No Strings Attached | ?

        On this breezy Thursday morning, I head over to the police station in search for Jonah and possibly a sneak-peek of any jotted down ideas for the take-out plan against the mafia.

        Even though Jonah never gave me his number or really any cute little sticky note saying he'd be off to work and that Tuesday night was fun, I still have that list of places he usually goes to from Necksnapper. And also because it's common fucking sense that I go to the police station because why wouldn't Mr. Police Officer be at the police station?

        I enter the building and go right ahead to the reception desk, catching the attention of the female cop receptionist lady. Honestly, even though I'm still kinda shitting my pants from being surrounded by police officers, having sex with one of them helps me loosen up a bit.

        "Hi, I'd like to see Jonah Clayton?" I say. The woman keeps a good ass poker face, but that slightest twitch of her brow makes me think she's skeptical of me already. "Who are you exactly, sir?" She asks.

        "His . . . partner." Saying that feels weird. This whole scenario feels weird. You don't just hook up with a guy and then go to his work the next day with evil--but necessary--intent and then label yourself his partner. I don't know about you but it just doesn't seem like something a normal human being would do. So maybe this is proof I'm not normal.

        "I'm sorry, sir," the receptionist says, "but you can't visit police officers on duty--"

        "Tony? What are you doing here?" I turn to see Jonah stepping out from the officer cubicle area, coffee in hand. Huh. Nicknames already? Tuesday night, when I was driving me and Jonah back to my place in his car, we'd exchanged our names. I never heard him say my full name once, and now he's calling me Tony. Not that I mind, but . . .

        I'm pretty sure Jonah minds that I'm here. He doesn't exactly look pleased.

        "I came to see you." I say. He huffs a little smile, his expression confused, what with his furrowed eyebrows and all. "No, listen--" He pauses to signal the receptionist that everything's okay and that he'll take it from here before he turns back to me, taking my arm in a light grip and guiding me back farther from everyone else, near the entry doors.

        "I can't hang out right now." He continues in a quieter voice. "It's work time. Maybe later, okay?"

        "But I want to visit you now."

        "And you have. Antonio,"--(Gasp! He said my name!)--"come on. One night does not equal you being my wife."

        "Why, because you already have a wife back home, is that it?" I snap my fingers and strike a pose, giving Jonah baby some sass. But, only in my head, though. Come on, I'm not that shameless.

        He leans back slightly to scrunch his face in deeper confusion to my accusation. "What? I don't even--No?? I just--" He pauses. "I thought that night had no strings attached. Did it?"

        "Of course not! But--"

        "Then go. Another time, please."

        I'm about to say something else, but the urgency on his face makes me hold my tongue. I sigh, then I caress his face to make it actually seem like we're a couple to the receptionist, who I think's been watching us this whole time. Creep. Once I'm sure I've given the illusion (and made Jonah visibly relax), I turn around and exit the building.

        The second I'm no longer in front of the station, I curse and pinch my nasal bridge. God fucking dammit! Why is Jonah such a good fucking adult?? Why couldn't he take the immature, teenage route and fall in love with me instantly so that way I could use him to get info on the plan?? Goddamn cops. Pieces of shit.

        I pull my phone out of my pant pocket and call Necksnapper, imagining myself taking out a cigarette (even though I don't smoke) like those cool guys in shows do and smoke angrily.

        Necksnapper doesn't pick up, so I leave a voice mail. "No new information yet, unfortunately." I say. "However, I am going to do some research on Mr. Police Man."

        I end the voice mail and put my phone back in my pocket, making a sharp right and pushing myself straight into the pub. Time to have a bottle of tequila to make up for the abandoned shot last night.