“Do you see a uniform and need to make it cry out of some deeply ingrained training, or is it something else?”
He glares balefully in my direction. “This is a crime scene and he wasn’t taking it seriously.”
“My couch was murdered, how serious is that in the grand scheme of things? And I think he was taking you seriously. Especially after you name-dropped the old chief of police a few dozen times.”
“He was about to ask you for an autograph. Or a date.”
“He was about to ask for advice, Zeus. Flattering me about my writing was the first clue. My work is funny and compassionate? He never misses a column?” I curl my lip. “Yeah, he’s got sex on the brain, but I’d bet good money that he doesn’t want it with me.”
I’d also bet he wasn’t gay. Hetero guys ask for advice all the time. Usually a friend turns them on to my column, and they like it enough or are desperate enough to ask me for help. I don’t mind and I love a challenge. As they say, love is love.
“Someone asking for a date wouldn’t flatter you?”
I can’t stop my snort of disbelief. “Not like that.”
“How then?”
I’m not reading anything into that question. He’s not asking for himself. Nope. But the topic he’s broaching is a sore spot for me, so it isn’t likely I’ll keep my mouth shut either.
“You want to know about the mating habits of today’s gay bachelor? I’ve spent the last six months researching the subject. As far as I can tell, it consists of Photoshopped dick pics and Grindr hookups. Screw pointless praise not pertaining to the peen. They get right to the point and ask if you want to cum over.” I emphasize. “If it’s yes, you go back to their place. If you’re not feeling it, you move on to the next dating app—and there are dozens—or you can play it safe and phone a friend. Fuck buddy,” I clarify. “But that’s more like a break glass in case of emergency erection situation. Never a date.”
Carter’s face mirrors the disgust I feel.
“I know,” I say with a gusty sigh. “And don’t get me started on the well-meaning coworkers and matchmaking hobbyists that have set me up since I started the diary, not thinking I need to have anything in common with their choices other than my orientation. This is why the Dry Spell Diaries exist in the first place. When you start to look for a genuine connection to go with your booty call? That’s when it all goes to hell. The deeper I’ve gone down this rabbit hole, the more I believe that dating is the root of all evil.”
“None of what you described sounds like dating to me, Green. Dick pics? Fuck buddies? I’m not saying I haven’t had a few a one-night stands in my life, but they shouldn’t be the norm. What happened to dinner and conversation? Hanging out and letting nature take its course?”
Sounds good to me, but I’m discovering I’m a dating traditionalist. “Nature apparently takes too long. You have no idea how many men I’ve met in the last few months who told me that all their previous long-term relationships started as random hookups. Sex was their introduction. Finding out if they could have a conversation with each other came after.”
He shakes his head. “I must be older than I thought.”
“I wasn’t going to bring it up.”
“What a sweetheart,” he quips.
I start tossing things in the trash, trying not to smile as he throws back my sass from last night. It’s helping. I need something to distract me from what used to be my happily cluttered apartment.
They’re only things, I tell myself. Cheap things and I didn’t have much of them to begin with. Nothing that can’t be easily replaced.
I can’t lie. I am a little upset that my laptop was smashed.
I set it gingerly on the couch and Carter’s brow furrows. “I’ll call Tanaka again. He can salvage what’s in there and set you up, good as new.”
“That’s a nice thought, but I think this one is a lost cause.” I don’t want him to know how close I am to losing my shit. “I already have everything backed up on the Cloud anyway. Online,” I say when he frowns in confusion. “All my work is backed up online.”
Speaking of work, I’m going to have to tell my editor about Toni. He’ll be shocked when he hears what happened. He knew her background and worried about her as much as I did.
Maybe she’s already called him. They used to talk on the phone all the time, so at this point he might know more than I do.
Carter joins me in my trash collection, studying the room as if looking for a place to start. “How long have you lived here?”