It was Sunday night, and I was horny as fuck.

I nursed the last quarter of my Allagash Black and glanced across the high-top bar table at my date, a high school physics teacher from Camden named Reggie-Something. I had a victorious little buzz in my blood that had nothing to do with the beer and everything to do with the boldly flirtatious look the blond, blue-eyed man was aiming my way.

Target acquired, thank the hookup gods. If my dick had to make do with my right hand much longer, it was going to mutiny and walk off in protest.

“I really appreciate you meeting me out here,” Reggie said, running a finger around the rim of the glass holding the icy remains of his Jack and Coke. “Must be hard for O’Leary’s favorite police officer to get away from town.”

I shrugged. “Nah, no big deal. Camden’s only a couple miles down the road, and I like it here.” I grinned. “The Dark Horse has great wings.”

If I were being totally honest, I’d rather be at Hoff’s, the new bar back in O’Leary, but I really preferred not conducting my business in front of my entire town, which was exactly what would’ve happened if I’d asked Reggie to meet me there. One resident would’ve called another, a giant game of telephone would’ve ensued, and Marci at the police station would’ve been fielding congratulations on my impending wedding by Wednesday. No, thank you.

O’Leary didn’t give a shit that I was gay, but they sure as hell cared that I was single.

My parents, on the other hand, were probably just as glad that I'd never felt the desire to present them with a partner they'd have to accept publicly.

“Is that the only thing you like around here?” Reggie asked. Another time, his canned responses, exaggerated head-tilt, and batting eyelashes would’ve made me wince. At this moment, I was too wound up to do anything but play along.

“Definitely not. There’s a lot to like.” Specifically, I’d like to fuck him. Hard. Maybe in the parking lot first, just to take the edge off, if he was into that.

“O’Leary’s a few miles down the road, and it’s dangerous in the dark.” Reggie smiled, his voice so filled with sultry invitation that my dick throbbed. “You could maybe…”

But what I could maybe do would forever remain a mystery, because my phone chose that precise moment to vibrate across the tabletop so loudly the silverware rattled.

Marci, calling from the station. Shit. Damn. Fuck.

I declined it, knowing she’d call back if it was a true emergency.

When the waitress came by with the bill, I grabbed my wallet before Reggie could move to get his and handed her enough cash to cover dinner and a healthy tip. Virtue-signaling, in case the hookup gods were watching.

“You were saying?” I prompted.

Reggie smiled and opened his mouth.

My phone vibrated again.

Mother. Fucker.

I gave Reggie an apologetic smile. “I have to take this.”

“Sure,” he said. “I’m going to run to the restroom. I’ll be right back.” He hopped down from the stool and turned, then looked back over his shoulder like he wanted to make sure my eyes were trained on his ass.

They were.

“What?” I barked into the phone.

“Hey there, Si! You busy with anything important?”

Marci’s voice in my ear was chipper - too chipper. The kind of chipper that made my dick instantly deflate because I knew whatever came next was going to wreak havoc on the sexcapades I had planned for the night.

I wondered if Marci had any idea of the effect she had on me.

“I told you, I’m staying with a friend in Camden,” I said, which was not a total lie. If things with Reggie had gone south, I would have crashed at my buddy Dare’s place for the night. Though they hadn’t, so please God, I wouldn’t.

“Right, about that. We got a call,” she began.

I sighed. I loved being a police officer. Truly. It was the job I’d wanted since I was ten years old, and losing my brother in a car accident years later had only cemented the path I was on.

And I loved O’Leary, too. The residents were some of the best people on earth — kind, salt-of-the-earth, and amazingly open-minded for a town that still celebrated Shoemaker Day every winter in memory of a time when traveling shoemakers were still a thing.

But for a town tiny enough to only employ three full-time and two part-time auxiliary officers, the residents sure managed to manufacture a fuck-ton of drama to get upset over. If anything truly terrible ever happened, they wouldn’t know what to do with themselves.

“Let me guess,” I said. “Someone else is up in arms over the artwork over at the Cobb place?”

“Artwork,” Marci scoffed. “That’s not art, Si. It’s three gigantic metal… you know what in various stages of… you know what.”

“Phalluses?” I offered, amused despite myself. “Erection?”

“Exactly! Rena Cobb just likes attention,” Marci said, with all the bitterness that a woman who’d never broken a rule in her life could harbor for a woman who’d broken every rule in the book and gotten away with it. “Angela Ross says it’s going to cause a car accident if it’s not taken down. And Karen Mitchener-Martin says it’s going to make her give birth!”

