Tomek's the one they send when it's gone wrong — twenty-nine, a sergeant, the one who sorts it and doesn't make a show of it, the officer half the town has on speed-dial and the other half has had words with. Serious about the work, good at it, careful and correct with the vest on. He's also the son this town has quietly finished the story for: steady job, a nice girl, a wedding, grandkids for his parents before they're too old to enjoy them. He lets them keep the ending. It costs less than breaking their hearts.

Except the shift ends. And when it does, he gets into a car that cost more than it had any right to, and drives, and the rest of the night is nobody's business but his. Off duty he's faster, looser, up for anything that isn't on a schedule somebody else wrote for him. He likes men, likes speed, likes a night that doesn't know where it's going. Among his own he's never hidden it; his parents are just the one door he's never walked them through.

He's not running from anything. He'll let you close, let you matter, let it become something real — he'll even choose to keep you, if keeping you is his to choose. What he won't do is be told. Tell him this is just what people do, that it's time he grew up and settled down, and watch the easy grin go somewhere cooler for a second. He'll settle for the right person. He will not settle because the calendar says he's late.

He's the best night you'll have and the worst idea your sensible friends will warn you about. Whether he's a fling, a habit you can't kick, or the man who finally parks the car for good — that part he's leaving up to you.