Tomorrow Is Never Promised

Chapter 3

Ethan



“You’re welcome.” I muttered as the mystery guy quickly departed.

You would think that after preventing a guy from falling flat on his face a “thank you” would at least be warranted. But the dude just hightailed it out of here as if his ass were on fire.

He was handsome though, all adorably flustered with those dark-rimmed glasses and bright brown eyes that a guy could get lost in. Not that I was thinking about getting lost in a coworker's eyes, nope, not thinking about that at all.

When was the last time I had gotten laid?

I knew the answer to that question, too damn long. However, I couldn’t be thinking about him in that light. That was a slippery slope that was sure to end in a cliff with a fall that couldn’t be recovered from. I had fooled around with a fellow detective back in Boston, shortly after Dylan, and it had ended in a pretty sticky mess. No pun intended.

All of this thinking about s*x had me feeling itchy, and my lunch break was coming up pretty soon. With that in mind, I grabbed my bag and headed towards the elevator. I needed to get my frustration out somehow, and there was no better way to do that than go to the gym.

The station had a gym in the basement that most employees frequented to blow off a little steam. I was pleasantly surprised to see it mostly empty, with the exception of a guy lifting weights and a woman using a rowing machine.

I made my way into the locker room, the sounds of a shower running and the heady smell of body wash and soap making its way into my nostrils, causing a deep desire to unfurl in my gut.

Yeah, that didn’t help my s****l frustration any.

I changed into a loose muscle tee, and a pair of thigh high shorts before sitting down on one of the benches and wrapping my hands in athletic tape.

I was anxious to hit something, and there was a punching bag with my name on it out in the gym.

The sound of the water from the shower stopping had me lifting my gaze from my hands to see a man walk out in nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. Beads of water clung to his tight skin, and there was a trail of dark hair that led from his pecs, down his stomach, and finally disappeared underneath his towel.

My c**k gave an involuntary twitch, and I had to avert my gaze before the man took notice. The last thing I needed was for the other guys to get uncomfortable around me. It was no secret that I was gay, and if anyone asked I wouldn’t deny it. But I had gotten s**t for it back in Boston, and I didn’t want that to happen to me here.

After I was done wrapping my hands, I looked back up to see the man give me a sly grin, before dropping his towel to reveal a nicely formed ass.

My stomach gave a wobble at the sight, and my d**k definitely took notice, now getting harder by the second. I let out a frustrated noise and jumped up from the bench, stalking out of the locker room and away from temptation.

Did he do that intentionally? Or was he trying to bait me, to get me to let my guard down so he could tell the other guys I was checking out his ass in the locker room? I was being ridiculous, right?

Fuck, did I really have trust issues?

The truth was I didn’t know anymore. People did awful things to each other, and that was even more the case with adults. I thought being a teenager was bad, but at least when I was a teenager I could beat the s**t out of someone for giving me a hard time. Adults seemed to frown upon that method of handling things.

When I got back out to the gym, I was happy to realize I was the only one there. I approached one of the punching bags suspended from the ceiling and anchored to the floor by thick metal chains. I jerked my neck from side to side, and stretched my arms and legs, jumping on the balls of my feet.

Therapy had nothing on the feeling I got from taking my rage out on a punching bag. Oh, I tried therapy, multiple times, but they all said the same bullshit things, gave me the same homework and exercises, but none of it worked. This was the only thing I found that worked, and it worked well for me.

"Beck!" I glanced over to see Rawlins, a fellow detective, walking over.

Wolf Rawlins was a total gym rat, his stocky posture resembling that of an NFL linebacker with thighs and arms the size of redwoods, which were only accentuated further by the gym shorts and muscle tee he was wearing. It wasn't a complete shock to see him in here. Although I was a little disappointed, because I thought I was going to have the place to myself.

"What's up Rawlins?"

"Not a whole lot," He came in for a bro hug, which I obliged. "Did you catch the Blazers game last night?"

"Nah man, I was working.” I didn’t much care for basketball, hockey on the other hand.

I began punching the bag, and he stood off to the side, leaning against an adjacent support beam.

"Man, you need to get out more." He chuckled.

I jabbed at the bag in a quick one-two-three succession.

"What and miss out on all the fun here?"

A grin crossed his face as he shook his head. ”You're the only person I know who considers work fun."

I roundhouse kicked the bag.

"C'mon dude, you're thirty. Live a little!" He exclaimed with outstretched arms.

"I am living, every day, every hour."

"I mean with living people. Ya know, out in the real world, with drinks. You could come to The Stallion with me."

I rolled my eyes. "Pass."

