Only Words (Max & Skyler 1)

Only Words (Max & Skyler 1)

by Acer Adamson


The day had been shitty from the start. Like most other days, this one had begun with Max smacking the snooze button on his alarm clock at least five times in a row. Then he'd spent too long in the shower waging a futile war to wash off lack of sleep and a fierce hangover. Compounding his tardiness, he'd gone to Starbucks and gotten the server from hell who couldn't comprehend the basic concept of coffee-flavored coffee. Max had figured that once he got down to the station and settled in at his desk, his day would improve.

It hadn't. If anything, his morning had gotten even worse.

First off, some asshole had taken his stapler off his desk again, the third one he'd lost inside of two weeks. Not that he stapled things much; Detective Maxwell Fielding was more a paperclip sort of guy. Staples were too damn permanent, they left marks in the paper, and they were too much hassle to get rid of if you made a mistake or simply changed your mind.

Second, some asshole had decided make a coaster out of the paperwork Max had abandoned the previous night. Right smack dab in the middle of the top page was a damp brown ring the exact circumference of your average Dollar Depot coffee mug.

Last but not least, some asshole had decided to alert the captain that Max had arrived late for work again, going so far as to pull Cap into the room just in time to see Max drag himself to his coffee-ringed, stapler-less desk.

Max had decided right about then that, generally speaking, cops were generally assholes. He leaned back in his chair and stared up at the blinding florescent lights. "God, I hate this fucking job."

"Nah." The cop seated across the aisle spun his squeaky swivel chair around to face Max. "You don't hate the job, Maxie. You just hate comin' into this fuckin' office, that's all. Which ain't a private club, you know?"

Max smiled. "How's the wife, Franco?"

"Fat. Cranky. Said if I don't have a pint of Ben and Jerry's in my hands when I get home tonight, she's gonna rip my nuts off and make Christmas ornaments out of 'em."

Max cringed and chuckled. "When's the baby due?"

"Not fuckin' soon enough," Franco grumbled good-naturedly.

"Who are you trying to kid?" Max raised an eyebrow. "You know you love her."

"Somethin' awful." A proud-looking grin spread across Franco's pudgy face. "Fat, cranky and all."

That was precisely when the pleasant, buddy-cop movie scene suddenly went sour, and the scant bit of recovery it had given Max's otherwise shit morning went swirling down the crapper.

Max looked up. Through the bulletproof glass separating the cop shop from the lobby, he spotted a familiar face—that beautiful, heart-shaped face with the green eyes and thick, dark lashes. The obscenely high cheekbones, the full lips, and the sleek, center-parted black bob tucked coquettishly behind perfect ears. Even this early in the morning the makeup job was flawless—just the right amount of cosmetics in seasonally appropriate, muted daytime colors. Always classy, always tasteful, always impeccably gorgeous.

Skyler Trent did a double take after spotting Max through the lobby window. With long fingernails painted a soft, bashful coral, Skyler fiddled coyly with the neckline of his sage-green jersey dress and smiled.

I'm a fucking dead man. Max closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head, and when he looked toward the lobby again, he couldn't see Skyler anymore. The desk sergeant came bursting through the door just as Max had started to thank his lucky stars for hangover-induced hallucinations.

"Fielding! You got a visitor." The short, wiry sergeant grinned like the fucking Cheshire cat.

Max winced. He'd never liked the puny little bastard—the guy gossiped worse than a goddamn woman, and Max didn't trust the prick any further than he could throw him. "Yeah, Sarge?"

"Yeah."

"Well?" Max rolled his eyes. "Who is it?"

"The skinny little faggot from that highfalutin dress shop around the corner."

Max blanched. He looked across the room just in time to see Skyler standing in the doorway, those high cheekbones flushing bright scarlet.

The puny desk sergeant didn't find out what had hit him until the precinct captain told him later in the emergency room.