Page 2 of Steam

“Not at all,” he says. “I’m really more of a beer man, to be honest.”

“Just out of curiosity: are you going to make me go through every pocket on your person, or do you think we could just cut the shit and you could help me out here?”

The guy shrugs and his grin goes crooked.

“I dunno,” he says. “A strip search might be in order.”

* * *

Shoplifting is a necessity.

Fucking with rent-a-cops is a hobby.

Fucking with hot rent-a-cops is something so beyond fun that Trent is surprised he’s only just now discovering the possibility.

He’s really hit the jackpot with this guy: tall and shaped like an inverted goddamn Dorito chip, light eyes and a nice smile, forearms that will probably haunt his dreams for a little while, and an unexpected deep voice that’s like the perfect bow on a pretty package.

He’s getting frustrated easily, too, which is just honestly more than Trent could’ve ever hoped for.

There’s nothing new for him about being pulled aside by security and trotted back to a private office somewhere. But normally security guards treat him with zero respect (admittedly this is the treatment he deserves, as an actively shoplifting shitbag) and this guy is talking to him like they’re on equal footing here.

And so Trent, being Trent, has decided to push the limits.

The guard just rolls his eyes at the strip search comment, so Trent shrugs his shoulders again.

“Hey, can’t blame a guy for trying,” Trent says. “So, uh, just stack it on the desk here?”

“Please,” the man says, sounding relieved that he’s finally dropping the act.

It’s really a shame he didn’t make it out of the store with all this stuff. Between the sunglasses and the wine, several books, floss, a nice toothbrush, and a bottle of fancy shampoo, it had really been a good haul tonight. He strips the jacket off, fumbles through all of its hiding places, and sets the almost-stolen items neatly on the desk.

He spins to sit and the man — who is now behind the desk — clears his throat.

“What? That’s all of it, seriously.”

The guard hitches an eyebrow.

“You got some stolen items in those jeans, too, or are you just happy to see me?”

* * *

The flippant commentescapes Chester’s mouth before his filter has the chance to kick in. The kid’s face lights up for a moment but then falls when he slips a hand into his pocket.

“Shit, shit,” he says, pulling something with great difficulty out of his front pocket. “I forgot about this – seriously, though, hand to God.”

He’s smiling when he slaps it on the top of the pile. A bottle of lube. Chester didn’t even know they stocked the fancy brand.

“The only other thing I have is my wallet,” the kid insists. He produces the wallet – beat up and patched with duct tape – and turns both of his pockets out to prove it. “But, I mean, I probably can’t be trusted. You really might want to be more thorough. You never know what else could be in these je — ”

“Sit,” Chester says, cutting him off and giving him his best unamused look. Kid definitely has some balls on him. He’s never had someone hit on him so blatantly while he was working — and especially not someone he’s just busted for shoplifting.

He eyes the kid as he sits, trying to remember if his training had covered what he’s supposed to do if someone tries to bribe him. Under the jacket, the guy is wearing a threadbare band t-shirt. His body is lanky without the bulk of his shoplifting bounty and jacket, and to Chester’s surprise, there are tattoos snaking down from under one sleeve of the shirt. He hadn’t looked old enough to have any — even younger without the big jacket — but now that Chester is giving him a second look, the aloof expression and wry smile do look like they belong more on someone in their twenties than teens.

“ID,” Chester demands, holding out his hand. The guy slips it out of his wallet and stands to pass it over to Chester, pressing it into his palm, but then catching his wrist at the last second. When Chester looks up, the kid is giving him what he must think is a seductive look. Really, he just looks tired.

“There’s gotta be some way you can just let me off with a warning,” he suggests, voice dropping. Chester shakes his hand free.

“As tempting as that is, I’m afraid not.”

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