"Dude, hot guys in barely anything, dancing on a bar. How could you pass that up?"

Wolf was also gay, and he reminded me of a frat boy that never grew up. Sure he was nice and fun to hang out with sometimes. But he was also a total meathead, and only thought with his d**k half the time.

I gave the bag one final blow with my fist before turning toward him.

"It's just not really my scene is all," I explained.

He held up his hands in defeat. "Okay-okay I hear ya. But it wouldn't hurt to consider it." He gave me a devilish smirk.

I snorted and took a drink from the water fountain next to him. "Why, so I can have some cocky frat boy hit on me." I gave him a pointed look.

He clutched his chest dramatically, looking astounded. "Ouch, that hurts actually."

One of the funniest stories was how I met Wolf. It was three months ago, at The Stallion. He was drunk and decided to hit on me, rather arrogantly I might add. Nothing ever happened between us, but I made sure he made it home okay. Ever since then we've been… sort of friends. Acquaintances?

"You'll live buddy." I gave him a couple slaps on the side of his shoulder and turned around, stalking towards the locker room.

"Consider it, some of us are going after our shift!" He called after me and I replied with a thumbs up over my shoulder.

I made my way into the locker room, quickly unwinding the tape from my hands, and peeled off my sweaty clothes. I checked my watch as I pulled it off; I had fifteen minutes left for my lunch. Just enough time for a shower.

I pulled my boxers off and grabbed my body wash and towel out of my bag. I wrapped the towel around my waist and headed into the communal shower, which I was glad to see was empty. I turned the water on, which was tepid at best, and stepped under the shower head.

I dipped my head underneath the spray and let the water cascade down me. The force of the water pressure felt amazing on my neck, and I groaned audibly at the feeling.

I grabbed my body wash out of the cubby in front of me and began lathering myself up, images of the Clark Kent lookalike from earlier involuntarily flashing through my brain. Why was he even on my mind? It’s not like we had some meaningful conversation, or shared intimate details about one another. Hell we didn’t even say more than two sentences to each other. I didn’t even know his name.

However, that didn’t mean that I didn’t find him the least bit attractive.

My hands shook slightly from the thought of being able to place his slender hips in my hands again. I bit my lower lip as I thought about what he tasted like. My fingertips teased the base of my c**k, which jumped in approval.

Nope-nope, not happening.

I quickly jerked my hand back, feeling slightly ashamed at almost rubbing one off to a complete stranger. There was no way I was going to jerk off to thoughts about some random guy. Because that’s really what he was, some random guy. I didn’t know his name, I didn’t even know if he was gay, straight, or all of the above. It was dangerous territory, and I wasn’t about to go exploring it.

I finished lathering up and quickly rinsed off before shutting the water off and wrapping my towel around my waist.

Besides, the last thing I needed to be thinking about right now was a guy. I needed to be focused on the case. I needed to find out how Jane Doe and Kyle Harding were connected.

I distinctly remember Kyle’s friend telling me that he worked at Terry’s House, an LGBT youth center in Chinatown. Maybe I should go over there and check it out?

With that new thought front and center in my brain, I quickly got dressed in my clothes, threw my boots on, and made my way back up to the main office.

Normally, I wouldn’t need to tell the captain about what I was doing, it was not like I needed a leash or something. But with how big this case was, I felt like I should keep him updated.

The captain's blinds were drawn, so I couldn’t tell if he was in there, or if he had someone in there. So I approached the door and gave a couple of quick raps with my knuckle.

“Who is it?” I heard him bark from the other side of the door.

“Detective Beck, sir,” I announced.

“Beck? Perfect timing, come on in.”

Perfect timing? What was that supposed to mean?

I opened the door to his office to reveal him standing behind his desk, arms folded. There was someone else in there with him too, and I had to do a double take to realize who it was.

It was Clark Kent with the gorgeous brown eyes.

I couldn’t help but stare at him, and he stared back at me. His brown eyes matched my confusion and horror all at the same time. Something about the captain saying “perfect timing” and him being in here didn’t set well with me.

“Doctor Reagan, have you met Detective Beck?” Captain Harvey pointedly asked, whose name I guess was Doctor Reagan.

“Umm, no not officially.” He replied in a nervous tone, and why that did something to my insides I couldn’t say.

“Nice to meet you.” I held out my hand in a friendly manner. He eyed it for a second before pulling his right hand out of his gray slacks and shaking my hand.

The heat that I felt travelling from my hand and up my arm from the contact was enough to melt ice. His hands were soft and warm, but those qualities contradicted the firm grip he had on my hand. We shook hands for longer than necessary, maintaining an eye contact that spoke volumes even though no words were muttered.

