Speed Trap

Speed Trap [Working Man] by J. M. Snyder

Aspen Mountain Press www.aspenmountainpress.com

Copyright ©2008 by J.M. Snyder First published in 2008, 2008 NOTICE: This eBook is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution to any person via email, floppy disk, network, print out, or any other means is a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. This notice overrides the Adobe Reader permissions which are erroneous. This eBook cannot be legally lent or given to others. This eBook is displayed using 100% recycled electrons.

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Speed Trap [Working Man] by J. M. Snyder

CONTENTS Working Man: Speed Trap Speed Trap ****

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Speed Trap [Working Man] by J. M. Snyder

WARNING This e-book contains material that may be objectionable to some: graphic language, sexual situations. Please store your e-Book carefully where it cannot be accessed by underage readers.

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Speed Trap [Working Man] by J. M. Snyder

Working Man: Speed Trap J.M. Snyder Aspen Mountain Press

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Speed Trap [Working Man] by J. M. Snyder

Working Man: Speed Trap Copyright© May 2008 by J.M. Snyder This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author's imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental. Aspen Mountain Press PO Box 473543 Aurora CO 80047-3543 www.AspenMountainPress.com Published by Aspen Mountain Press, May 2008 www.AspenMountainPress.com This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction fines and / or imprisonment. The e-Book cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this e-Book can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher. ISBN: 978-1-60168-103-4 Released in the United States of America Editor: Sandra Hicks Cover artist: Nikita Gordyn [Back to Table of Contents] 6

Speed Trap [Working Man] by J. M. Snyder

Speed Trap Mark Peters saw the flashing blue lights in his rearview mirror and stepped on the clutch to slow down his BMW. A glance at the speedometer showed the needle on the wrong side of 90. Jesus. I wasn't going that fast, was I? It was late afternoon, one of those gorgeous autumn days where the sun was still warm, the breeze faint and cool, and the trees just turning colors. There was no one on the highway but him—he had the radio cranked up, the windows rolled down, his sunglasses on and the seat back, nowhere to go and all the time in the world to get there. And now I'll be late. Behind him, the police car wailed once. Even though he was alone on the road, Mark put on his turn signal, crossed the other two lanes, and slowed to a stop on the shoulder of the interstate. He'd never been stopped before, never. First he checked his seat belt. Buckled. Thank God. Then he reached for his wallet, praying he had remembered it in his haste to get out of the house earlier. He had. As he fumbled for his license, he wondered if maybe it was too late to hope the cop might have stopped him for something silly, like a blown light or expired tags ... hell, just to chat, even. Um, hello? The sign back there that read 95? That wasn't the speed limit, dickweed. He didn't pull you over because he likes your car. And where the hell is your registration, hmm? Mark had no idea. 7

Speed Trap [Working Man] by J. M. Snyder

Leaning across the passenger seat, he popped open the glove compartment and began digging through McDonald's napkins and Wal-Mart oil change receipts and Taco Bell sporks, looking for something that might vaguely resemble a tiny registration card. He could've sworn he had stuck it in there when it came in the mail, all those months ago. He pushed his shoes off the seat onto the floor and wondered if it were illegal to drive barefoot. Did he have enough time to slip on his sandals before the cop showed up? And where the hell was his registration? It had to be in the glove compartment, right? Where else would he keep it? "Fuck," he muttered, scooping out a handful of junk and tossing it onto the floor. Someone tapped on his shoulder. Mark jumped and turned, already smiling the disarming grin he used when the shit was about to hit the fan and it was probably his fault. "Hey," he said, hoping he sounded nonchalant. "Just looking for my...." The words dried in his throat as the police officer pushed his hat back, revealing light brown eyes the color of wet sand and a few strands of wispy red hair. Damn. Mark stared at the eyebrows that arched above those eyes like faint lines drawn above the tide line. At the full lips a shade of pink that should be illegal on a boy. At those eyes. Suddenly he forgot how to speak, what to say, and what was he looking for again? Where was he? My God. "Can you turn off your car please, sir?" the police officer asked. 8

