fifteen dollars.”
I put my hands up. “Fine. Some customers, let’s call them Frick and Frack, stopped by the Emporium looking for a Real Gay to play tour guide.”
Neil raised one eyebrow. “The Emporium is half a dozen blocks away from a bar where patrons have sex in the bathrooms with male go-go dancers, and customers zeroed in on you for the gay experience?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re wearing mismatching loafers.”
I looked down. “Son of a bitch, again?”
“And before you ask, yes, it’s obvious.”
“What is?” I asked, raising my head.
“When you’re late for work. Because of… how’d you put it….” Neil raised his hands and inserted his index finger into the tunnel of the other.
I kicked Neil’s shin, and he swore loud enough to earn a glare from a pair of old ladies in the booth to our right.
He reached down, rubbed his leg, and directed an apology their way. “You’re a salty shit,” he hissed at me.
“Better turn that frown upside down, Neil. Not all men appreciate what a grouchy fuck you are.”
He straightened in his seat. “There isn’t a man.”
“Sure.”
“Seb.”
“I said, sure.”
“You said it with a tone.”
“There was no tone.”
“I swear to God.”
I lifted up and tugged the folded flyer from my back pocket. “Not to interrupt your righteous indignation, but have you ever heard of Queer Expectations?” I cautiously unfolded the paper.
Neil reorganized his expression, took another one of those long, calculated breaths, then said, “One could argue, based on being a gay man, that all of our expectations are colored in that respect.”
“What the fuck school of philosophy did you graduate from?” I asked.
Our waitress came around then, depositing two plates on the table—said burger for me, and—
“I thought you said no tacos.”
“I did.”
I pointed at Neil’s plate. “Then what is that?”
“Tacos. For me. I was on time.”
“This mystery man is going to kill you before the week’s out,” I grumbled.
Neil picked up a taco in one hand, gave me the finger with the other, and took a big bite.
I rolled my eyes, grabbed the ketchup bottle on the tabletop between us, and said while shaking it, “I’m not talking about anything akin to The Queer Experience. Just—Queer Expectations. It’s an event.”
Neil furrowed his brow, took another bite, then asked, “What sort of event?”
“It’s… um… it’s a book convention.”
“Oh.”
I pointed a french fry at him. “You thought it was some kind of sex thing, didn’t you?”
“With a name like that….” He shrugged.
“So you haven’t heard of it?”
“No. Should I?”
“No. I mean, I guess not.”
“What sort of books?”
“Gay books.”
Neil snorted. “No shit, Sherlock.”
I stuck the fry in my mouth, smoothed out the flyer, and hesitantly offered it.
Neil took the paper. After a minute, his gaze rose to meet mine. “Romance books?”
I shrugged.
“Since when do you read romance?”
I shrugged again. “Since opening the Emporium and meeting Beth, I guess.”
“When we were dating?”
I nodded.
“Huh.” He passed the flyer back and indicated to it with a nod of his chin. “You going, then?”
“It’s in St. Louis.”
“Is St. Louis romantic?”
“The Midwest doesn’t exactly conjure up feelings of true love,” I answered, folding the paper, leaning to one side, and slipping it back in my pocket. “More like… corn.”
“There’s more there than corn.”
“Jesus billboards, maybe.”
“I meant,” Neil began, and that stressed patience was back in his tone, “you could make a vacation out of it. The convention is right around Valentine’s Day.”
“But then I’d have to tell Calvin why I want to go to Missouri.”
“I think he’d probably want a heads-up, yeah.” Neil picked up a second taco before raising an eyebrow. “He doesn’t know you read romance books?”
“Let’s talk about something else.”
“Why are you embarrassed?”
“I’m not.”
“You’re a shit liar.”
I picked up my burger and took a huge bite. Too big, in fact. I had to chew with my mouth partially open.
Neil grimaced. “I can’t believe you’re married.”
“Neither can I,” I mumbled around the food. After swallowing, I said, “Did you know, after the Bones case, the media gave me a nickname?”
“Did they?”
“Yeah. Frick and Frack told me about it.”
“What was it?”
“The gay Miss Marple.”
Neil choked. He thumped on his chest a few times before he started laughing. Like, really laughing. He’d always had a nice laugh, and looked so much younger without the perpetual scowl on his face, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to point that out while Neil was practically doubled over at my expense.
“Stop it.”
“Oh my God.”
“It’s not that funny.”
“Yes, it is.” Neil put a hand over his eyes, but the attempt to collect himself was short-lived and