It was a school zone.
Did he call JH?
Nah.He knows better by now.
Good boy.And before I can deal with that, he marks that message with the laugh response, and then he sends:You are one of a kind.And then, on the heels of that one:Be safe, Sammy.
I guess I could have left it at that, but I reply,Eat your dinner.
And he sends back the middle finger emoji.
Gray must think it’s funny because the next night, in the middle of my shift, I get another picture.This time, it’s of Gray.He’s not wearing a shirt, and the waistband of his shorts is low enough that I can see the elastic of his underwear.He’s got more definition to his chest than I expect, and tonight, he’s wearing a gold chain I don’t remember.It takes me about five seconds to notice he’s preparing a salad, and he sent me the photo to prove he’s making dinner.
And a voice that sounds a little like Gran says, Yeah, right.
I figure since I’m on duty, I can buy myself a little time before I respond.The best I can come up with, though, isNice.
Another picture comes through almost immediately.He’s at the table now.He’s pouting, arms folded across his chest.You can’t tell in those suits, but he’s got great arms.And a joke goes through my head.Not even a joke; something I heard Gray say to Mr.Somerset once when we were all at St.Taffy’s, and it was getting late.Tops are so easy to manipulate.You say, ‘Oh my God, your arms are so big,’ and they’ll give you all the dick you want.And that’s when Mr.Somerset called Gray a cab.
The words that come through, following this pouty picture, areNice?Seriously?That’s all?
I’m not good at dating, but I do know what it means when people say they leave you on read.But I barely make it ten minutes before I send back,Very nice.
And then I wait.
And I send:Salad.
He FaceTimes me, and it’s the middle of my shift, but I pick up anyway.The chain glitters at the hollow of his throat, and some of his hair is out of its part and curling across his forehead, and he’s pretending to be mad as he shouts, “Nice salad?Nice salad?You are a real fucking piece of work.”
And then he disconnects.
He messages me about five seconds later:Too much?
I don’t even know what’s happening.
I know.That’s what makes it so fun.And then the same message as the night before:Be safe, Sammy.
But I do know.Kind of.
It’s so easy.That’s what I don’t understand.Probably because we’re pretending, and I’m not getting in my own way.And because Gray’s so good at this.I mean, I know enough about him to know this is easy for him.Picking up guys.Flirting.Messing around.But it’s easy for me, too, and sometimes that sneaks up on me.Because we’re pretending, I remind myself.Because it doesn’t mean anything.
But Saturday, he gets my location from dispatch and brings sandwiches, and we eat in my cruiser, parked on the bank of the Grand Rivere.It’s a quiet night, and I’ll probably pick up some DUIs later, but for now, there’s nowhere to go and nowhere to be except here, the spring air smelling like the river and silt and the sedge that’s coming in thick and dark green, and the sharpness of the vinegar and salami, and something else, this musky, masculine scent on Gray that gets caught like a burr in my throat.I don’t even remember what we talk about.Something about WISP at first.But it feels like an excuse more than anything, and pretty soon we’re talking.And Gray is being a shit, because he likes to, and I’m laughing because it’s funny when he doesn’t get what he wants, and then it’s over, and he’s packing up our trash.
Before he goes, when I’m sitting behind the wheel, he stands with one hand on the door, looking in at me, and there’s this moment where I’m confused, like I’m in two places at once, and in one of those places, he’s going to kiss me before he says goodnight.But I’m not in that place.I’m in some other place, where he’s looking in at me, and all he says is “Be safe, Sammy,” and he shuts the door for me.Kind of like it’s the end of a date.
I’m brushing my teeth that night when I think I need to do something.Not protein bars.I mean, I’m supposed to be helping him, aren’t I?What have I done so far?Not a whole lot.
Instead of going straight to sleep, I get on my phone.I do some searching.And then I do some more searching.And then, before I can think about it too much, I text Gray.
Want to go to the Wrox-Out closing social?It’s Friday night.
I lock the phone because he’s probably asleep, but a message comes back right away.Why?
Because they’re a vulnerable group and WISP should be doing outreach to them, too.I hesitate, and then I add,It would be a good practice run for the Greek Life outreach.
His response takes longer this time, and I try not to read too much into it.I still do, though.Is he mad because I’m overstepping?Maybe he already tried to reach out to Wrox-Out—I mean, it would be natural for him to contact the LGBTQ student life group.Or does he think this is a bad idea?Maybe there’s a reason he hasn’t gotten involved with them.
But then my phone buzzes:Sure.Pick you up?