I scratched my chin, where my five o’clock shadow was already growing in. “I don’t think metal penises work that way, Marci. Not even giant ones.”

Marci sighed impatiently. “She’s already pregnant, Si. She means she’s so horrified, it’s going to send her into early labor.”

I was pretty sure early labor didn’t work that way, either, but what did I know?

“But anyway, Mitch just said to remind anyone who called that they can bring it up at the September council meeting and that outrage isn’t a public emergency.”

I could totally picture our boss saying those exact words. “Good,” I told her. “Is that all?”

“No! Thing is, Carmen’s on duty tonight, but she got called out on a drunk and disorderly over at Hoff’s.”

Christ. “Jamie Burke again?”

“Yep.”

“That’s his second one this month.”

“Third,” Marci corrected.

I pulled at my bottom lip, fingering the scar that ran along it. “Someone needs to talk to him. Remind him to keep his personal grudges from making the police blotter. And maybe talk to Parker over at Hoff’s. He’s gotta monitor Jamie’s intake a little more closely, or stop serving him at all.”

“Love it. You volunteering to have that talk?” she asked pointedly, and I sighed again. I supposed I was.

“But Jamie’s not why I called, either,” she continued. “There was a disturbance out at the campground.”

I frowned. Pickett Campground, which had been owned by Frank and Myrna Lucano for longer than I’d been alive, was on the south end of town, right on the border of Herriman-Sizemore State Park. It catered to the summer tourists who came to hike the trails or go kayaking on Lake Loughton. “What kind of disturbance? I thought the place was mostly closed down for the season, except to locals.”

“It is,” she agreed. “Frank’s got two sites rented through Tuesday, then he’s closing down until snowmobile season. But Myrna swears she heard gunshots, and they say one of the campers is missing.”

“Myrna thought she was being attacked by a bear last week, and it was only Frank clearing the property with a chainsaw.”

Marci laughed. “Most likely someone hunting out of season or a figment of Myrna’s imagination,” she agreed. “But Frank says the camper paid for four nights and his site’s empty.”

“His car around?”

“Nothing that easy, I’m afraid. He hiked in through the park.”

“You could call Darius Turner,” I suggested, happily throwing my friend under the bus. Dare was a State Conservation Officer - a park ranger with a badge and a gun. “If something happened inside the park, it’s his jurisdiction.”

“Sure, sure,” she agreed. “Except there’s no proof that anything did happen inside the park, or that anything happened at all. Si, you know how this works better than I do. The complaint gets reported, we take a statement and check it out, then escalate if necessary. Besides, you can’t honestly think that Frank will talk to Dare or any state employee. Not anymore.”

Not after the eminent domain case that was going to cost him part of his beloved campground. Fuck.

Reggie came out of the restroom, and his eyes immediately locked on mine. I nearly whimpered at the heat there as he sashayed across the room.

“Can’t you call Mitch?” I pleaded. “Tell him I’ll owe him. Tell him he can borrow my truck whenever he wants for the rest of the year.”

“Honey, I tried. I did!” She sounded honestly regretful. “But he’s not picking up. And since I knew you were heading out Camden way, I figured maybe you could do a quick drive by and then get back to… you know, whatever you were doing.”

Her dropped voice said she knew pretty much exactly what I’d been doing. Or hoping to do.

“You’re killing me, Marci. Dead.”

“Hey! Don’t shoot the messenger. I’ll keep trying Mitch, too, okay? If I can get him, I’ll let you know.”

I hung up and scrubbed a hand through my hair in frustration, probably making myself look like a porcupine, but who cared at this point? My evening was shot.

I was ninety-eight percent sure Myrna Lucano had heard a car backfiring, or a tree branch creaking, or her own arthritic knee cracking; I would’ve bet my grandfather’s Porsche on it. And no doubt the camper had decided to simply hike on to the next location. But as long as there was that two-percent chance something else had happened, I had to check it out, just in case.

The hookup gods were cruel, and they were flighty.

Reggie didn’t pause at his own stool, but came around the table directly to mine, resting his forearms on my chest in a proprietary way. “You ready to get out of here, hot stuff?”

