It came as a surprise for two reasons. First, I’d never gotten aroused by a man before. I had two long-term girlfriends in the past, but I never looked at a man twice. Second, my erections were so rare that I considered myself asexual. My sex drive was nonexistent for most of the time. Porn didn’t do it for me. My hectic lifestyle didn’t allow me to date or even meet women so that I could test this asexual theory.
Things changed after I met Scarshit. After the first erection came the second, the third, and so on. I spent days, weeks, and months ruminating onhow,why, andnow what? Admittedly, I was obsessed with the guy, but I wasn’t gay. I wasn’t even bi. I was barely sexual until I met him, and he behaved like an ass to me, so it made no sense. I didn’t know what was happening to me until one day I had an epiphany. It made me breathe a sigh of relief because I realized those wereangerboners. Scarshit made me so angry that my body got confused, misinterpreting rage for lust. It had nothing to do with sex or attraction and everything to do with anger. My theory was a bit woo-woo, but it still made me feel better.
A knock on the car window snapped me back to reality and made me reach for my gun.
“Fuck!” I breathed as Adam scrambled into the passenger seat. “You scared me. I got lost in thought.”
He fastened his seatbelt without looking at me. So, it was one of those days when he decided to ignore me? Lucky me. Usually, it was either that or blatant staring.
“Did you get statements from everyone at the crime scene?” I asked him.
The muscle in his jaw was twitching visibly. Not a good sign.
“Yeah,” he replied, scrolling through his phone. “What about that name that I gave you?”
“He’s serving a 5-year sentence for armed robbery in the Smitsville Penitentiary, so he’s not our guy.”
After a few moments of silence, Adam looked up from his phone, and his sky-blue eyes met mine.
“Why aren’t we moving?”
I shifted in my seat, hesitating. “Um… I was thinking maybe we could stop by Pete’s before going home. I could use a drink or two.”
Adam blinked. “Have you lost your mind, weirdo? Why on earth would I want to spend more time with you than I have to?”
I was trying to come up with a dignified reply when I spotted a nervous-looking guy across the street. He was eyeing the liquor store with a hand tucked in his pocket in a way that told me it wasn’t a wallet he was holding.
“Not twice in one day,” I said with a sigh, opening the car door. “Six o’clock, Markland. Baldie across the street has a gun and a lot of bad intentions.”
“I’ll follow you by car. Don’t lose his ass.”
When the bald dude spotted me with a detective badge hanging from my neck, he bolted. I ran after him, trying not to get run over by the cars that were whooshing past me.
“Police!” I shouted, following him into a grimy alley and pulling out my gun. “Stop!”
When he turned with his weapon raised, I took cover behind a dumpster before a bullet flew over my head. The pigeons shot off the nearest rooftop as I cursed under my breath.Why, oh why, do they always have to shoot?
I peeked over the dumpster, only to see Adam getting out of the car at the other end of the alley. I left my hiding place, approaching the perp from my side. His gun trembled next to his thigh, but when he turned, he flung something in my face. I groaned when pain shot through my eye, and blood gushed out of my nose.
“Drop your weapon!” Adam shouted, running toward the guy with his gun raised. “Now!”
Baldie threw away his gun and raised his hands, but it was too little too late. When Adam’s fist hit his face, it was lights out for him, and he went unconscious before hitting the floor. Adam cuffed him to the fire escape stairs before rushing toward me, just as my vision cleared. When he cupped my face with both hands and his panicked eyes found mine, I froze on the spot.
“Did he shoot you?” he said, as his startled gaze darted over me. “Are you okay?”
He was touching me, so I was speechless, but otherwise hunky-dory.
“Fucking talk to me, Jordan,” Adam growled, snapping me out of it. “I heard a gunshot.”
“I’m fine,” I said, wiping the blood that dripped from my nose. “I think that punk threw a brick in my face.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
His hands let go of my face, but they kept sweeping across my body, searching for injuries. They moved with urgency, brushing the curve of my neck, the length of my arms, the ridges of my ribs, only to end up on my pecs, almost… groping me. WhenAdam hastily took off his shirt, he almost gave me a heart attack. Thank God he wore a T-shirt underneath.
“Here,” he said, bringing the shirt to my nose. “Use this to stop the bleeding and hold your head high.”
When my hand joined his, our fingers brushed, and it felt as if electricity shot through me.
