Fast Connection (Cyberlove #2) by Megan Erickson, Santino Hassell

a plate while my mother continued making sad eyes at me. I had the feeling she was tuning him out too.
    Teresa Costigan, my mother and aforementioned saint. First generation Italian-American right down to the thick only-ever-lived-on-Staten-Island accent and flair for dramatics. Talking to her was like talking to a really sarcastic mime. Always with the gestures and making the sign of the cross. I loved her, but she had the capacity to make me feel guilty if I turned down a second helping of eggplant parm. She totally didn’t understand my fitness regime.
    I scooped two chicken cutlets out of a foil-covered pan, got a generous helping of broccoli rabe from a pot, and bypassed the pasta.
    “You barely eat,” she complained, cutting into my father’s tirade about who the hell knew what. “You’re going to get so skinny.”
    “I need protein, Ma. I’m not working out enough to be pounding pasta.”
    Duffy scoffed. “You need to stop worrying about looking so pretty and get on top of applying for city jobs.”
    And here it went.
    “Mike, down at the barber, his son just got a job driving the express buses. How convenient would that be?” Duffy’s chair screeched as he stood to get a couple of beers. He nodded approvingly when I took one. “You could maybe drive the X14 or something. Then come help me out at the shop.”
    “First off, Pops, I don’t think I could just choose the route that’s most convenient for me. Second, I’m not about to stay slicing cold cuts and making bacon, egg, and cheese bagels on my off hours.”
    Duffy planted his elbows on the table. “So, what are you gonna do when I retire?”
    Was he kidding me? Judging by the beady way he was staring me down, he definitely wasn’t at all.
    Shaking my head, I cut into my chicken and took a bite. It was delicious as always, all lemony and peppery, but I had no appetite anymore. Not only did he want to pick a job for me, but he wanted to figure out how much he could schedule my free time and future.
    “I’m not being a bus driver. Okay? I didn’t serve in the military for almost a decade to come out and—”
    “Didn’t serve in the military,”
he said, mimicking. “Get off it, Nicky. You probably sat on base with your thumb up your ass looking at porn or playing basketball all that time. Give me a fucking break.”
    My fork dropped as my spine went straight. We’d got into a lot of fights since I’d come back to the reality they kept trying to fit me into, but he’d never outright mocked my service before.
    “Are you for real?”
    Teresa looked uneasy. “All right, all right, let the boy eat. No fighting at dinner.”
    “Like that ever worked out so well in the past?” I stared at my father across the table and searched for signs of myself in him. Same eyes and height, but that was it. If it weren’t for the DNA coding my genes, we’d be strangers. It’d be nice. “When you see your brothers get shot down on patrols and watch ’em walk into traps only to get blown to bits, come back to me and talk about how you think the military works.”
    Duffy’s jaw clenched, but there was also a brief flash in his face that almost looked like pride. My father was one weird motherfucker.
    “Okay, how about the police officer exam? The fee is waived for vets and everything.”
    “Oh my God,” I moaned. “I’d rather drive a bus than be a cop.”
    “Why?” he challenged. “So you don’t have to carry a gun again?”
    My back stiffened, but I forced myself to ignore the jibe. “I can’t stand the fucking NYPD, and you know that. Especially after all that’s been coming out with them abusing their power and the brutality? Jesus, Pops. Come on.”
    “Don’t get political—”
    “If you work for the city, it’s automatically political.”
    “No politics at the table,” Teresa said, voice getting sharper. “And no son of mine is being a cop. Maybe a firefighter.”
    They were hopeless. But it would be a lot easier to make the