Speed Trap [Working Man] by J. M. Snyder

Mark stared, his mouth slightly open, his mind unable to make his body perform the simplest command. The car. Off. Yes. Why? What's he want me to do? Mark wasn't sure but he definitely wanted to find out. "Sir?" the officer asked again. Above his badge was written Lt. W. V. Tench. "The car?" This time he frowned a little, and the way his lower lip pooched out excited Mark. He wanted to catch that pout between his teeth, nibble on it, suckle it. The car. "Right." Mark took his foot off the clutch and the car leaped forward, throwing Lt. Tench back from the window. Smooth one, Peters, Mark thought, his ears heating with embarrassment as his car stalled. Just run him over while you're at it, why don't you? With an angry twist, he yanked the keys from the ignition even though part of him wanted to speed away. Then this cute cop could chase him down, pull him over a second time, and they could start all over again. For a moment he considered doing just that. But when he took his foot off the brake, the car started to roll forward on its own and he had to tug hard on the parking brake to stay in place. Just give me a ticket already, will you? I've made an ass of myself, I look like a dork, just please let's get this over with, okay? No need to stand there and rub it in. "God," he muttered.

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Whatever Lt. Tench might've thought about his antics was kept carefully hidden behind the mask-like expression on his chiseled face. "Can you take off the sunglasses?" Mark complied, folding the glasses into his lap where his wallet still rested. Picking up his license, he handed it to the policeman and smiled. See? that smile said. I'm not a complete idiot. I remembered the license part. Just don't ask about the registration, okay? Taking his license, Lt. Tench asked, "Do you know why I stopped you?" "Because I'm cute?" The words escaped before Mark could think about them, but the cop's faint smile made his confidence return. "You know," Mark said, leaning on the door frame and resting his chin on his arms, "if I had known you were the one chasing me, I would've stopped sooner." The policeman laughed. "I get that a lot." That wasn't quite the response Mark had been hoping for. Something along the lines of "Where have you been all my life?" was a little more appropriate, he thought. Not this nonchalant manner. Mark let his gaze linger as it trailed down the cop's body. The dark blue shirt hugged a broad chest and was tucked into a tight belt cinched around a narrow waist. Did I mention you look good in that uniform? Because seriously, you're one of America's finest. Lt. Tench studied Mark's license. "Peters?" Mark nodded. "Can I see your registration?"

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Speed Trap [Working Man] by J. M. Snyder

Mark sighed. "Well," he said, turning back to the open glove compartment, "I'm glad you asked that. See, and this is funny, it really is...." He trailed off and dug through the papers again. "Do you know what it might look like?" he asked, hopeful. "Because I'm thinking it's in here somewhere, you know? I didn't steal the car, honest. I just never clean the bitch out." God. Was cussing at a cop a crime? He looked over his shoulder, chagrined. "I didn't mean.... "Another sigh. "Oh fuck." "Your registration, please." Lt. Tench watched Mark rummage through the mess from the glove compartment. "There," he said, leaning into the window slightly. "Isn't that it?" Mark brought the pile he held into his lap. "Where?" He held his hands up as the cop picked through the papers gingerly. You're just inches from paradise, dude, Mark thought, watching those nimble fingers pick over the napkins and receipts. He felt a stirring in his groin and wondered what this Lt. Tench would do if he thrust up into his hand right now. Still give him a ticket? Arrest him? I've got a few kinky ideas that involve your handcuffs and the back seat of my car. Might be worth an arrest just to have you touch me there. "This," the cop said, extracting the registration card. "This is it." "That's all you were looking for down there?" Mark asked coyly. "If you keep digging you might find something else you'd like—" 11

Speed Trap [Working Man] by J. M. Snyder

"This will do." The tone of his voice, so abrupt, so authoritarian, made Mark lower his head, nervous again. He's a cop, he reminded himself. If you don't watch it, he'll slap your ass with a harassment charge and won't that look good on your record? What kind of fines do you get for hitting on a policeman? He didn't think he wanted to find out. Looking up from the card in his hand, Lt. Tench asked, "So what's the hurry?" Mark shrugged. "Oh, no hurry. Take your time." When the cop raised a questioning eyebrow, Mark busied himself with gathering together the papers in his lap. "Oh, you mean ... I don't know." His cheeks burned and his eyes stung. He's talking about my speeding. How humiliating. "I was just cruising around, I guess." "At ninety miles an hour?" Was that slight smile back on Lt. Tench's face? Mark wasn't quite sure. At least one of them was amused. He shrugged again. "I didn't realize I was going that fast." Was it too late to make up an excuse? His mom was pregnant, he was keeping up with the flow of traffic, anything? Would the cop buy it? For a long moment the policeman studied him, and Mark kept stealing glances up at him, his face, his hands, his waist. Why couldn't I meet you at the mall? At the club or hell, at the grocery store even. Not here. Not when I look like a fool. Anything I say, you'll think I'm just trying to get out of the ticket. 12