I blinked. My dick was so on board with that, I could have cried. But at the same time, I wasn’t digging the whole PDA thing. I wasn’t closeted, but I had zero desire to parade my hookups around. Either this guy was new to small-town life, or he had no concept of keeping private shit private.

I grabbed his wrists and pulled him away from me a little more deliberately than I might have if I didn’t know sex was firmly off the table for tonight.

“Reggie, I just got a call from my dispatcher. There’s a situation back in O’Leary.”

Reggie frowned. “But it’s your night off.”

“Yeah,” I sighed. “But small-town police officers are never fully off. Dates take a back seat to the job.”

He took a step away and looked at me cautiously. “Is this, like, a blow-off?” he demanded.

“No! No. Christ, no,” I assured him. “Literally, any night but tonight. I’m off tomorrow.” If my dick can hold out that long.

“You promise?”

“Yeah, totally. I’ll call you.”

I put a hand on his back and ushered him to the front door. Outside, it was fully dark, and only the ancient red and white Dark Horse sign lit the parking lot.

He pointed his key fob at a little red Nissan parked on the side of the building, and I walked him toward it.

“I could be free Saturday,” he announced, turning around to rest his ass against his car. He darted a glance at the front of my jeans and licked his lips in a way that was no doubt designed to make me regret leaving him.

It worked.

“Alright.” I nodded. “I’ll call you then.”

I took another step closer and ducked my head to kiss him. His lips were warm as they met mine, and he gave an appreciative little moan. This guy was easy and uncomplicated, exactly what I wanted.

* * *

Ten minutes later, I was driving down Route 222 toward home, my high-beams on and my windows wide open to the cool night breeze. I was trying to clear my head, but driving this road tonight did nothing to improve my mood.

O’Learians called this stretch ‘the Camden road,’ for obvious reasons, and we all learned to drive by negotiating its many switchbacks and tight turns. Tourists called it a scenic highway and stopped, illegally I might add, to take pictures, especially when the trees were decked out in scarlet and orange foliage. But for me, this was the road where my brother Matty had been taken from me while he and Molly, his best friend since preschool, had been driving back east to school after a weekend at home.

Matty had lost control of the car. That was the official cause of the accident. Swerved off the road for reasons no one would ever know, managing to careen down an embankment and into a tree with such force that Molly was thrown out of the car completely and Matty… Well, Matty managed to dislodge some part of the fuel system on his way down the hill, and the car went up in flames. That it was a nearly-impossible convergence of events — tragic mishap on top of tragic mishap — made it even harder to accept, especially for my parents.

It had all happened so long ago — nearly a dozen years now — that I could drive this road sometimes and not even think of it. And then, of course, there were times when I could see the burned-out wreck of Matty’s car imprinted on the backs of my eyelids with every blink.

And tonight, as I navigated my truck around the final bend toward O’Leary, my headlights glinted off something shiny sticking out from the trees on the far side of the road that made me wonder if I was having some kind of flashback.

It was a car, goddammit. A little blue Toyota with out-of-state plates. And by the look of the skid marks, it had crossed the lane before wrapping itself around a huge-ass tree.

I put my hazard lights on and pulled across the road, right behind the car, then climbed out and ran over. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath until I saw the car was empty and I exhaled shakily. Doors and windows locked, no sign of the driver.

I grabbed my cell phone from my pocket and called Marci while I climbed back into the truck.

“Marci, you had any reports of an accident on the Camden road in the last couple hours?” I knew for a fact that car hadn’t been there when I’d driven past earlier.

“Not a one. Why?”

“I found a car wrapped around a tree about a mile east of the town line.”

“Animal hit? Or drunk driver?”

“No sign of an injured animal,” I told her. “And no sign of the driver at all. Car might be totaled. Airbag deployed.”

She whistled. “Want me to ring Joe Cross and see if he got a call for a pickup?”

Joe was pretty much the only tow truck driver in the three-town area that included Camden, O’Leary, and Rushton to the west. “Do that,” I confirmed. “And if he hasn’t gotten one, ask him to come get it.” I gave her the make, model, and license number.

“You got it. Oh, and I did manage to talk to Mitch finally, just a minute ago.” She sounded apologetic. “He said he’d head out to Frank and Myrna’s, so…”

So, nothing. I spared Reggie one last thought and then waved him goodbye. Now I had to find the damn Toyota driver.

Turned out, it didn’t require much investigation. I found the asshole half a mile down the road, carrying some suitcase-thing and lurching along in a kind of shuffle-step, like he was three sheets to the wind.

