Crazy From the Heat (2 page)

Cafeteria.
Food here sucks.

Could
be worse, could be coffee and doughnuts back at the shop.

Would
rather have coffee over plain white milk. Seriously how’d I forget about this crap?

Stone
ages dude.

Where
are you?

In
shop class of all places. I didn’t know they still taught shop.

Would
rather be there than here watching the teachers jones over my hot ass.

Are
they hot? Please tell me it’s chicks, because dude if it’s a dude you are so
screwed.

If
it were the hot Prof, Paul wouldn’t mind some of that, but he seemed to be
trying to cover up a thing with the head hottie. Paul shook his head, what a
waste of some sexy as hell teacher glasses. Short brown hair, hazel eyes,
chiseled jaw, nice body under the Dockers, button-down shirt and tie. Yeah,
he’d hit that in a heartbeat.

All
chicks, a couple not bad, one hot mama. Seems to be all up on the history
teacher’s dick though so no go.

How’s
the girls look? Any prospects, Johnny Depp?

Shit,
just what he needed, a room full of jailbait on his ass.

Right
now everyone is hanging back, scoping me out. A few guys giving me the evil
eye.

Our
kind of guys or jealous boyfriend kind of guys…or your kind of guys.

Paul
had forgotten that Vinnie knew about his preferences, it took him a minute to
make his brain work.

Still
jailbait no matter the sex. The history Prof though, I’d do him.

Jesus,
I don’t need details. When you think we can get off this assignment? I’m not
liking remembering why I hated school in the first place.

But
you’re Richard Grieco, JD needs your ass in here in case it gets kicked.

Ha
ha, but seriously, dude, I have Algebra next. I hated fucking algebra the first
three times I took it.

Then
maybe you might pass this time since you’ve already had it like three times.
Why’d you take it three times anyway?

Shit
shut up the teacher is coming this way meet you after school in the designated
area to hang.

We
will hang together for we will surely hang apart or something like that.

Vinnie
didn’t reply. Paul tucked his phone into his pocket and looked up to find the
history teacher watching him, a strange look on his face, then he shook his
head and looked down as if to say busted.
Yeah, yeah, I got your busted
right here, Perv
, Paul thought just as the bell rang for the fourth block.

Blocks,
what the hell happened to six or seven one hour classes? Had he really been out
of school so long that it had changed so much? He picked up the garbage that
passed for food and walked it to the trash area and then, taking his book, he
hauled it off to find the gym for Health.

Chapter Two

The
kids were excited for the first football game of the season. Grey wasn’t much
for sports, but he loved watching the kids. Spicoli, as he’d continued thinking
of the new kid, didn’t seem to share the other’s enthusiasm. Of course he
didn’t seem to be much of a joiner at all. He was always quiet in class, unless
making a sarcastic remark about something in the day’s lesson. He kept up,
better than most of the other kids.

He
always dressed in some shade of punk, with the beat up Converse always on his
feet and the shades always on his eyes. Grey began every class with the same
phrase. “Shades off Spicoli.” The kid never asked who Spicoli was. For the last
two weeks Grey had watched him, telling himself he was just intrigued by the
mystery surrounding the kid, and what looked like a younger brother. Hair
wasn’t quite the same color, but the junior looked enough like him that they
had to be related.

They
hung out in the parking lot after school, smoking cigarettes with a bunch of
the tougher kids. The ones most likely to end up in prison. He watched the boy
for signs of drugs but his eyes were always clear, his speech lucid, though
laden with attitude when not in class. His accent was…Well, he didn’t really
have an accent. Maybe a touch of the Midwest, but not thick. You could
certainly tell him apart from the others. The younger Spicoli spoke with a
heavy punk accent. He seemed to be the one doing most of the smoking and
cussing whenever Grey left school. “Drive safe Prof.” Spicoli always said as he
passed. The rest of the kids did catcalls or made rude gestures. Grey didn’t
think anything of it.