Speed Trap [Working Man] by J. M. Snyder

Finally Lt. Tench cleared his throat. "I'll be right back." Then he turned and Mark leaned out the window, watching in the side mirror as the cop walked to his patrol car. Golden afternoon sun winked off the flashing lights behind him. He grinned at the way those pressed blue pants pulled taut over the cop's round ass, accentuating each cheek and the outlined hint of briefs at the top of each thigh. Mark liked a guy with a full ass and he could just imagine taking this one in his hands, kneading the flesh until it pinked, parting it with his fingers, driving into it over and over again as Lt. W. V. Tench arched against him. Did I tell you yet you look good in blue? The cop opened his car door and climbed inside. I like a man in uniform— though in your case, I think I'd like you better out of it. Settling back into his seat, Mark adjusted the rearview mirror so he could see the cop. Once inside the car he had taken off his hat, and now he smoothed his errant bangs down with one hand. But they sprang up stubbornly and Mark's hands curled into fists in his lap, his fingers aching to plunge into those disheveled spikes. Is there anything I can say or do to stand out in your mind?he wondered, watching the cop. Something that will make you remember me tonight? Make you dream about my touch? Make you wish you could see me again? He stopped you for speeding. Nothing else about Mark would stand out in the cop's mind but that. When Lt. Tench came back to his window, Mark still hadn't thought of anything to say or do that might make him more than another notch in the cop's ticket book. Handing over the 13

Speed Trap [Working Man] by J. M. Snyder

license and registration, Lt. Tench pushed his hat back and leaned on the door frame. "So I guess I'm your first, aren't I?" With his mind full of the two of them, naked and sweating and clutched in the throes of passion, Mark wasn't quite sure what he meant. "Oh no," he said, shaking his head. "I've done it before...." He saw the frown on the policeman's face and caught himself. "Oh, wait. You're not talking about that." "No," Lt. Tench said with a laugh. "I'm not. I meant this is the first time you've been stopped for anything." Lowering his head, Mark stared at his hands and wondered why he couldn't just disappear right about now. "Yeah," he mumbled. "I didn't mean any disrespect, sir, really. I just.... "Feel free to stop me at any time, he thought, fumbling for words. "It's just one of those things, you know? Where your thoughts just tumble out and oh God, you didn't need to know I was thinking about that. I'll just shut up now, okay?" Beside him the cop was grinning. Tell me I'm cute, Mark prayed. Tell me you were thinking the same things I had in mind. Tell me something, please—don't just stand there and stare at me like that. But when the cop spoke, he only asked, "Do you know how fast you were going?" "Too fast," Mark admitted. And I'm not just talking about driving now, either. "Do you know what the speed limit is around here?" Lt. Tench persisted. 14

Speed Trap [Working Man] by J. M. Snyder

Mark forced a tight grin. Just give me a ticket, please. And your name. And your phone number. And a kiss. Not necessarily in that order. "I'm guessing it's a little less than ninety miles an hour, maybe?" "Just a little," Lt. Tench told him, still smiling. "Twenty-five miles an hour over the speed limit is considered reckless driving. Do you know what forty miles over is called?" "Stupid?" Mark asked. That made the cop laugh. Now he'll tell me I'm cute, Mark thought, but he didn't. Instead Lt. Tench stood away from the car and sighed. "Here's what we're going to do...." Mark nodded, even though he wasn't sure what it was yet—anything this man said had to be a good idea, he'd go along with it, he wouldn't even put up a fight. Right here? he might ask, but only to be coy. "I don't want to give you a ticket—" Mark frowned. Oh, you're still talking about that. "Why not?" Lt. Tench ignored the question. "So I'm going to let you go with just a warning, this time. But if I catch you again...." He let the sentence trail off, fixed Mark with a stern gaze. If I'm lucky, Mark thought, staring into those pale eyes. When he didn't say anything, the cop clarified, "Don't speed, okay? One day you might lose control of your expensive car here and I don't want to have to scrape your pretty smile off the highway. Now get going." For a moment neither of them moved. Lt. Tench watched Mark closely, waiting. 15

