Curb Service

The heat was stupid that afternoon. Ninety-eight degrees and my patrol cruiser's AC had given up sometime around Memorial Day. I'm Tulani, twenty-eight, five years on patrol in Sun Valley Estates, and mostly my job is parking tickets and HOA noise complaints.

That Tuesday was no different until I got to the cul-de-sac.

He'd left a note on my cruiser the week before. Actual paper note, tucked under the wiper. "Officer T. Off duty, Tuesday 2pm, 1147 Culpepper Court, third garage on the left. Knock twice. I'm the big guy." I'd sat there reading it three times.

I knew him. Well, knew of him. Angelo, thirty, graphic designer, works from home. The recluse in the gray house who never opened his blinds. And enormous. Like, doorway-filling enormous. I'd been calling him "the monument" in my head since he moved in two years ago. Never out loud. Obviously never out loud.

Here's the part I'll admit right now. I said yes because of his size. I've always liked big men, and he was the biggest I'd ever seen in person, and I was bored out of my skull with traffic stops and cats stuck in trees. My last actual date was four years ago. So. Curiosity won.

I parked the cruiser a block over, changed out of my uniform shirt, kept the pants because they're the only pants I own that survive summer, and walked over. Sweating already. Eleven steps to that garage door.

I knocked twice.

It rolled up.

"Officer Tulani," he said. "You came."

"I almost didn't." True. "I sat in my car for ten minutes arguing with myself."

"And won?"

"Obviously."

He stepped back and I stepped in and the garage was not a garage. Blackout curtains everywhere, a big memory-foam mattress on the floor, a mini fridge, a box fan doing its best. It smelled like clean laundry. He'd put effort in.

"Okay," I said. "So. Let's do the uncomfortable part first. No money. I'm not being paid for this. If I ever get the feeling money is part of it, I'm walking. And nothing from my job comes in here. No favors, no tickets disappearing, no noise complaints going away. This is separate from the badge, completely."

"Already handled," he said. "You're here because you want to be. I'm not paying you. You're not working. This is just two adults being dumb on a Tuesday."

"Good. Continue."

"Ground rules." He held up fingers. "One, no kissing on the mouth. That's a me thing, don't ask. Two, we don't talk about real life. No jobs, no exes, no HOA drama. In here we're just... bodies. Three, and this is the big one."

"Give me the big one."

"I need someone who isn't scared of me." He said it flat. "It happens every time. I get undressed and they get this face. Like I'm a problem to solve. I can't do that face again."

"Show me the face problem," I said. "Take your shirt off."

He did.

Look. I've seen big men. I've seen linebackers, I've seen that guy Darrell who benches at my gym and never shuts up about it. Angelo is a different category. Six foot eight maybe more, shoulders like a doorframe, and thick everywhere, arms like my whole leg. Shirtless, he was just a wall with a heartbeat.

"Oh my god," I said, and then I laughed, because my nerves do that. "Sorry. Sorry, it's just, I've been calling you 'the monument' in my head for two years and I feel very vindicated right now."

"The what?" He was smiling.

"The monument. You. It was a compliment, I promise."

"Nobody's ever laughed at me naked before. Usually it's the face."

"Well, get used to this. I'm a giggler." I looked up at him, way up. "You're not a problem, Angelo. You're a project. There's a difference."

"You sure?"

"Sit down and find out."

He sat on the mattress edge and I knelt in front of him, knees on the foam, and got my first look at the rest of him. I asked if I could, and he said yes, and I undid his belt and the rest of it, quick and businesslike, and then I just stopped and stared.

"That's not going to work," I said.

"What?"

"My mouth. The way you're... I need both hands just to hold it. My hand doesn't go around. Look." I wrapped one hand around him and my fingers didn't meet. So I stacked the other one under it, both fists on the bat, basically, and even then there was a stretch of him with nothing on it. "See? Both hands. This is a two-person job and I'm one person."

"You can quit," he said. Quiet. Careful. "People quit."

"I'm not quitting, I'm negotiating with myself. Give me a second." I breathed out. Okay. Slow. I leaned in and took the head in my mouth