn’t want anyone to know about his troubles, especially Connelly. It was too late to try and hide his rent issue though, Connelly had read the report. He knew what the fight had been about and why Z was being questioned. Just having that much out in the open filled Z with crippling embarrassment.
He didn’t think he could handle confessing the rest.