Speed Trap [Working Man] by J. M. Snyder

He didn't just say I had a pretty smile, did he? I think I might have misunderstood, so please, officer, tell me again. You like my smile, right? Is that all? "Drive safe," Lt. Tench told him, and before Mark could speak, he was gone. Staring into the mirror, Mark watched him walk away, then turned his key in the ignition. The radio blared to life and he twisted the knob until the music was just a whisper. Maybe if I go up to him now, he'll let me ask him out. Dinner and a movie. He's not a cop all the time, is he? And he thinks I have a pretty smile, didn't he say that? Behind him, the police car roared to life with a tiny wail from the siren. The blue lights died and in the rearview mirror he saw Lt. Tench look at him—for a moment their eyes met, freezing them both in place. Go ask him, a small voice inside Mark's head whispered. Go.... Lt. Tench glanced in his own mirror at the empty stretch of highway behind them, put on his turn signal, and pulled back onto the road. As he passed the BMW, he raised a hand in farewell. Mark watched him drive away, waiting until the car was nothing more than taillights in the growing dusk, and then he steered onto the road, crawled along at just under forty miles an hour, and wondered how the hell he could've missed a chance like that. **** Mark couldn't get the police officer out of his mind. Three days later, he was still talking about him to anyone who would listen. "And then he leaned into the window," he told 16

Speed Trap [Working Man] by J. M. Snyder

his friends as they sat in a booth at McDonald's, "and he said—" "Mark, I love you!" Doug snickered and winked at Tiffany, who choked on her soda, giggling. Beneath the table, Mark kicked his friend in the shin. "Shut up," he growled. "Listen, I'm just telling you what happened." Doug kicked him back. "We know. You've only told us a hundred times. I'm beginning to think I was there." Mark glared at his friend as he took an angry bite of his Big Mac. "Well, you weren't. You don't want to hear it? Fine. I won't tell you anymore." Across from him, Tiffany smiled sympathetically. "Tell me then, Mark." She reached out to touch his arm. "I want to hear all about the Prince Charming who swept you off your feet." "You've heard it already," Mark muttered. She was just humoring him now, wasn't she? Could he help it if he couldn't seem to think of anything else to talk about but Lt. W. V. Tench? His mind was full of the cop and those sandy brown eyes, that red hair, the faint freckles dotting his nose and chin. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw the cop's hands and ass and grin, and the way he said, "your pretty smile," was tattooed onto Mark's brain. He'd replayed the moment between them over and over again, analyzing every syllable, every nuance of the scene. Then he thought of all the things he could have said in response, a million witty comments that would have made Lt. Tench wink at him suggestively or dangle his handcuffs from one finger like a promise and ask, "Your car or mine?" 17

Speed Trap [Working Man] by J. M. Snyder

Of course, he hadn't told his friends that. So Mark had mentioned the guy was cute. He'd only said it once or twice, that was it. To his friends, he grumbled, "I wouldn't want to bore you with the details." "Too late," Doug told him, laughing. He slid to the end of the booth before Mark could kick at him again. "Go on, tell us one more time. I know you're dying to. It changes each time you tell it." Mark took another bite of his sandwich and ignored his friend. Just because Doug had never hooked up with someone on the fly didn't mean he had to shoot down Mark's hope at meeting the cop again. Nudging Tiffany, Doug added, "Soon he'll be in your lap, giving you a blowjob instead of a ticket." "Stop it," Tiffany said. She stole one of Mark's French fries, dipped it in the ketchup on her burger's wrapper, and stuck it in her mouth. "He's getting pissy." "I am not." Mark had had enough. Dropping the rest of his sandwich onto his tray, he started to rise. "You know, I don't have to sit here and listen to you two pick on me. I'm sure you do a good enough job talking behind my back when I'm not around." Tiffany tugged at Mark's sleeve. "Sit down," she admonished. "We're only teasing." "Yeah," Doug said with a grin. "Sit back down and take it like a man. Tell us the story again." "I'm tired of talking about it," Mark replied, though that was far from the truth. He was tired of only talking about it— he wanted to see the guy again, have another chance at a 18

