Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 51803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
He had never thought twice about their easy touching before, despite the occasional wild rumors concerning their orientation floating around the department. The rumors were just jealousy talking -- sour grapes, and Valenti never worried about it.
After all, he and O’Brian dated different women nearly every night of the week, and everybody knew partners were supposed to be tight. So what if they hugged and wrestled and rough-housed a little now and then? Valenti and O’Brian had the best arrest record and fewer unsolved cases than any other team on the force. And it was obvious to anyone that, despite the physical affection between them, they were both as straight as a ruler.
So Valenti had always told himself. But now it was a struggle not to pull away when O’Brian touched him, a struggle to maintain a straight face and act like everything was normal when he felt like his heart was being ripped out over and over again.
Because as good a friend as he was, Valenti knew that Sean O’Brian could never be anything more to him than that -- just a friend ...
* * * * *
“Hey, Nicky. Earth to Valenti ...” He blinked and looked again into the concerned sea-green eyes of his partner. Turk had drifted away to the back, and they were alone at the bar.
“Huh?”
“I said, what should I wear to the club tonight? You sure you’re okay? You’re startin’ to make me worried, ya know?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just, um ...” Valenti cleared his throat and tried to drag his mind from the depressing subject of his hopeless love. “Just wear what you usually wear. It’ll be fine.”
“You sayin’ my clothes look gay, partner?” O’Brian demanded, but there was a slight twinkle in his eye that let Valenti know he was just playing around.
“Nah, but your jeans are tight enough that nobody’s gonna notice anything else.” Valenti tried to joke and then wished he hadn’t.
“You been watchin’ my ass, Valenti?” O’Brian grinned at him and stood up from his stool to pull up the hem of his leather jacket and reveal the body part in question. Valenti was glad the ShySide was nearly deserted, but even so, there were a few strange looks thrown their way.
“Hey, get that outta my face. Save it for the club tonight, will you?” Valenti complained, putting out a hand to keep his partner at bay. Unfortunately it landed right on the round, tight ass in front of him, and O’Brian backed into the touch, purring like a cat.
“Mmm, nice, Nicky. Grabbin’ a handful before we even get to the RamJack, huh?”
“Keep your voice down!” Valenti hissed, pulling back his hand as though he’d been burned. Now there were several dark glares pointed in their direction since the regular patrons of the ShySide weren’t exactly up for a walk on the wild side. “This isn’t the time or the place to act like that, Sean.”
“Just getting’ into character, Nick,” his partner said mildly. “You never used to care when we joked around. What’s eatin’ you lately?”
“Well, just save your character for the club tonight,” Valenti returned, not answering the question. But his heart sank a little lower as he realized he would have to try harder to act normal around O’Brian. Because what had gotten into him was love, and he could never, ever risk letting his partner know.
Chapter Four
Antwon -- or Twonnie, as they were instructed to call him -- wasn’t exactly what Valenti had expected. He was a slender young man with milk-chocolate skin and wide, liquid brown eyes that Valenti suspected of being enhanced with mascara, but that was as far as the make-up went. Valenti was relieved by that; he had been expecting someone flagrantly flamboyant -- maybe even a drag queen. But Turk’s cousin was dressed more conservatively than their friend and informant usually was, or at least the color scheme of his clothes was quieter.
He was wearing a tight pair of ragged cut-off shorts that hugged his slim hips, and a too small, too tight black T-shirt, which ended just below his nipples. Valenti couldn’t help comparing the shorts with a pair O’Brian sometimes jogged in when he could nag his partner into jogging with him.
“That’s quite an outfit you got there, Twonnie,” O’Brian said affably as they settled into the seats around a rickety table. Turk’s cousin had saved it for them, and it sat to one side of the crowded dance floor. “I Will Survive” thrummed though the sound system, and the disco ball threw innumerable tiny flecks of light over everything as couples swayed to the beat all around them in the crowded darkness. Only, most of the couples were men, Valenti realized uneasily. Dancing close ... touching each other ...
“You like?” Turk’s cousin stood up and performed an impromptu twirl before seating himself and crossing his legs daintily.