When undercover cop Steven Pershing infiltrates a Jacksonville gang, his job gets messy. Gang leader Conrad Stalton is dangerous: closed off, secretive, and sexy. Sexy in a way Steven has never noticed before. If Steven does his job, Conrad may go to prison. If Steven follows his heart, he may never recover.
This story appears in the author's print collection, Rough Cut.
Two teenaged Goth girls wearing black lipstick and too many facial piercings twittered down the sidewalk toward me. I nodded and held the door open for them.
Conrad’s rich voice greeted us. “Hello, ladies!” A pause. “And gentleman.”
The girls giggled and peeled off toward the heavy metal section. I stood stupidly in the middle of the aisle and tried to act cool about seeing Conrad again.
It was impossible. The memories of last Saturday night flashed in my brain: the way his broad chest felt pressed against mine; the way he put my hand on his cock; the way he kissed me.
My neck and face flushed as I gazed at him. He knew.
Conrad grinned. “Steven! Come here, you.”
From behind the counter, Jason gave me a little glare. He was a kid just out of high school with a huge jones for Conrad and the guts to act on his feelings. He’d bring Conrad drinks and try to rub his shoulders while the team was raving. I’d seen Conrad give him a gentle brush-off the other night so I figured Jason was still stinging a little from that. His look told me I wasn’t welcome.
The glass display case held memorabilia. Concert programs from Kiss and Foghat and Styx were fanned on one side, along with concert tickets and 45 sleeves. The logical part of my brain noticed the guitar autographed by Joe Perry lovingly nestled on wine velvet; the horny part of my brain noticed Conrad’s crotch on the other side of the glass. His khakis were loose and I couldn’t see what I really wanted to.
What he hadn’t let me see the other night. Just feel.
He motioned me closer. “I said ‘come here’.” He leaned over the counter, snagged me by the neck and pulled me into a soft kiss.
Right in front of everybody.
I put up one hand, intending to -- really -- push him away but somehow my fingers lingered on his arm then slid up to one shoulder. God, he was a good kisser. I started to feel as if my legs were going to drift up over the counter and I’d just bob along the ceiling -- a kiss-filled balloon.
The girls giggled again from right behind me. That stopped me. I stepped away, face pink, eyes down, hands in my pockets.