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first impression, get with him already. Sinking back into the booth, he covered his face with his hands and sighed dramatically. "Fuck. Why didn't I say something? I mean, how hard would it have been to give him my number?" "He had your number," Doug pointed out. Mark stared at him through splayed fingers. "He punched in your license and pulled up everything about you. If he was interested, he'd have called you by now—" "Oh please." Tiffany rolled her eyes and helped herself to more of Mark's fries. "He's a cop, Doug, not a damn gigolo." Doug laughed as he sipped at his milkshake. "The way Mark talks, they practically got it on." Pointing his straw at his friend, he suggested, "Why don't you try speeding around? Maybe he'll pull your ass over again." He winked. "Don't forget to ask him to frisk you this time." Tiffany rolled her eyes. "Doug, that's the stupidest thing you've ever said. You can't go around speeding, looking for a particular cop. That's just—" "Brilliant," Mark declared, rising to his feet. Why hadn't he thought of that? He could drive around the same spot where he got pulled the first time—cops always had their own little speed traps, didn't they? Lt. Tench caught Mark the first time, right? So all I have to do is let him catch me again. "Come on, let's go." "Where?" Tiffany asked, but she slid out of the booth, gathering up her tray as she stood. Doug balled up his trash and dropped it on her tray. "I was only kidding." Standing, he stretched his arms above his head, his shirt pulling up to expose his scrawny stomach. 19

Speed Trap [Working Man] by J. M. Snyder

"What are you going to do, break every rule of the road just to find this guy?" "If that's what it takes." Mark had to see him again. And this time he wouldn't let him slip away. **** Doug sat in the passenger seat of Mark's car, one hand braced against the dashboard as he glanced over at the speedometer. "Aren't you going a little too fast?" From the back seat, Tiffany scoffed. "This is nothing. Pull over, Mark, let me drive. I'll show you how to get stopped." "How many times have you been caught?" Mark asked with a laugh as he stepped on the gas. The car barely shuddered beneath him as the needle on the speedometer eased up to ninety miles an hour. "Do you want the number of actual tickets?" she asked sweetly. She leaned back against the seat and stretched her arms out along its length. "Or are you counting all the times I've been stopped? Because I'm pretty good at talking my way out—" "With a full mouth?" Doug teased. He curled one hand in front of his mouth and mimed a blowjob, pushing his tongue against the side of his cheek as he pumped his fist. "The tickets you did get were when women cops snagged your ass, right?" "Shut up, Douglas." Tiffany slapped the back of his head. "I don't—" 20

Speed Trap [Working Man] by J. M. Snyder

"I hate to interrupt," Mark told them, glancing in his rearview mirror at the blue lights that suddenly appeared behind them, "but we've got company." His heart hammered in his chest as he slowed the car down. Please be him, he prayed, keeping an eye on the patrol car as it rapidly closed the distance between them. There were a few other cars on the road and he couldn't swerve into the other lanes, couldn't move over, so when the cop flicked on the siren, Mark pulled onto the left shoulder. Coasting to a stop, he turned off the car and adjusted the mirror, trying to get a good look at the officer, but inside the patrol car, the cop bent down and Mark didn't get to see his face. "Well?" Doug turned around and looked out the back window. Tiffany turned, too. "Is that him?" "I don't know," Mark muttered. "I'm fucked if it's not," Doug punched his shoulder playfully. "Hell, you're hoping you're fucked if it is." As the cop climbed out of his car, Tiffany declared, "That's not him. That's Bubba Mack." "Bubba Mack?" Doug asked, incredulous. "Is that his real name, or just what you call him? I bet he's one of the ones that lets you off with just a warning." Tiffany tried to slap him again, but Doug just laughed at her and ducked out of reach. "One word, Doug," she warned as the cop approached the car. "One word and you'll be singing soprano, you hear me? Don't you dare." "Shut up, guys," Mark warned. Tiff was right, this wasn't Lt. Tench—his badge read Lt. B. D. Mackenzie, and the man behind it looked as if he ate small 21