Every
afternoon the kids were in the parking lot, but today the lot was empty and
Grey was strangely deflated as he drove home. He rented one of those rough loft
spaces in the older part of the city and parked on the street. Sometimes he had
to drive around the block a couple of times before he found a space, even
though he paid to rent one. The reserved for tenant sign didn’t seem to matter
to people looking for downtown parking.

Today
he was lucky. He parked in his assigned space and there was no one standing
around when he let himself in the narrow down stairs door and climbed the two
flights up to his apartment.

Bare
concrete floors and barren brick walls with a huge bank of windows—yeah that
was why he rented this place. Better than the vinyl sided modern apartments
that had sprung up around the University since he'd come to live here. Speaking
of University, the game started at seven at the university stadium. The school
had finally broken land to expand the old stadium so this year they had to play
on a rented field.

Grey
wasn’t sure if he wanted to drive all that way just to watch a football game.
He left his jacket on the back of the sofa along with his back pack. One day
he’d stop taking the damned jacket. One hundred three degrees today. And he’d
sweated all the way to and from work even with the air conditioner blasting in
his car.

He
walked to the refrigerator and leaned inside. The cool air was refreshing, the
lack of food, not so much. Damn, he was going to have to go back out anyway. He
took a beer and went to change into something cooler. Jeans and a t-shirt.
Because he never wore shorts. The floor was cool under his bare feet. He loved
that about this apartment. The northern exposure and the heavy concrete kept
the small room cool in the summer. He didn't love it so much in the winter, but
the winters here were mercifully short.

The
building had a set of balconies on the back; small, narrow, but nice enough
that Grey could sit outside at night and enjoy the sounds of the city. Over a
couple of blocks was one of the city's many parks, and sometimes there would be
an early evening concert. While he couldn’t see it, he could hear the music and
that’s all that mattered.

He
stepped out onto the balcony to retrieve the flip flops he’d left there last
night when Cole had stopped by for a night cap. The night cap never happened.
Cole was too drunk. He slept on Grey’s sofa while Grey…Well, let’s just say he
was more acquainted with his own hand than Cole’s ass.

“Cole
is a Goddamned cock tease,” he told the pigeon sitting on the balcony railing.
It cooed in response. “Is that agreement or dissent? Come on, you can tell me.
You watch us every night. He’s a cock-tease, and a drunk, and I’m stupid,
right?” The pigeon cooed again and took wing, flapping across the low roof of
the business across the street to land on a window sill. “That’s what I
thought.”

September
was still a week and a half away, and Grey remembered from last year that
cooler weather wouldn’t come with Labor Day as it had back home. It was late,
nearly seven and the sun was still high on the horizon. Dusk was about an hour
out, and two hours until full dark. He hated long days after school, especially
when the meetings fell on a Friday and then tutoring because his sophomores
were already falling behind. He grabbed his keys from the kitchen island and
started for the door.

Friday
night and he was running out to buy food instead of going out or getting laid.
God he really needed to get laid. This thing with Cole wasn’t going to happen.
Cole was hot as freaking hell—so slim, Grey knew he didn’t eat, and thought he might
possibly have a drug problem, but damn the sharp cheekbones and huge eyes were
a turn on. The glossy black hair and black lined blue eyes…His voice when he
was on stage…Yeah, that did it for Grey. The whole package, like having his own
personal Adam Lambert…who never wanted to go past the kissing stage before he
passed out. Usually on Grey’s couch. Just like last night. Fuck.

“I’m
such a fool,” Grey said to the sofa, resenting it for the action it saw that
didn’t involve him. “First the pigeon and now the sofa. That’s it. I’m going
crazy from the heat.” He sighed, shoving his wallet in his back pocket. “Friday
night and I’m making a beer run. Stag. Back later, sofa. If you see pigeon,
tell him to mind his own damned business.”

* * * * *

“Gaines,
where’s your partner?” Paul sat up straight and blinked at his captain. “You
look like shit son.”

