His Hart's Command (Nothing Special 6)

Free had been thinking so hard he hadn’t felt the presence of someone beside him until it was too late.

“Morning,”

Free flinched, his breath catching in his throat. He refused to make eye contact when he murmured, “Morning, Officer Vasquez.” He hurried to scoop a decent amount of cut honeydew into a bowl and moved his cart down the row.

“So how’s it going, Freeman? Nice and settled in, yes?” Vasquez was talking so cheerfully it was obviously phony.

“Fine.” Free mumbled, “Excuse me.”

Vasquez respectfully inched to the side and let Free move toward the cereals and granola, but he was quick to follow. “So, I’m finally off the graveyard shift. Those nights have been killing me, ya’ know.”

“Hmm.” Free hummed vaguely, while he tossed four boxes of Frosted Flakes and a carafe of milk onto the cart for Steele. He noticed that Vasquez wasn’t making any selections of his own as he followed him.

“I might be able to have an actual personal life again. Sleeping all day and working all night really sucks.”

“Yep.” Free got to the register but had to wait behind a couple of people. He wanted nothing more than to get away from Vasquez. He didn’t trust him. Being around the man made him feel as if trouble was lurking.

“Look.” Vasquez touched Free’s shoulder, making him jerk involuntarily. He threw his arms up, glancing around. “Chill out, man. I ain’t gone do nothing to you or anything. Why are you so jumpy around me?”

Free shook his head in disbelief. “Are you serious? You talked trash about my friend and my new bosses the first day I arrived. Then you tried to get me into bed, all after you called me a fuckin ‘half-breed’. Yeah, you basically called me a mutt. Or were you that sloppily drunk that you don’t remember?”

Vasquez’s skin got darker around his cheeks and an angry vein bulged in his neck. “I wasn’t drunk,” he snarled. “And it was just a suggestion. You’re old enough to say ‘no I’m not interested’ aren’t you? Do you really need thirty men coming to your aid?”

Free rolled his eyes.

“Fine. Look, I apologize, again. Okay? Damn, you people are so sensitive.” Vasquez grumbled.

“‘You people’?” Free balked.

Vasquez glared right back, “Stop trying to dissect every fuckin’ sentence I say.”

Free needed to get away. He wasn’t usually one to mouth off to larger men but he’d always felt safe within these walls. He moved up to the register and swiped the department’s company card, failing to give the cashier his usual smile. She threw him and the dark shadow standing behind him a curious frown as Free tried to hurry away with his cart. He was almost to the door when Vasquez caught up.

“Wait.” Vasquez huffed, “Can you just tell God that I apologized again and…”

“You can tell him yourself.” Free went to move around Vasquez again, but this time he didn’t let him. The big officer threw his arm out and stopped him.

“I’m not even allowed in his department anymore, and I’m assuming it’s because of you.”

“It’s not,” Free said, trying to go around him.

“I think it is.” Vasquez stepped closer and bared his teeth. He reeked of sweat—the funky kind—and his breath smelled like two-day old coffee.

Free almost choked on his tongue when he tried to say something else. Panic was settling in and making him clench the handles of his cart. Even with all the self-defense classes he’d taken, he still froze when faced with confrontation. Especially from someone who used his size and boldness as intimidation.

“G-get away,” Free stuttered.

Vasquez quirked one brow and stared down at him with a smug grin, “You afraid?”

Free didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Vasquez inched closer. Other officers moved around them, oblivious to his distress. Free tried not to notice how snugly Vasquez’s blue polyester sleeves clutched his biceps—thick biceps on arms that looked as if they could inflict some serious damage. He tried to open his mouth, but nothing came out.

“Free! There you are. I was looking for you. Tech said you were probably up here. I really need your help. I’ve done it this time, for sure.”

Free was so relieved to see Officer Mason, he didn’t know what to do. His chest was tight and painful, and his breathing was becoming more and more difficult. Mason’s voice was bright and cheery, but his eyes were narrowed on the man standing in front of Free.

“Vasquez. Morning. Hope I’m not interrupting.” Mason lightly touched Free’s shoulder moving him away, “but, I really need Free to help me at my computer again. I know I’m hopeless, but he’s the only one willing to help without the ridicule.”

Free didn’t hear if Vasquez had a retort because Mason had taken control of Free’s cart and was helping him back toward the elevator. When they were closed inside, Mason turned to face him, “Are you okay? None of that appeared to be a friendly conversation. And also…”