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children for breakfast. His gruff features were hidden by a pair of mirrored shades, and his thin lips pressed together into a fine line that seemed to disappear as he glanced into the window to stare at the three friends. Mark squinted up at the cop. "Hey there, officer. I can explain.... "He trailed off, not really sure if he could or not, but willing to take the chance. "Hey yourself." The policeman took off the sunglasses and Mark could see his face now—the bunched muscles in his jaw, the chiseled cheekbones, the beady eyes that crinkled into half-moons when he saw Tiffany. His mouth spread into a leer. "Hi there, Ms. Johnson." "Hi Bubba." Tiffany gave him a shy grin, her voice soft and so unlike her usual catty sound that Mark turned around to make sure it was still the same girl in his back seat. "How're you doing?" "Nicely," the officer said. Tiffany stretched her long, tanned legs out between the front seats, the cop watching her every move. "I'm surprised you're not driving, considering what I clocked you guys at." Tiffany laughed. "You know I keep well under the speed limit." Mark's hands gripped the steering wheel as he wondered if they could just leave already. So sorry, he'd say. Wrong cop. Let me try again. As if she heard that thought, Tiffany nudged Mark's elbow with one sneakered foot. "And Mark was only what, ten over? If that?" 22

Speed Trap [Working Man] by J. M. Snyder

"Try forty," Lt. Mackenzie corrected. Now he turned his attention to Mark. "License and registration, please." Thanks, Tif. He might have forgotten about me if you didn't mention my name. "In the glove compartment," he mumbled, gesturing at the passenger's side of the dashboard. "Doug, it's right on top—" "From the last time you were stopped." Doug grinned past Mark at the cop. "He was hoping for someone else. Lieutenant Tench? You know him?" Mark felt his ears start to burn. "Shut up." "Redhead?" Doug continued, ignoring Mark. "Sexy eyes, he says, and one hell of an ass. I hear he's really hot." Mark pushed past his friend and opened the glove compartment, dumping the contents into Doug's lap. "The damn registration," he said, growing angry. "It's right here." He handed it to the cop, then pulled out his wallet and handed over his license, as well. "Here," he said. "Just take it, okay? Just give me a fucking ticket already and let's get this over with, please?" Lt. Mackenzie took the offered license and registration and frowned. For a long moment, he studied them. Mark sighed. "Can we get on with this?" "I'll be right back," Lt. Mackenzie warned. "And watch your mouth. There's a lady present." Doug glanced up from the mess in his lap he was trying to shove back into the glove compartment. "A lady? Where?" Raising her leg, Tiffany kicked his shoulder. "Well, he sure as hell didn't mean you." 23

Speed Trap [Working Man] by J. M. Snyder

Just go, Mark prayed. Other vehicles zoomed past his, each one making the car shudder. What about them? Get back in your patrol car and catch one of those asswipes, let me find Tench. I wasn't looking for you. Slowly Lt. Mackenzie stepped away from the door, as if he had all day to dawdle. "Be back," he said again. Mark nodded, distracted. Was it too much to ask for a little leeway here? It was only the second time he'd ever been stopped. Maybe Doug was right, maybe Tiff could sneak off with this officer, take one for the team, get him out of the ticket. How hard would she hit him if he suggested it? "This was all your idea," he said as Doug jammed the papers into the glove compartment and slammed it shut. "You should pay this thing for me." "What?" Doug asked, grinning. "I just said it. I didn't know if you'd do it or not. Hell, when do you ever listen to me?" The glove compartment popped back open and he wrestled to get it shut again. "You need to clean this thing out, boy." Mark dropped his head to the steering wheel and closed his eyes. "Don't talk to me. I hate you." Doug laughed. I'm glad you think this is so goddamn funny. Beneath his forehead, the leather steering wheel grew warm and he squeezed his eyes shut. Who the fuck was I trying to kid? You don't go around looking for a cop. I should've just gone down to the police station, asked if he was on duty, asked if I could speak with him. But no, I had to listen to Doug and his "drive around, get pulled over again" bullshit. What the hell was I thinking? 24

