Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 1

lack of response. Not that I normally jacked off in the locker room, because I didn't. It's just that unless this case broke quickly, who knew how much time I'd have to spend with Boudreaux? In the four weeks he'd been with the squad, he rubbed everyone the wrong damned way. His arrogant attitude left me with a hot need to either kick his ass or fuck it. Maybe both. Since by-the-book cops like him were invariably straight, neither seemed to be a good option.
    I stepped from the shower, and was standing naked in front of my locker when Travis came in carrying a cardboard tray with two large cups of coffee.
    "Hot and black," he said and set the tray on the narrow wooden bench.
    "Just the way you like your women, Travis?" I'm not really sure why I said it. It wasn't a good idea to talk about interracial relationships in southern Louisiana, even in jest. Except I was in a foul mood. I was tired. I was investigating the death of someone I knew, with someone I didn't particularly like. And judging from the conversation at the morgue, my new partner was way ahead of me in the investigation.
    Boudreaux looked at me, then lowered his eyes. I thought he was staring at my feet. Embarrassed because I was naked, maybe? Then very slowly, very deliberately, his gaze raked up my body, lingered for a moment on my now slightly interested dick, then up my chest, to my face. His mouth twitched into an unmistakable smirk. That was the look that made me want to slug him.
    "Get dressed, Garrett. You're perfect for what I have in mind."
    It wasn't until the door swung shut behind him that I realized what he was thinking. The straight prick figured to use me as bait.
    CHAPTER 2
    We had no real clue exactly what the killers were looking for… other than the basics: Black, gay guy who picked up white men in bars. Which left me the one trolling, hitting on a different white undercover cop every night. All of it was bullshit. We weren't going to find the pricks just because I was one black guy who worked the Quarter picking up white dicks. Of either type.
    It fucking sucked. It wasn't like I was in the closet, but goddamn… I was a cop. I'd always kept my personal life and work life separate. I sure as hell wasn't aiming to be the poster child for an enlightened PD. But it was too good a story to keep quiet from the gossips in the squad room.
    I knew something was up as soon as I walked in the door. All conversation stopped and every fucking detective in the room was suddenly busy, but no one needed to leave. They didn't want to miss the show. I walked across the bullpen, ignoring the covert glances and half-swallowed laughs. Yeah, I knew I was the target, and I had a pretty good idea it would be some idiot's idea of queer humor; race, ethnicity, and gender were off the enlightened employee permitted use list, but us sodomites could take it. Bitter, much ?
    At first glance, everything appeared normal. I'd been half expecting an inflatable Ken doll at my desk. Then, as I got closer, I noticed the rainbow bumper sticker some dickwad had stuck on the back of my chair. It's not nearly as fun when the subject of a bad joke doesn't react. I'd learned to ignore a lot in the past year. I casually peeled off the sticker and pulled my chair out to sit. I noticed that each desk drawer was taped closed with bumper stickers. And then I saw the prankster had committed the ultimate sacrilege by covering my Who Dat coffee mug by plastering over the fleur de lis. Fucker .
    "Nice look. You do this Gauthier?" Travis asked, pronouncing the name Go-shay, just like it should be said. I noticed my new partner looked a lot more like an executive from one of the Canal Street banks than a detective, but a shit-eating grin replaced his usual smirk. He bumped shoulders with the big detective and looked like he wanted to take him out for a beer. Congratulations in order ?
    Motherfucker. My face burned and was grateful my complexion hid the first flush of my anger. I'm too black to be called white, and for some people I was too light to be called black. In a city that's home to the Café du Monde, the comparison to café au lait was unavoidable.
    Gauthier grinned right back. His narrow tie and tight collar made his pink-toned face look more like the Piggly-Wiggly sign every day. His snorting reply in a surprisingly high-pitched voice added to the porcine impression.
    "All in good fun, Trav, all in good fun. He don't mind, do you, gay-boy?"
    Boudreaux was still grinning,