“Do you have a, you know, a—um— friend?”
He seemed to stumble on that word, and I laughed at him. “I have one friend, sort of. His name is Cole. We met in college. He was dating my roommate, actually. But after they broke up, he and I hooked up a couple of times. He lives in Arizona, but his family owns a condo in Vail, and sometimes when he’s up here skiing, he’ll call and we’ll get together. It’s very casual. We’re not really each other’s type. He’s too flamboyant for me, and I’m too small town for him. It is occasionally mutually convenient and with absolutely zero strings attached. But other than that, no. There’s no one.”
“But how do you meet people? I mean, others like you?”
“I don’t. Not anymore. I used to go to the clubs sometimes. There’s one in Fort Collins and a couple in Boulder and a bunch in Denver. But, you know, it’s just like it is for straight guys. You might be able to get laid—well, at a gay club, it’s almost a guarantee that you can get laid, depending on your standards—but you’re never gonna find anything more than that.”
“Is that what you want? Something more?”
“Don’t we all?” That came out sounding way too pretentious. We definitely needed to change the subject. “So how’s work?” I could tell right away that was a bad question. His grey eyes darkened—I couldn’t see the green at all right now—and he tensed up a little.
“Not great,” he said darkly.
“What’s up? Is there a crime wave in Coda I haven’t heard about?”
He loosened up a little. “I’ve had to drag Dan Snyder away from Cherie’s house two more times. The first time, he was drunk and throwing bottles at her house. The other time, he was inside, and she looked bad. I don’t get it. She won’t press charges, but it was pretty obvious he had been beating on her again. He’s a real piece of work.”
“Dan was always a fuckup. Even in high school.”
“Yeah.” He was quiet for a minute and then started pulling at the label on his beer bottle. “I’m getting a lot of shit from the other guys,” he said quietly. He didn’t look at me, and it took a second for me to figure it out.
“Because of me?”
A reluctant nod.
“Then what the hell are we doing here?” I asked incredulously. I had to tell myself to keep my voice down. “You come to my house and bring me out to dinner—of course they’re going to talk.”
He just shrugged. “It pisses me off.” He didn’t sound pissed though; he sounded sad. “They don’t know what it’s like. They’re all married. The other night when I saw you here—that’s not the first time. They’re always trying to set me up.” I wasn’t sure what to say to that. “I work with them, so I want to get along with them, but at the end of the day, they go home to their families.” And he went home alone to his prison cell of an apartment. He didn’t say that part, but I heard it.
We ate in silence for a bit, and then a voice said, “Hello, Jared!” I looked up to see Mr. Stevens, the high school band director and the only other gay man in town, as far as I knew. He was in his sixties and well dressed. He seemed to always have on a bow tie.
“Hey, Mr. Stevens. How’s life?”
“You haven’t been my student for a long time. You know you can call me Bill.” He always told me this, but it’s hard to call any former teacher by their first name. “And I believe you are our newest police officer?” he said to Matt.
“Yes, sir. Matt Richards.” He shook Mr. Steven’s slightly limp hand.
“Mr. Richards, it is very nice to meet you. I’m so glad you’ve joined our tiny community. I hope you don’t mind me asking, but are you actually out with the department?”
I was trying not to smile. It was obvious that Mr. Stevens assumed Matt was gay. But it was equally obvious, to me, at least, that Matt had no idea what Mr. Stevens meant. I could tell by the look on his face that he was thinking, “out where?” But he nodded gamely and said, “Yes, sir, I am.” Now I was really having a hard time not laughing.
“That’s fabulous! I’m glad to hear that our department is so progressive.” Matt’s demeanor barely changed. Mr. Stevens obviously could not tell how confused he was, and I realized that I was becoming quite adept at reading his guarded expressions. “Well, I’ll leave you two alone. I want you to know that it makes me so happy to see you two together.” He winked at me. “It gives an old man hope.”
“Thanks, Mr. Stevens. You know I wish you luck.”
When he was gone, Matt looked at me and said, “What the hell? What was that guy talking about? And what’s so damn funny?”
“Don’t you remember me telling you about Mr. Stevens, the band director?”
I watched him as he thought about it and saw the light come on. Then his eyes shifted from side to side as he replayed the conversation in his head, and a blush crept up his cheeks as the pieces fell into place.
“Finally figured it out, did you?”
“Shit.” He didn’t seem mad so much as annoyed at himself. “Sometimes I’m such an idiot.”
“Well, I wouldn’t worry about it. Mr. Stevens knows all about discretion.”
“I guess that’s probably true.”
“Does it bother you that he thinks we’re together?”
“Does it bother you?”
“Not at all.”
“You and he never…?” I noticed he had evaded my question but let it pass.
“Never. I don’t think either one of us has ever even considered it. There’s a pretty big age difference, obviously. And he was my teacher once, so that would be pretty fucking weird. And I don’t know for sure, but I suspect Mr. Stevens likes his men a little more feminine, if you know what I mean.”
“And how do you like your men?” His cheeks were bright red, but his gaze was level on mine.
And boy did that feel like the trick question of the month. Because of course, I liked my men just like him: tall and dark and muscular. The only thing I might have added was longer hair and tattoos—and I had to wonder if there were any under his shirt. But I couldn’t say it.
What I said was, “Filthy rich.”
He gave me the pseudo-smile. I had a feeling that he knew the real answer.
CHAPTER 10
HE BEGAN to stop by the shop at closing time again, and we had dinner together two or three times a week. Every time, I asked him if it was causing trouble for him at work. At first he would just shrug, but by the third week, the question was making him blush. That confused me.
“I don’t understand. Does it cause problems for you or not?”
“Well, it did,” he said hesitantly. “But I’ve made some changes over the past few weeks that have helped.” He wasn’t looking at me when he said it.
“‘Changes’? Like what?”
“I actually, umm….” He was fidgeting with the label on his beer bottle again. “I started seeing Cherie.”
“What?”
He glanced up at me and gave me the pseudo-smile. “You heard me.”
“You’re dating Cherie?”
“No. Not dating.”
“But you just said—”
“What I said was I started seeing her. Not the same thing.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. I was still confused, and my face must have shown it, because he rolled his eyes at me and said, “Let’s just say we have an arrangement. Like you and your friend, Cole.”
“Ahh. I see.” Now I was having a hard time keeping a straight face. “Occasionally mutually convenient?”