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"Oh," Tiffany said in a small voice. "This isn't good." "What now?" Mark asked, not raising his head. Doug said, "Looks like he's called for backup. Your ass is going to jail, Mark." Mark looked up into the rearview mirror and saw a second squad car pull up behind the first, its lights also flashing. Oh God. "What did you say?" Doug asked. "Just give me a fucking ticket already? He thinks you're going to be trouble so he's called in a buddy. That's what's taking him so long. He's going to cuff ya and stuff ya." "They don't send you to jail for speeding," Mark told him. He glanced back at Tiffany, silently asking for confirmation. They don't do that, right? I mean, not really. Right? She shrugged. A lot of assurance that gave him. He sighed and hit his head against the steering wheel again. He didn't want to see anymore. Doug didn't let the issue drop. "Hey Mark." "Hush up," Tiffany said quietly. When Doug started to say something else, she warned, "Don't." Doug fell silent. For a long moment the only sound was the whiz of the cars passing by. Mark's mind whirled. How much would a ticket cost him? He'd heard somewhere they charged a dollar for every mile over the limit, wasn't that right? Or was it three dollars? He didn't know ... how should he know? He sighed again, just because he liked the sound of it. Now he'd have to go to court. His insurance would go up. Hell, he 25

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might even have to go to driving school. Someone shoot me now. Outside his window, he heard the steady crunch of gravel as an officer approached the car. I'm sorry, sir. Can you step out of the vehicle? We're taking you in ... he could almost hear the words in Lt. Mackenzie's gruff voice. The man would have a hand on his holster as if he expected a fight. You have the right to remain silent ... wasn't that how it went? Hands behind your head. You have the right to an attorney. Oh fuck. Someone leaned down on his car door, but it wasn't Lt. Mackenzie who spoke. "I thought I told you to lay off the gas." Mark looked up at the sound of Lt. Tench's deep voice. He stared into those light eyes in disbelief—his memory hadn't done them justice. The guy was so much hotter than Mark remembered, and Mark simply stared. Vaguely he was aware of Tiffany's giggle behind him, of Doug whispering, "Thank me," but he ignored them both. What do I say now? His name, his number, the reason he was here—it all evaporated as he lost himself in those leonine eyes. "Well?" Lt. Tench asked. "Bubba said you had an explanation. Figured it out yet?" "Um," Mark said. So suave, Peters. He swallowed hard. "You'll never believe I was—" "Looking for you," Doug offered. The officer laughed. Mark blushed and turned on his friend, his eyes flashing. "I'm gonna hurt you." 26

Speed Trap [Working Man] by J. M. Snyder

Doug leaned across Mark, pushing him back in the driver's seat. "No, really." He spoke quickly, in a hurry to get all the words out before Mark shut him up. "He's got it bad for you, man. Talked you up nonstop, doesn't even know your name— " "Wade," Lt. Tench said. Mark glanced up only to find those intense eyes focused on him. With a slight frown, the cop added, "You don't strike me as the shy type." "I'm not." Mark pushed Doug back on his side of the car and took a deep breath to steady himself. So ask him already, a voice inside his head whispered. What's the harm in it? Doug's already said you have it bad for him. Damn bigass mouth. He's dead if this guy says no. Forcing a quick grin, Mark said, "Okay. He's right, okay? I think you're fine.... "He let his gaze run down that uniformed body and felt his smile widen. "I think you're damn fine, and I've been kicking myself for not asking you out, but I thought you'd only think I was trying to get out of the ticket, and I wasn't. I'd like a chance to get to know you better, you know? And maybe—" "Just cut to the chase," Doug told him. Mark glared at his friend. Before he could tell him to shut up, Lt. Tench stepped back from the door. "Can you come out here a minute?" he asked. Mark pointed at his chest ... me? With a slight smile, Lt. Tench nodded. "Just for a second. Don't worry, you're not under arrest." 27

