His First Surrender (Stonewall Investigations Miami 3)

This was a new detail, and definitely another red flag. I’d have to look deeper into Jesse’s drug pushing.

Sam licked his lips. Somehow, it looked like the most innocent thing in the world while also being the hottest. My pulse quickened.

“All right,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. I could see some purple and blue start appearing on his left cheek, where he must have been punched hard. “I should get going. I’ve got work to do.”

I really had no idea why, but I didn’t want him to leave. Around us, the crowd had shifted from the day-goers to the nighttime partiers. Short, vibrant dresses and white button-ups passed us by, people walking toward the beach for their date night. A car honked nearby, and someone shouted through the window, telling someone else to move out of their way.

“If you need anything else.” I reached into my pocket and grabbed my wallet. Inside, I had a couple of business cards I rarely used. It didn’t have my personal number, only my work contact. I considered adding my personal number but second-guessed myself, something I also rarely did.

But with Sam, things worked differently.

I pulled one of the glossy cards out and handed it to him. Our fingertips touched for the briefest of moments, and yet that was enough to shock me from feet to scalp. He pulled his hand back, as if he’d gotten burned.

“Thanks,” he said, looking at the card, flipping it over, examining it as if he were trying to memorize it.

Did he feel what I did? Was he trying to stall? Should I say something? Maybe he wanted to hang out before going home… we could get a drink or two.

What the actual fuck?

Since when did I ever get this nervous about someone? I rubbed the bridge of my nose. This was childish. Stupid.

“Sam, do you want to get a drink before going home? Looks like you’re about to get a pretty bad bruise. A vodka tonic should help with that.”

He tilted his head to the side. I could see him considering it. I could also see the gentle throb of his pulse, marking the spot on his neck I wanted to suck between my teeth. My dick gave a similar throb.

“It is starting to hurt a little.” He lifted a hand and gently rubbed his cheek, the other bruise on his forearm already taking hold. It made me wish I had intervened sooner. “Maybe one drink…”

“There’s a bar just around the corner. It’s a chill spot. And they’ve got great drinks, too.”

He considered it a little longer. “We won’t be long there. I want to work on the case tonight.”

It felt like I was bartering for a life-saving bottle of medication. For a split second, fear entered me at the thought of Sam rejecting me. I hadn’t tasted bitter rejection in what felt like years, mainly because I hadn’t put myself in a situation like this. Everyone I’d had a “connection” with, if you could call it that, came through an app, and the connection was never emotional. It was only physical. I never opened myself up to this kind of anxiety.

“Fine, yeah, let’s go. I’d rather not go back home now.”

The anxiety disappeared, replaced by a buzzing excitement. One that surprised me by its intensity.

“And I guess I owe you a drink for saving my life.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” I said.

On the way to the bar, Sam called Hazel and filled her in on everything that happened. They both agreed that she should stay over at a friend’s house for the next few nights, until things calmed down and Jesse moved out. I wondered if Sam had a place he could stay. He struck me as the kind of guy who’d have a walk-in closet full of friends, all of them obsessed with the bright-eyed and smiley Samuel Clark. He had that kind of air around him. The kind that pulled everyone into his orbit, one way or another. Sometimes it ended up in a catastrophic collision like the one I’d witnessed between him and Jesse, but I had a feeling that there was another type of collision possible.

A powerful, soulful one.

The bouncer carded us both and let us into the tiny dive bar. It wasn’t the typical Miami Beach club with their neon lights and loud techno music and sweaty, dancing bodies. This place had one janky disco ball hanging over a barely useable dance floor tucked away in the farthest corner with a classic Madonna song playing. The rest of the bar was taken up by, well, the bar. It stretched from entrance to end, with seating all along the length of it. There were a couple of tables, most of them already taken by laughing patrons, all of them holding mugs of beer or martini glasses. One table still remained empty. We went to it, Sam sitting down and holding the spot as I went to go get our drinks. I returned a few moments later holding a rum and Coke and a vodka tonic.