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I huffed. “I Love You by Donna Summer.”

“Holy shit! That’s hitting the nail on the head!” she exclaimed.

“Right? But we were in a gay club, and he was in drag. I mean, I know it was heartfelt, and I got emotional over it. But again, it was a safe environment.”

“Maybe tonight you ought to bring it up with him,” she said with a head tilt and a raised brow.

“Yeah, he knew I was disappointed when I left the precinct. We need to discuss it.” I sat taller in my chair. “Thanks, Chloe, for listening. Now go finish those folders,” I teased dismissively.

She snickered as she stood to leave my office, but paused. “If you ever need a shoulder to vent on, I mean, one that’s here, because I know you’re close to your friend, Wynn, and I’m sure it can be difficult with him having a three-hour time difference. And you know you can trust that whatever we talk about, it’s between us.”

I thanked her and nodded as she left the room just as my phone chimed with a text.

Jonesy: Do you want to meet for dinner before I come over?

I looked at the message and thought for a minute before replying.

Me: No, I don’t think so. Just come over.

Jonesy: Ahh, that anxious for me, huh?

Jesus. What he was expecting and what I had planned were two different things.

Me: I’ll see you around 6:30, if that works for you?

Jonesy: Sounds good. Love you! (heart emoji)

Me: (smile emoji)

Was he trying too hard? I was sure my reaction at the precinct made him more affectionate in his texting. Sex was the last thing on my mind tonight, though, and I hoped our conversation wouldn’t lead to any friction. After what Chloe had said about someone in her life who felt ashamed of who they were, I needed to be sure to let Jonesy know that neither of us should feel that way.

When I got home, I pulled out an expensive bottle of wine and two glasses. I figured alcohol would be in order with what I wanted to talk to him about. Jonesy arrived shortly after 6:30. I’d left the front door unlocked so he could just walk in as usual.

“Hey, Howler,” he sang as he came through the door. I remained in the kitchen and didn’t respond, knowing he’d head my way.

He rounded the corner wearing tight blue jeans and a snug black T-shirt, looking sexy as hell as my eyes wandered his body, but it wasn’t going to keep me from wanting the conversation with him. He gave me a slight frown as I stood on the other side of the counter, two glasses filled with an ample amount of wine. I picked one up and offered it to him.

“Oh, okay,” he said, accepting it and looking puzzled.

“Let’s sit. We should talk,” I replied, motioning to my living room.

“This sounds serious.”

“I just want to have a chat about something that’s been on my mind,” I said flatly. I walked around him toward the living room, and as I passed, he hesitated as if he was expecting a kiss.

I sat in an accent chair next to the sofa as he stood there, still holding his wine. I gave him a look that said, “Well?”

He sat on the sofa near me, then set his wine down in front of him. I could see his detective brain working overtime, wondering what I wanted to talk about.

“What’s up? This, uh, is coming across as serious,” he said, leaning on his elbows and interlocking his fingers.

I took a sip of wine before answering. “So… today at the precinct. When I arrived, you were distracted, or you didn’t want anyone to know we’ve been boyfriends for three years.” I gave him a pointed look. “I was grateful that Sean walked over to greet me to avoid the awkwardness,” I said, keeping my voice neutral.

Jonesy sighed, paused, and looked at his hands. “I was distracted, babe. You parted the waters when you walked into the squad room, and when heads turned, I freaked out. I don’t always know how to handle myself in front of everyone when you're around. You smelled fantastic, too.”

My mouth quirked at his last comment. “Jonesy, it’s more than just the squad room. We’ve talked about this before, about you not showing me any affection in public and me not being able to reciprocate. You have no idea how much I want to greet you with a kiss or a hug and not give a fuck who thinks that’s weird. We’ve been together three years, and we live in San Francisco. It’s a fucking gay mecca. Most people don’t care.” He finally met my gaze as I continued. “Tell me this, how would you treat me if we lived together… or were married, for crying out loud?” I didn’t want to raise my voice, but my frustration was surfacing quickly the more I spoke. Maybe putting it to him that way might help it sink in.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, at a loss for words. “I-I hadn’t thought about it that way before,” he said, almost embarrassed. “Seems a little unfair.”