Don't Judge (Nothing Special 4)

“There’s a pretty good dinner crowd in the evenings and we’re packed on the weekends. It’s the locals, but it’s enough of them. Also since we’re right off the interstate and a quarter mile from a truck stop, we get quite a few haulers in here too. That’s why we have that big paved lot behind us. That’s all Judge, Sr.’s land.” She nodded proudly. “It’ll be full of tractor-trailers on Saturday night.”

“That sounds cool,” Michaels said, lamely. Ugh. He was still a little out of sorts from the conversation he’d heard.

She laughed at him, wiping her wrinkled hands on her apron. “I wonder what JJ will do with this place when….” She looked off at nothing, as if in deep thought.

“It’s a real nice place. How’s the food?” Michaels cut in.

“Good if I may say so myself. I’m the cook.” She boasted, tossing the last of the fruit garnish into small containers. “We’ve hired quite a bit of help over the last year, but it’s still all my recipes. What can I get you?”

Michaels yanked the simple two-page menu off one of the tables behind him and browsed through it quickly. Linda went and took a couple orders from the other men watching television. Michaels was not surprised to see seafood platters. Of course… Florida. There were burgers, wings, and other typical bar food. When she came back, he told her, “I’ll have the crab cake sandwich and fries.”

“That’s JJ’s favorite,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “Interesting you chose that one.”

“Coincidence, ma’am.” Michaels blushed.

“Mmm hmm,” she hummed, walking into the back.

Chapter Seventeen

Judge had left his father’s and Linda’s one-bedroom apartment on the third floor after his dad began to feel the effects of the two drinks and nodded off. Judge knew he needed the rest. He was in the basement working on the busted water heater that Linda had secretly called him about. His father was too stubborn to hire a handyman, instead trying to tinker with it himself. Before the old man could gripe about it, Judge had ordered a new one and had it shipped to them, all he had to do was install it.

Judge had watched two different YouTube videos on soldering the pipes back together, and he was on the final stretch. He was bent over, reading the manual when he heard someone walking down the stairs. He recognized the denim-clad muscular thighs before Michaels’ head finally came into view. Judge went back to reading, ignoring how Michaels was looking over his finished work.

“You need to put the Teflon tape on these pipes or else they could leak,” Michaels said, running his hand along the copper pipes.

Judge rolled his eyes, scanning the manual again. What the hell was he talking about? “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Never mind.”

“Good.”

Judge was just about finished. Last thing would be to fill it with water. He went back to the access panel and adjusted the temperature on the gauge when Michaels spoke up again. “Is the water in there yet?”

“No. I’ll do that last.”

“Don’t turn on the heating element until the tank is full.”

“Augh. I’m following the directions Michaels.”

Michaels stepped in and closed his hand over Judge’s when he went to flick on the heater. His face was close to his and he got another whiff of the sweet, syrupy smell of Judge’s breath from that damn sugarcane. He tried to stop himself from wondering what that honeyed mouth tasted like. Heat could easily be felt through Judge’s thin, black tank top and Michaels had to take a deep breath so he could remember what he was disputing… oh yeah. “You may think I’m being annoying, but I’m telling you the truth, my granddad did the same thing. The element fried because the water wasn’t in it first.”

Judge snatched his hand away. “Fine.”

“Why do you have to be such an ass? I was just trying to help.” Michaels put his palms up.

“I didn’t ask for any help.”

“No, but I could see you getting ready to make a big mistake so I just wanted—”

“I was not,” Judge growled. “Damnit, you really get off on your ‘I-must-be-right-at-all-times’ superiority complex, don’t you?”

Judge was standing chest to chest with the smug detective, not even sure how they’d gotten that close. His nostrils flared with anger, he didn’t know whether to smack the guy or fold his ass over and fuck him until he admitted he could be wrong about some things. He saw Michaels’ jaw tick, like he wanted to keep arguing but had decided against it. Then the fighter in him just couldn’t let it go.

He leaned in like he was going to kiss Judge, but turned at the last minute, his two day old stubble grazing roughly against his own beard. Judge inhaled a sharp breath, not liking how Michaels was getting to him, into his psyche. Would he have let Michaels kiss him? All he knew was the man was too close, too hot, too sexy, too fucking annoying.