Page 8

“On my way home.”

“Oh yeah?” He sounded excited to hear that.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Tell me where that is.”

“Nah. I’ll call you.”

“Jory,” he said softly, coaxing. “Please lemme see⁠—”

“Later.” I yawned and hung up. I wasn’t in the mood for company. I just wanted to go home, shower off the night, and pass out in my bed.

“Friend of yours?”

“Not really,” I told him. “Just a guy.”

“You got a lot of guys?”

I turned slowly to look at him.

“What?” he asked gruffly.

“What the hell kind of question is that?”

“Fair, I would say.”

I went back to staring out the window.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.” I kept my answer clipped, trying not to snap.

“Twenty-two,” he repeated.

“Yeah.”

“How can you afford to live alone?”

It was a weird question. “I told you already; I have a good job.”

“And what else?”

I turned again to look at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I think you know.”

“I don’t think I do, Detective. You need to spell it out for me.”

“Fine. Does some guy help you out with your rent in exchange for fucking you?”

That was definitely clear. “No.” I barely got it out through my clenched teeth.

“No?”

“How do you know I’m even gay, Detective?”

He glanced at me, scoffing. “Dressed like that?”