Page 66 of Dining for Love

My uncle has the same reaction as Chief Muñoz when I deliver him the news. “Shit.”

“Have you told anyone else?”

“Course not,” he scoffs. “You said we needed to keep this contained. Have you?”

“Not exactly,” I hedge.

“Not exactly? What does that mean?” His eyes narrow.

“Ox is a really good cop, you know that?” I say instead.

He huffs. “He is. But whatever he does or doesn’t know is on you, son. Not me.”

“Understood.”

“You’re on duty with Thompson today.”

I nod, not happy to be paired with the guy but knowing better than to argue about it, and leave him to it.

Officer Ted Thompson is no more a fan of me than I am of him, and he flicks his eyes at me dismissively when I join him at the front of the station. “Stuck with each other today?”

I don’t bother answering, moving to open the door and gesturing for him to go in front of me. He makes a sound of disgust, and the flare of anger that swells inside me takes me by surprise.

We head to the pier, with Thompson naturally choosing to drive the short distance instead of walking. He’s the exact type of cop that gives the rest of us a bad name, and between the rabbit’s foot this morning and my need to be one step ahead of his surly attitude, my nerves are shot. I leap out of thecar the second he puts it in park, filling my lungs with the salty ocean breeze. I clock everything around me: the young teenagers who bounce and jostle each other as they head toward the shake and burger shack on the corner, the number and type of vessels out in the water, the old man who sits and reads the paper outside of the bait and tackle shop just off the front of the pier, the joggers, the moms with strollers. No hint of anyone who’d be with the Bunnies.

Everything is cataloged and filed before Thompson heaves his bulk out of the front seat and joins me, his hands resting on his utility belt and surveying the pier as if he rules over it. He starts for the teenagers. “Looks like we have our work cut out for us.”

I block him, my arms deliberately loose.

“What are you doing?”

“Please tell me why you think you need to talk to those kids.”

His eyes flash. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, MacKinnon.”

“Give me one good reason to speak to them,” I repeat. This asshole has no idea what I’ve experienced in Miami, and I am not dealing with his racist ass today.

His eyes, bloodshot and beady, flit between mine as he considers my words. Finally, he huffs and turns in the direction of the pier. I know he plans to ticket as many people as possible, but I’ll take a handful of twenty-dollar fines over harassing kids for their skin color any fucking day of the week.

Sure enough, Thompson has a grand old time, his enjoyment over ticketing tourists for not having the proper license growing with each one he issues. But after he writes the fifth citation in as many people as he’s asked, I’m done. “What is it with you?”

He turns to me, his expression dangerous. “Me? What is it withyou?”

“They’re here to relax, Thompson, not trying to wipe the pier of fish.What’s your deal?”

He shrugs. “There are signs everywhere. The license is three dollars. They need to learn their lesson.”

I clench my jaw, knowing I should let it go. Arguing with partners—temporary or not, racist assholes or not—puts a target on my back if something goes wrong.

He smirks. “That’s what I thought.”

Well, fuck him then. “Only lesson they’re learning is that you’re a petty prick, and you’re making the rest of us look like pricks right alongside you.”

He laughs, entirely too pleased to have gotten a rise out of me. Then he leans forward and lowers his voice. “Listen up, you little shit. I don’t like you. Coming here from your big city thinking you’re hot stuff when it’s easy enough to see you couldn’t do a real policeman’s job if your life fucking depended on it. You’re slow to react, you probably couldn’t hit a target even if it were served up to you on a platter, and your observational skills are worse than a blind man’s.”

The urge to throat-punch the asshole is high, but I hide it, crossing my arms and regarding him coolly. “You’re a real treat, you know that?”

His ruddy cheeks get redder. “We’re done here.”

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