I hated the idea. That explained why I desperately searched for any other explanation.
A clinking sound drew my attention as he shut the lid on his coffee table storage unit. It sounded like bottles in there, the kind with more than root beer in them. How did I end up here with a virtual stranger?
"You’re really a cop?" I questioned.
"Detective," he answered easily, joining me on the couch and sitting a respectable distance away. There were no other options, given this was the only seating in the sparse living room.
His apartment looked more like a college guy’s bachelor pad. Blank walls, barely any furnishings beside a game console and a sprawling collection of video game cases piled around the room. We weren’t even sitting on a couch but a cheap futon.
"Don’t believe me?" he deduced when I kept staring doubtfully.
“Sorry, I’m just not sure how I ended up here. I don’t even know you.”
Delighted for an easy problem to solve, he twisted towards me and thrust his hand out. “I’m Chase Slate. Chase.”
“I-I’m Lucas.” The touch of his hand and his inviting smile were too confusing, causing me to look away.
“Hi Lucas. Let’s see, what else can I tell you? I’m a Virgo who hates long walks on the beach and loves anything by The Clash. I’ve been thinking about getting a motorcycle to really cement my status as the sexiest man in NC. Except it’d just sit in a garage instead of getting at least a few long hard rides every week, and I know how much that sucks.”
My head started to spin from that information. He phrased the first bit like a contestant on a dating show. And the last part was downright pornographic.
“…Did I just talk about how badly I need to be ridden like a Harley? Okay, I won’t blame you for asking if I’m really in law enforcement again.”
Not able to speak yet, I only shook my head.
Motorcycles and him did have a few things in common, both seductive and potentially dangerous. Images swirled around in my head, a person in his lap, fully situated on his cock, Chase’s hands warm on their hips. Would he try directing the pace or would he sit back and watch, letting the rider, well,ride?
…the rider in my head wasn’t absolutely myself, only a male who matched my basic description.
“Alright I’m not a typical cop with a no-nonsense haircut and regrettable mustache choices,” he admitted. “When I’m off duty, I’m off duty."
"Really?” I found my voice and pushed the images away. “So tonight you were just, what, a good Samaritan?”
His lazy grin sent butterflies buzzing in my stomach. "Well, with a pretty face in distress I couldn’t resist."
"Shut up." I shoved at him. No more imagining or it’d definitely be me in the fantasy now.
"These days I’m almost always working.” Chase sighed. “There’s no food here at all, only liquor. I visit my brother’s house whenever I need to eat. Hopefully things calm down soon. What’s the expression? All work and no play something, something, something dull boys."
"I used to be the opposite," I admitted quietly.
"Then what happened?"
"Things change… I’m currently on vacation and supposed to be relaxing."
"Oh, you’re not from this area?" Chase asked.
"No, I am. I’m on a… what’s the dumb name? Staycation."
That was the closest explanation available without discussing the gritty details. I swapped ‘vacation’ with ‘medical leave.’ Like a vacationer, I had trouble shutting off my brain while off duty. The avenues it traveled down weren’t pleasant…
“Do you want a drink?” Chase offered when I began getting lost in my head again. “A glass of water?”
"What about something stronger?" I suggested. He did imply the apartment was well stocked with alcohol if nothing else.
Chase made an aborted move towards the coffee table before shaking his head and heading to the kitchen. “One water coming up.”
After a scary night and a freak fireball, I craved something stronger than water to calm my nerves… the coffee table was actually a long rectangular crate. Guess it added credibility to his cop story because it really looked like a shipping container for some kind of tactical gear.
