Page 10 of Christmas Trouble

Azrael felt his back crushed to Real’s hard muscled chest, the man’s arms locked his arms against his sides.

Azrael’s breath caught and all the anger he felt toward Real disappeared for a moment.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” he choked out.

“I changed my mind,” Real breathed against his ear.

The fight went out of Azrael and Real eased his grip.

Sirens from outside swam through the slider doors. “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” piped through the overhead speakers. The people around them were talking.

Azrael heard only the noise as muffled sounds. Real jerked him around and into his arms and Azrael clung to the man.

In that moment, the rage over finding out about Real’s recent one night stand faded into an aching hurt. They were not in a romantic relationship. And his wishful hoping that they would someday be in one, was his own fantasy.

And right now, held in Real’s big strong arms, Azrael was going to take what he could get.

Because it wouldn’t last long.

It never lasted.

Real had made an art of avoiding him.

Denver police were armed when they entered the department store, guns out at the ready. It took several minutes for customers to tell the story to the DPD about what had transpired.

Most of the versions sounded the same—a slender teenager with long black hair and dark eyes had apprehended the big burly robber. The gun went off only when the other big man had hugged the slender one.

With the explanation, DPD cuffed the big burly robber and holstered their guns.

“Where’s the weapon?” one cop wanted to know, but Real wasn’t handing it over to just anyone.

With a tight grip on Azrael’s arm, Real marched the eighteen-year-old through the crowd, outside the door, and into the bitter cold.

Two of the cops followed them and Real wondered if they were going to have a problem.

Five cop cars and two county sheriff SUVs were parked haphazardly in the lot with their lights streaming back and forth, sending a blue and red glow over the area.

Just outside of the door a man in a sheriff’s uniform, with a badge that read Mendoza, stood talking to Creed, Echo, and Ice. Grit was standing glued to Ice’s side.

“This was the weapon used in the attempted robbery.” Real handed the robber’s gun to the sheriff.

“You’re not from around these parts are you?” Sheriff Mendoza said.

“No, we’re visiting for the holiday,” Real told the guy.

“Is this your gun?” Mendoza asked Azrael, who shook his head.

“He gave his statement to the local PD inside,” Real told Mendoza.

“I’m asking him,” Mendoza squinted with cold eyes at Real and gestured at Azrael.

Before Real could show the fucker who the real boss was in this situation, Azrael cut in.

“That gun belongs to guy who was robbing the store,” Azrael said, clamping a hand over Real’s forearm.

“How did you get it?” Mendoza asked Azrael.

“I took it from him,” Azrael said and squeezed Real’s arms when he felt the muscles cord and bunch beneath his fingers.

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