I released his hand and shoved both of mine into my pockets, not trusting them to involuntarily reach out and feel his contact again.

“I assigned Doctor Reagan here to the Jane Doe and Kyle Harding case,”

Oh no.

“And he’s made some incredible headway.”

This can’t be happening.

“In fact, I want the two of you to work on this case together.”

Fuck, this is happening.

“You want us to do what now?” Doctor Reagan spoke up, and for some reason I felt a little twinge of pain in my gut at that. Wasn’t I supposed to be glad that he was objecting to working with me?

“You are one of the best profilers we have in this department, and Detective Beck has one of the best rates of solved cases in Boston.”

“Boston, yes, but this is Portland,” Doctor Reagan pointed out, and I felt my face get a little heated by that comment.

Sure I was new to these streets, but don’t dog on my work performance. I was proud of my successes, and I learned well from my failures.

“Trust me, being partnered with a shrink isn’t my idea of fun either.” I replied curtly.

“Criminal Profiler.” He replied through barred teeth, not bothering to even look at me.

I gave a snort. “Is there a difference?”

That got me an icy glare, his brown eyes sending daggers at me from behind his glasses. I replied by giving him an amused grin. Oh, this was going to be fun.

"I don't deny that the two of you will keep each other on your feet." There was an almost devilish glint in Captain Harvey's eyes as he spoke. The sick son of a b***h.

Doctor Reagan folded his arms across his neatly pressed white button-down shirt, jaw set, and looking like he would rather be partnered up with a horde of murder hornets than me.

From the brief moment that we had met earlier he seemed friendly, maybe even adorably nervous. So what happened between then and now? Was I just reading too much into things?

Maybe he knew that I was gay, and didn't want to be partnered with me. It wasn't like I exactly kept my sexuality a secret. I just didn't announce it out in the open, out of fear of being treated differently, being ostracized.

Just like back in Boston.

"I'll leave you guys to it then. Play nice gentlemen." The Captain gave us a facetious grin before dismissing us.

Doctor Reagan blew past me and was out of the office within a moment's notice. I followed after him, closing the door behind me. He wasn't going to get away that easily, I was going to find out what his problem was.

"Hey, slow down." I called out to him, but he was already on the staircase.

I jogged after him, following him up the stairs to the second floor and over to a desk that was similar to my own. Except this one had a name plaque on the desktop.

Dr. Oliver Reagan, Criminal Psychologist, PhD.

Oliver. I shouldn't like the way his name rolled off my tongue like that, but I did.

"Did I do something wrong?" I questioned.

He gave me an expressionless look, one that was hard to decipher and see the real emotion behind it.

"What would give you that impression?"

"Well, for starters, you seemed really eager to be partnered with me on this case."

His eyebrows furrowed. "But I'm not."

"Yeah I know, it's called sarcasm Doc." I rolled my eyes. Was he messing with me?

"I know what sarcasm is," He snapped.

"Great, then can you explain to me what I did wrong to get this," I gestured at him aimlessly. "Attitude."

"You didn't do anything."

Now I was really confused. What was this guy's deal? I couldn't read him like I could some people. His tone, his body language-all of it, was closed off and distant. It was like talking to one of those really smart people, like those annoyingly such types that used big words and carried this air about them like they were better than you.

Was that what this was? Did he think he was better than me? Like being saddled with me was going to hold him back somehow?

He stared at me, as if thinking about his next move. I could see a glimmer of what looked like frustration behind his eyes. Then, just like that, it was gone. He pushed up his glasses and stood up from his desk.

"Forget about it. Doesn't matter."

I held up a hand and he stalled for a second. “Just like that, it doesn’t matter?” I questioned.

“That’s what I said.” He replied as if that made all the sense in the world.

I watched him as he pulled his matching gray blazer off the back of his desk chair and slung it on in one smooth motion. His movements were so fluid, like a mixture of relaxed, but also seemed calculated in a sense. It was actually kind of intriguing. s**t, did he just say something?

“What?” I asked stupidly.

“Before I got called back by the captain, I was checking up on a lead. We should probably go together, shouldn’t we?” He asked, but the tone in his voice suggested he would rather go alone.

I swallowed my frustration and planted a convincing smile, making a sweeping gesture with my arm for him to go ahead of me. “Why not?” I agreed, my tone suggesting otherwise.

He studied my expression for a bit before breaking eye contact and passing by me. The faint scent of his spicy cologne wafted into my nostrils and settled into the pit of my stomach, making it do a pleasant flip.

I’m so f****d.