Anger clogged my throat.

The guy stopped when he saw my headlights and turned around to watch me, shielding his eyes from the glare. He looked younger than one of Marci’s kids, barely out of his teens. An arrogant, entitled tourist who thought he was invincible, and could have taken out any number of innocent people when he found out differently.

I shoved the truck into park when I was about ten feet behind him and jumped out.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Huh?” The kid straightened, trying to meet my eyes, and honest to God, he practically fell at my feet. It was a wonder he’d managed to climb out of his Toyota in the first place, let alone make it a quarter mile down the road.

I grabbed my badge from my pocket and flashed it at him. “O’Leary Police. How much have you had to drink?” I demanded.

“Pardon?” The kid’s voice was high, like he was scared. Scared he’d gotten caught.

“You heard me. That was your car back there, wasn’t it?” I hooked my thumb behind me. “Blue Toyota? Wrapped around a giant oak tree?”

“Y-yes,” he agreed, frowning.

“And you were the driver?”

“Yes, I was driving.” I couldn’t make out much in the glare from my headlights, but his eyes looked red and bleary, his face scraped raw from the airbag.

“Uh huh. Wanna explain to me how you went sailing all the way across the road to accomplish that feat of automotive gymnastics?”

He glared at me for a moment, then licked his lips nervously and set his jaw. “No.”

No. What a punk.

“Right,” I said. “Well, step this way, kiddo. You can take a breathalyzer and I’ll be able to solve that mystery without your explanation.” I grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him towards my truck.

“Breath-a… Wait.” The kid shrugged out of my grasp. “Wait! Do you think I was drinking?”

“Are you saying you weren’t?”

“God, no,” he said, so vehemently that it actually gave me pause. “What the hell made you think that?”

I suddenly couldn’t remember what had made me think that. Standing next to the truck, out of the glare of the lights, he didn’t seem to have any trouble focusing on me. His balance seemed much steadier. His words were well-articulated. I couldn’t smell any alcohol on him.

Shit.

“I…” I stammered. “It’s common when there’s an accident involving a teen driver.”

“A teen driver?” he repeated, his eyes narrowing. “You cannot possibly be talking about me. I’m twenty-nine, you idiot!”

Once more, I was caught on the back foot. Yeah, the guy was maybe five-seven, tops, and lean along with it, but the cut of his jaw made it clear that he was no teenager. Plus, the look in his eyes - bone-weary and enraged simultaneously - wasn’t one I’d ever seen on a kid.

Detective work like this would have gotten my ass kicked out of any police force in the world, even that of tiny O’Leary, New York.

“I’m sorry,” I said, rubbing my palm over my chest. I expected to feel the starched cotton and buttons of my uniform, but I didn’t. I glanced down and winced at my casual summer date-wear: shorts, sneakers, and a fitted polo.

I was driving my own truck, and not a marked car, too. Jesus, no wonder the guy looked scared. Other than my badge, I had nothing identifying me as a police officer.

“Christ.” I ran my hand through my hair. “I jumped to conclusions. I apologize.”

His eyes were green. It was dark as fuck out here, making it almost impossible to differentiate between shades of color, and yet I knew without a doubt that his eyes were an impossible bright green, and would be even in sunlight. They locked on mine with stunning force.

“You apologize?” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Let me explain something. I have been driving for the past six hours. I was on your fucking ink-black roads, heading for your godforsaken town, to stay with my grandfather, when a ma… moose, or something,” he faltered. “Popped out of the fucking woods and ran at me. I turned my wheel so I wouldn’t hit it, and ended up destroying my car and banging the hell out of my knee. And then I’ve had to hike approximately fifty-thousand miles down this road on that injured fucking knee, with only a half-dead cell phone to light the way, because no one out here believes in streetlights or telephone reception, wondering if the movie of my life is going to look more like Deliverance or an episode of Criminal Minds!”

By the end of his tirade, he was jabbing his finger into my chest and had me arching backward over the hood of my own truck. It was impressive.

It was hot.

Down boy, I instructed my cock, which must’ve still been on a hair trigger thanks to Reggie.

“I, uh, have given you no actual reason to believe this,” I said, straightening up and grabbing the wrist he’d pointed at me. “But I am not actually crazy. It’s been a frustrating night, and I was keyed up, and I don’t like this road, and… well. I really hate car accidents.”

