Stray Fears - Gregory Ashe Page 0,39
skimmed the inside of my thigh, slid over my dick, squeezed.
“Sorry,” Elien said, eyes coming up dark and innocent. “Slipped.”
“Number two is I’ve done this before, ok? You’re a ten. I’m a six. Six and a half if I’m not on carbs. And there’s some reason, like you’re both wasted, or the guy who’s a ten is a closet case, or you just got chased through the woods by a monster, and it seems like hot, frantic, immediate sex is the obvious choice.”
“I like where this is going.”
“Well, I guess I’m too old to keep embarrassing myself like that,” I said. “It just hurts too much.”
“That’s it?” Elien said. “Two reasons?”
“That’s not enough?”
“Not even close. The second one is bullshit anyway. You’re not a six.”
I laughed again. “Number three is that every gay guy who’s found out I’m a cop has wanted to play badge buck, and I just . . . I just get tired of it.”
“So, what’s your game plan?” Elien said, sitting back to examine his handiwork.
“My game plan?”
His eyes came up again. “Long term?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you going to have a secret identity or something? You can’t automatically dismiss every guy who’s interested in you just because you’re a cop. Yeah, the job gets fetishized. Yeah, that’s not cool for you—not if you want to be treated like a human being. But I mean, at some point, you’re going to have to tell a guy, right?”
I guess I don’t have a very good poker face, because Elien frowned.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “That’s not any of my business.”
“No, it’s . . . it’s why I’m twenty-seven and have never had a boyfriend last more than six months, so I mean, it’s not like I haven’t thought about it.”
Leaning back, Elien ran a hand through that long, windswept hair. The white tee had ridden up to expose the light brown skin of his belly.
“I’d like you to call Guinness,” he said. “I think I just got the world record for worst seduction ever.”
“I’ll let them know,” I said.
“I guess we need to talk about what happened out there.”
Shaking my head, I managed to get to my feet. “Nope. No way.”
“What?”
“No way. Not tonight.”
“What?”
“I need a drink. I need to sleep on this. I need to feel like I’m not totally batshit insane. End of discussion. Sorry.”
“But I need to talk to someone about what’s been going on.”
“And I feel like I went through a meat slicer. Goodnight, Elien. Thanks, you know. For the bandages. And for trying to seduce me. It really made me feel better about myself.”
“Oh my God,” Elien said, covering his face. “I think I just figured out why you’re single.”
“No, it did. It was really endearing how you kept yammering and throwing yourself at me.”
“I’m feeling the urge to do some more yammering right now.”
With a small sigh, I said, “Pen? Paper?”
He grabbed them from the kitchen.
“My phone number,” I said, scribbling. “And my address.”
“Why do I need your address?”
“Do you want your boyfriend to be part of this conversation tomorrow?”
“No, I guess not. Wait, tomorrow?”
I nodded.
“Just hold on before you go.”
He sprinted upstairs and was back again in a minute. As he walked me to the door, he held out a wad of cash.
“I’m not a gigolo,” I said.
Grinning, he said, “Trust me, this wouldn’t even start to cover all the things I want to do to you. This is for stitches. You drive straight to an urgent care, and you get them to clean you up and get you on antibiotics.”
“I’m not taking your money.”
“Sure you are,” Elien said. “Or I’m going to call the DuPage Sheriff’s Department and explain that a crazy deputy was here firing his gun outside my house.”
I stared at him. “That’s blackmail.”
“So simple,” Elien said to himself. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” Then he waved the money.
After a moment, I snatched it.
“Goodnight," he said.
“Thanks,” I said. “For blackmailing me, I guess.”
Laughing, he shut the door.
I drove to an urgent care on the outside of Bragg, and while I filled out paperwork, I tried to figure out how being chased by a monster and almost killed had been one of the best, most romantic evenings of the last five years.
When I heard that thought, I decided to get back on Grindr.
ELIEN (9)
The next day, Muriel drove me to Dag’s house on her way to work.
“I really don’t see,” she paused to touch up her lipstick at a red light, “why you have an open relationship.”
“Oh my God,” I