Speed Trap [Working Man] by J. M. Snyder

Doug sniggered. "Shut up," Mark grumbled, but he unbuckled his seat belt and opened the door. As he stepped out, he glanced at the other officer, still in his patrol car. "He's been in there forever. He must be writing me one hell of a ticket." Lt. Tench leaned back against the concrete median dividing the highway, and Mark let his gaze roam down that body, sheathed in navy blue. "I told you not to go speeding around." Mark stepped up beside him and leaned on the median; the breeze created when cars drove by tugging at his open flannel shirt. Suddenly he didn't know what to say or do, where to look, so he stared at his hands folded together and tried not to glance at the flashing lights behind him. When Lt. Tench spoke, his voice was so low, so close, so intimate, that Mark jumped as if goosed. "So your friend was right?" "What do you mean?" Mark asked. Lt. Tench slid closer. "Were you looking for me?" Ducking his head, Mark grinned. "Yeah." "I'm sorry?" Lt. Tench made a show of leaning toward him. "I didn't hear you." "Yeah," Mark said again, louder this time. He raised his head and looked at the officer's light eyes, his arched brows, his lips. God, those lips. He wondered what they tasted like, what they would feel like on his body, how soft, how sweet. He wondered if he'd ever get a chance to find out. 28

Speed Trap [Working Man] by J. M. Snyder

"So.... "Lt. Tench's voice trailed off. Mark searched for something to say. "So," he said, nodding. That sounded good. Behind them a car door opened—the other officer, coming back with his ticket. Ask him out. You can't afford to let this chance slip away again ... in more ways than one. You can't be getting stopped every few days just to see him. Lt. Tench laughed. He nodded to Lt. Mackenzie, who leaned down on Mark's car door to give them some privacy. "That's a pretty shirt, Ms. Johnson." From inside the car, Tiffany giggled. "Thanks, Bubba. How's your mother doing?" Beside Mark, Lt. Tench cleared his throat, easily snagging his attention. "You said you wanted to ask me something." I did? "Oh, yeah. Um...." He stared at the highway—there were fewer and fewer cars on the road now; it was getting late. The sun had already begun to dip behind the trees that lined the road. "This is hard," he mumbled. "What if you say no?" Mark's hand rested on the median. Covering it with one of his own, Lt. Tench countered, "What if I say yes?" The hand on his squeezed encouragingly, and Mark took a deep breath. The words tumbled out in a rush. "Do you want to maybe go out or something? I don't know, a club, dinner, a movie? Tonight, maybe, or whenever you're free. Maybe not tonight because it's such short notice but if you want, whenever really, just please...." He stopped himself before he could begin to ramble. Too late, he thought, holding his breath. Those pale eyes never 29

Speed Trap [Working Man] by J. M. Snyder

wavered, and Mark couldn't tear his gaze away from them. "Say something," he whispered. "I'd love to, fuck off, I'm not like that, anything, please." "I'd love to." Mark felt his knees go weak and he leaned against the median, relieved. Hot damn, he just said yes. He grinned wildly. "Tonight's fine," Wade told him. "My shift's over in a half hour. You know Bubba's still going to give you a ticket, right?" Mark laughed. "I don't care." He turned his hand over beneath Wade's and laced their fingers together. "Tonight, then. A half hour?" When Wade nodded, he told him, "You can call me. Let me give you my number—" "I already have it," Wade replied. Mark watched a thin blush color the cop's cheeks. "You were right. I thought you were trying to get out of the ticket, flirting like that. If I had known you meant it...." Mark turned and eased an arm behind Wade, resting his hand on the median on the other side of the officer. It would be so simple now to just lean over and kiss him, to taste those lips for himself; who would stop him? He's still on duty, Mark reminded himself. Later. He said tonight, didn't he? Tonight I'll kiss him and I won't come up for air. I'll kiss us both breathless. Damn, he kept my number? "I'll show you I meant it," he whispered, giving the cop a playful nudge. "Bring those handcuffs, what do you say?" 30

Speed Trap [Working Man] by J. M. Snyder

Wade laughed and Mark couldn't wait to take him up on the promise he saw in those eyes and that smile. The End [Back to Table of Contents]

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Speed Trap [Working Man] by J. M. Snyder

Thank you for your purchase of Working Man: Speed Trap by J.M. Snyder. Be sure to take a look at more of J.M.'s stories at www.AspenMountainPress.com where there are several more in the Working Man series available.

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