“I
have no idea, Cap. And, thank you, sir. These double shifts are doing wonders
for my complexion.” After school Paul had caught a nap in the rack down in the
squad room. A nap that wasn’t going to get him through the night at this rate.
He snorted at the after school thought. “Fifteen years ago I went to school,
played ball, and then stayed out all night. Guess I’m losing it, huh, Cap?”

“Welcome
to the club kid. Welcome to the fucking club,” the Captain said, slapping him
on his shoulder on his way to the head. “Go find your partner and get out of
here, the night air might just do you good.”

“Aye,
Aye, Cap.” Paul dragged his ass out of his desk chair and raised his hands over
his head to stretch. The t-shirt he wore rode up, and one of the detectives
sitting across the room whistled. So what if he had a belly ring. And a flat
belly that showed it off. Pissers. All of them could kiss his ass. He grabbed the
plaid shirt to cover his weapon. Damn, it was hot. He hated wearing long
sleeves in summer, but he couldn’t run around with his gun exposed when he was
supposed to be busting punks.

Narcotics
wasn’t exactly his choice of assignments but since coming to Alabama it wasn’t
so bad. Not like back in Chicago. Hell, nothing was like back in Chicago.

“Hey
Chicago, you got a nipple ring to go with that? What’s your boyfriend think of
it?” They thought they were so damned funny.

“Your
wife likes it well enough, and sweetie if you want to find out what else I have
pierced it’s going to cost you.” Paul puckered up and sent a kiss flying across
the room as Vinnie sauntered in, looking as bad as Paul felt. “’Bout damned
time you hauled your ass in here, we’ve got a hit, and need to roll.”

“Sorry
I had homework—fuck no I did not just say that. Man, how much longer are we
going to be on kiddie patrol?” Vincent Gautreau from N’Awlins was much younger
than Paul. In fact, he wasn’t much older than the kids they were spending their
days with. Twenty-two. He was recruited over in NOLA straight out of the
academy to go undercover in the schools over there. That was two years ago
according to him. He was a good kid, one Paul had learned to trust back when he
was running the streets of the French Quarter with him. Yeah, this Alabama
transfer was nothing like NOLA either. Except it was just as fucking hot.

“But
this is your own specialty, Boudreaux,” Paul said in his lousy imitation of
Vinnie when he went all Cajun bad-boy on some pretty, unsuspecting thing.

“I
been in high school for near seven fucking years now, Boudreaux. Shit’s getting
old, yeah.” Vinnie dragged his hands over his face, rubbing his eyes. “We gotta
stop and get some coffee, or I ain’t gonna make it, man.”

“Right
behind you, Gato,” Paul said because he knew Vinnie hated the nick name.
Gautreau sounded somewhat like the Spanish word for cat if you weren’t paying
attention, and if he had to be saddled with Chicago just because he happened to
end up there after college, then Vinnie was going to have to deal with Gato and
that was just the way it was. “I could use an eye opener.”

The
sun was just beginning to set when Paul stepped out of the precinct. He pulled
the sunglasses he used as part of his daytime uniform from his pocket and tried
to suppress the smirk when the words,
lose the shades, Spicoli,
flittered through his head.

“What
the hell are you smiling about?” Vinnie said behind a yawn. “This double duty
shift shit is kicking my ass. I don’t see anything to smile about.”

“You
get used to it, kid,” Paul smiled again, this time a real smile. “Double
shifts, triple shifts, days when you only get a fifteen minute power nap and a
rinse off down in the locker room before you’re back on the street.”

“Shut
up, Johnny Depp, or I’ll tell the hot professor you got a thing for him.”

“And
what would that accomplish exactly? The man might be a big flaming homophobe.
And besides, that other teacher has her hooks pretty deep into him, anyway.”

“Oh,
hell. You
do
have the hots for the dude,” Vinnie’s voice rose a couple
of octaves becoming an almost soprano squeal.