Don't Judge (Nothing Special 4)

“Thanks,” Judge said, and pocketed the card. “I also need to see a diagram of the hotel and the room.”

“Sure. I’ll be right back.” The guy turned and went in the back leaving him and Michaels alone.

“Haven’t seen the Navigator yet,” Michaels said, standing next to the window.

“Fine. They’re probably parked on the other side,” Judge suggested from directly behind Michaels. He didn’t have to stand that close and there were other windows, but he was drawn to Michaels’ flame like a moth.

“I’m starving,” Michaels said, out of the blue.

“Me, too.”

“We’ll get something on the way back, I guess.”

“Ugh. As long as it’s not Chinese.”

Michaels chuckled. It was light and husky, sounding sexy and masculine. Judge propped one hand up on the wall next to Michaels’ head. He didn’t try to hide it when he leaned in and inhaled; taking in the smell of their sex that still clung to Michaels’ skin. He could see Michaels’ mouth twitching in amusement.

“Nope. Doesn’t have to be Chinese.”

“I’m sick of fast food,” Judge said, absently.

“I can cook something. There’s a kitchen in our room,” Michaels said, turning slightly, his mouth dangerously close to Judge’s.

Judge was stunned. “You cook?”

“Yes. I dabble a little.” Michaels grinned slyly.

“Mmm,” Judge groaned, leaning in closer. “I’ll do anything not to have to eat takeout.”

“Anything?” Michaels emphasized.

“Yes,” Judge whispered against Michaels’ ear.

Michaels turned boldly, standing right on top of him. “I want a kiss.”

“W-what?” Judge stammered.

“You heard me just fine. I said I want a kiss. I’ll cook you dinner, maybe even breakfast. But I want something from you. I want to kiss you.” Michaels winked. “You don’t even have to kiss me back.”

Judge rolled the thought over in his mind. Something sounded off about this deal, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was through his euphoric delirium. The thought of Michaels’ mouth on him. Holy hell. Could he kiss those stunningly soft-looking lips and not lose his mind… or worse… his heart? Before he could think better of it, he replied with a simple, “Okay.” His voice was surprisingly shaky.

“Okay?” Michaels’ smile was radiant and slightly devious.

“Now?” Judge asked, his heart beating wildly at the idea. His ego swelling that Michaels would make a deal like that with him. Was kissing him really that important to the hot detective?

“Not now.” Michaels ducked under Judge’s big arm. “Later.”

“Here,” the young attendant said, returning to his post behind the counter. He held out a small pamphlet and a couple sheets of paper. “This is a diagram of the room the girl requested and here’s a map of the motel.”

Judge took it and scanned it, tucking it in the back pocket of his jeans. He turned back to Michaels and nodded his head at the door. Michaels reached in his back pocket and pulled out a worn brown leather wallet, approaching the counter. “You call me if you think I need to know something.” The kid took the card and stuffed it down in his baggy shorts pocket.

Judge was in front of Michaels when he opened the heavy wooden door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Judge’s heart dropped into his stomach and he barely had time to register Bookem barking like crazy in his truck or a chance to open his mouth to tell Michaels to “GET DOWN!” before the bullets started to fly.

Judge dove onto the ground, praying that Michaels had too. Thoughts of Brent flashed through his mind as bullets pinged and shattered glass over his head, the shots tearing up the windows of the motel office. He covered his head with one arm and reached for his firearm with the other. But he heard Michaels’ 9mm firing back first. Tires skidded and squealed on asphalt. Judge uncovered his head and looked up in time to see Michaels on his feet, running out into the parking lot, stopping to take aim at the quickly retreating SUV. Judge’s breathing was out of control and for the first time in a long time he realized he was scared. Frightened… again.

In a flash, he was on his feet, running towards Michaels. But the hotshot cop had fired three perfect shots, strategically hitting both rear tires and taking out the back window. A sniper. The truck swerved in the street and hit the guardrail hard.

Judge watched as five guys jumped out the disabled vehicle and headed in their direction. “Fuck,” Judge bit out.

Michaels stood his ground, eyeing the men like he was looking forward to taking them all on. The wild detective reached in his back pocket and with the other hand simultaneously pressed the button on the side of the handgrip, releasing the clip out of his nine like he was Will Smith in Bad Boys, efficiently replacing it with a full one and cocking the chamber. Crazy bastard. “Come on!” Judge shouted. They didn’t need to take on five thugs with automatics in the middle of Downtown Miami. Innocents could get caught in the crossfire.