Page 13 of Follows with Intent

The buzz of conversation filled the multipurpose room in the student union as they waited for the symposium to begin. Unlike the rest of the campus, with its turrets and buttresses and age-dark limestone, this space looked like it had been lifted out of an office supply catalogue: rows of laminate-top tables and plastic chairs that could be stored when they weren’t in use; a drop ceiling with fluorescent panels; blandly patterned carpet squares. Hints of the old design still showed in the windows and the mahogany trim. Jadon could hear the slightly accelerated rumble of his own heartbeat. He felt like everything had slowed down, or he’d sped up. Hyperaware—of Vic’s knee bumping his, the sound of a chair being dragged across the carpet, the smell of a woman’s perfume, summery, melon-y, out of season. The morning’s light was the color of eggshells, and he wondered why he’d never seen light that beautiful before.

Vic leaned in and whispered, “Reck, that kid is some grade-A pussy. I saw that tight little ass.”

“Vic!” Allison said.

Shrugging, Vic added in a slightly louder voice, “I’m serious: that thing would choke the life out of your dick.”

“Don’t talk about him like that,” Jadon said.

Vic smirked and spread his hands.

“Actually,” Jadon said, “don’t talk about anyone like that.”

“It’s a compliment—”

“It’s not a compliment. It’s objectifying, and it’s sexist, and it’s inappropriate. Especially for a law enforcement officer. And especially in a professional setting. And especially when you’re here because you run your mouth when you shouldn’t, and you’re talking to two people on the LGBTQ task force.”

A flush rose, only barely visible under Vic’s brown skin. The tear troughs under his eyes deepened. He sat back, hands up again, and said, “What crawled up your ass?”

“Just say you’re sorry, Vic,” Allison said.

“I’m sorry, Jesus Christ.”

Jadon held Vic’s gaze for a moment longer and then turned his gaze forward again. It was bad enough to be here, forced to sit and listen while self-proclaimed experts (experts on what, Jadon wasn’t exactly sure—being a gay cop, maybe?) yammered and yakked and went on and on for days, while the Lang case, and a dozen other cases, slipped out from under him. It was worse, though, that he had to do it with Vic Serrano sitting next to him. Vic wasn’t exactly a bad type, but he was an unrepentant asshole (as his most recent comment proved) whose career had stalled at detective and whose frustration was always finding new outlets. He’d been sent to the symposium, apparently for sensitivity training, after informing half of patrol that Captain Weaver had only made rank because he was a cocksucker and, on top of that, a citizen complaint that had suggested, without using the word, harassment. Jadon figured Vic’s biggest complaint about being sent for sensitivity training was that it was fucking up all his free time during his suspension.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Allison’s questioning look and gave back a tiny shake of his head in answer.

Vic shifted around in his seat a few times and finally said, “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Why aren’t you going to hit that?”

“Do you want to try that again?”

“Climb off the stick, Reck. I said I was sorry. He’s here. He couldn’t peel his eyes off you.” Vic smirked and gave Jadon’s new ensemble—Chouteau College sweats, fresh from the campus bookstore—a once over. “And you two have a vibe.”

“We’ve got a vibe?”

Allison nodded. “There’s definitely chemistry.”

“Who are you trying to help here?”

“Vic might be a dumpster-mouthed asshole of a savage—”

“Thank you,” Vic said.

“—but he’s not wrong. And you still haven’t answered his question: why not?”

“How about he’s out of my league?”

Allison rolled her eyes.

Vic’s voice softened. “Aww, Reck, buddy, you’re hot stuff.” He cupped himself. “I’d let you swing on my knob anytime.”

“How about you fuck off for five minutes, Vic?” Allison gestured toward the doors. “Why don’t you find a traffic cone to hump or something?”

“I’m going to get a coffee,” Vic said, giving himself a final jiggle. As he left, he added, “It’s to drink, Reck, not to wear, so don’t get excited.”

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