His pulse raced beneath my fingertips. He looked at me for another second, then nodded. He seemed to shrink back in on himself once the anger had leached out of him, like a deflated balloon.

I felt a surge of sympathy. God knew, I’d felt that. Still felt it, sometimes.

“I’m Si Sloane,” I said, turning our hand clasp into a hand shake.

He took a deep breath. “Everett Maior. Ev.” The words were like a sigh. “Henry Lattimer’s my grandfather.” He pulled his hand away.

“Oh, yeah? You the artist or the runner?”

“Pardon?”

“Before she passed, your grandma used to brag about her two grandsons. I remember one of you went to art school and the other was a track star.”

“Oh. I’m the artist, I guess.” He paused. “More or less.”

“Got it. Well, climb in, Ev,” I told him, nodding toward the passenger side. I smiled. “I’ll drive you to my godforsaken town.”

I could almost swear he blushed as I repeated his words. It was weirdly cute… and God, it really should not have been. I needed to get laid even worse than I’d thought.

“That’s not necessary,” Ev argued. “If you could just call…”

“The police?” I suggested. “Done.” I spread my arms to my sides. “There aren’t many of us to choose from around here, and the others are all busy. You’re stuck with me.”

He sighed and lifted a hand to rub his forehead. “A tow truck?”

“Already called. Joe Cross will come and get the car.”

“Well, then, I’ll just wait for…”

“I should say, he’ll come at some point,” I continued, rocking on my feet. “There’s a preseason game on tonight.”

“A… what?”

“Preseason. Football?” I added, when he continued to look confused. “Pats and Jacksonville. Joe’s a Patriots fan, but we like him anyway.”

Ev nodded, a little bewildered. “Okay.”

“You like football?”

“I… guess?” he said. He shook his head. “Listen, fascinating as this is, I…”

“You need to get off your injured knee,” I surmised. I reached out a hand toward him. “All the more reason to let me help you into the truck.”

He stared at my hand for a second, and then his narrowed eyes met mine. He was trying to decide if he could trust me.

I snorted. “This isn’t Criminal Minds, and it’s sure as fuck not Deliverance. You hear any banjos?”

Everett’s lips twitched reluctantly, and he shut his eyes for half a second. “No,” he admitted. He exhaled loudly. “Fine, let’s go.”

When he set his palm in mine, I felt a rush of protectiveness that nearly bowled me over. I told myself it was because his fingers were icy and his hand felt so small in mine; because I felt bad I’d practically accosted him, and I was still horny from the hookupus interruptus earlier.

Still, I had the irrational desire to make him smile, full-on. To see what his face looked like when it was unguarded.

“Remember that you’re in O’Leary,” I told him as I guided him to the door.

“Oh, I’m well aware.” His teeth were clenched like he was in pain, but it didn’t stop him from being snarky.

“So, when you’re considering a theme for the movie of your life, think less psychological thriller and more… Hallmark.”

“Like the cards?”

“Like the movies.”

Ev snorted. “Right.”

“No, seriously,” I told him. “White picket fences. Apple trees. Pumpkin Festival.”

“Pumpkin Festival.” He blinked. “Not really?”

“Oh, so very really,” I promised him, swinging the door open. “Foliage. Arts and crafts. Costumes. Jack-o-lanterns. Cable-knit sweaters. Hay rides. A disgusting and disproportionate number of happy couples.” I leaned in closer like I was imparting a secret, and caught the faint hint of his cologne, something citrusy and warm. “We have pie contests.”

“Eating or making?” he asked with narrowed eyes, like he was intrigued despite himself.

I raised one eyebrow. “Both.”

“Yeah, well, I’m only here until the spring,” he said, waving a hand. “I will observe your strange rituals from a distance.”

I chuckled, charmed, as he climbed into the seat. “Be careful,” I warned. “You might just drink the Kool-Aid, too.” I tapped my chin and studied him thoughtfully. His curly hair was a dark, coal black that seemed to absorb the light from the truck, but his eyes were every bit as vibrant green as I’d thought. “I betcha you'll be calling this home by Halloween.”

“Ha! Nope. Pretty sure your wholesome little cult doesn’t include queer guys who vote liberal.”

I grinned. “Actually, pretty sure those are my favorite kind of guys.”

“You?” So damn suspicious.

“O’Leary might surprise you, Everett,” I said with a wink. “Wait and see.”