Jumping In by Cardeno C. Page B

while they’d been… He couldn’t call it dating considering they’d never gone anywhere outside their apartments, but didn’t fucking the same man on a regular basis for going on half a year mean something? It did to him.
    Six years in the army, almost all of them deployed to Afghanistan, followed by a two-year stint on the Detroit police force had taken away any romantic notions Clint once might have had. But a man didn’t need a child’s fairytale dream of happily-ever-after to be loyal.
    The sound of crinkling paper snapped him to attention. He looked at his hand and saw the previously smooth layers smashed into a ball. Shit. Sally was going to kill him. He set the invitation on her desk and tried straightening it out, getting as far as seeing the distorted words “Ewan Gifford’s” next to “engagement” before muttering, “Fuck it. I’ll buy her flowers,” and tossing the whole mess into the trashcan.
    “Nice shot.”
    A unique combination of whiskey smooth and gravel rough, sometimes in the same word, Clint didn’t need to see the speaker to identify his voice. Only one man sounded like that: Hawk Black, the new deputy mayor. He’d moved into town shortly after the November election and taken over the post from a man who had decided he couldn’t wait for his boss to retire so instead he ran against him in a remarkably ugly campaign. Clint didn’t know what was more surprising: the fact that elections in Hawthorne could get contentious or the fact that a stranger was appointed such a powerful position. Then again, it was possible he paid more attention to the new arrival than other people. And not because of his job title.
    Reminding himself to keep his eyes on the deputy mayor’s face and not leer at his imposing body, especially not his groin, which Clint already knew looked damn enticing in a suit, he took a deep breath, plastered a smile on his face, and turned around.
    “Thanks. Those four years playing in high school are coming in handy now in trashcan basketball.”
    “You have the build for playing ball.” The deputy mayor dragged his gaze from Clint’s shoulders to his feet and back up again, making Clint feel as if he were nude despite his boots, jeans, undershirt, flannel, and jacket. “Guy your size, I bet nobody could penetrate your defense.”
    The comment didn’t fully make sense, same for the look he was getting, but Clint chalked it up to his brain working at less than full tilt. He had that problem whenever the deputy mayor was near—a direct effect of giving up a good bit of focus to that tall, muscular body, strong square jaw, bright blue eyes, and midnight black hair, and losing the rest of his focus on trying to hide his physical response.
    Even Clint’s ex had noticed his reaction to Black, which was really saying something because Ewan had been terrified to be seen with him. But one afternoon, Ewan had happened to walk into the coffee shop where Clint was sharing a table with Black after unexpectedly running into him. In an uncharacteristic move, Ewan had acknowledged him, just a brief hello and an introduction to the deputy mayor. But for weeks afterward, Ewan had tossed out snide remarks that Clint had rationalized as jealousy. It had made sense at the time, but knowing what he knew now, Clint wondered how a man who had been dating someone else himself had the nerve to be jealous of Clint’s reaction to anyone or anything. Asshole.
    “There’s that growl again.” The sides of Black’s mouth turned up in an almost-smile. “I’d ask what you were thinking about that has you so roweled up, but—” Black flicked his gaze to the trashcan. “I don’t think he’s worth another second of your time.”
    Once again, Clint was lost in the conversation. He really had to listen to Black instead of fixating on the color of his eyes. They couldn’t be contact lenses; he’d looked closely enough to have noticed the tell-tale lines. But never in his life had Clint seen