by Jay Hogan
Carmen grinned and nodded approvingly. “The adjectives need a little work but not too bad overall.”
I kissed her hand again, this time with sincerity. “I’m just… antsy I guess.”
Her expression softened and she reached out to stroke my cheek. “Forgiven.” Then she scraped the last of her breakfast into her mouth, added the final piece of bacon from mine, and chewed thoughtfully.
I abandoned my cutlery and pushed my half-eaten plateful of food to the side with a sigh.
“So, he’s cute, then, this Drake?” she finally asked.
Wrapping my hands around my latte, I studied it and gave the question some thought. “In a prickly, albino hedgehog kind of way.” I thought of the man’s snark and a smile tugged at my lips. “They look adorable, and you want to pat them even though you know you’ll probably end up in ER getting a quill out of your hand and on drugs for a year for a rare bacterial infection.”
When she didn’t reply, I glanced up to find her studying me with a bemused expression.
“What?” I asked.
She smiled fondly. “Wow, that was… just wow. You’ve clearly put some thought into this, then.”
Fuck. The last thing I wanted was for Carmen to see the truth that yes, for all of my efforts, I hadn’t yet managed to eject the gorgeous, irritating man from my head. She’d be like a shark with blood in the water. I shrugged, putting as much disinterest into the gesture as I could. “Not really. He’s just annoying, is all. Besides, he’s got some illness or other. All I know is he sometimes needs a bathroom, stat.”
Carmen arched her brows, wicked eyes gleaming. “So, a sex addiction, then?”
I snorted coffee, just missing the front of my shirt. “No, you idiot. Some kind of intestinal thing.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Pete’s uncle has IBS. Bastard of a thing.”
I shook my head. “Drake gave it another name.”
She shrugged. “And he didn’t tell you this before you arrested the poor guy?”
My gaze slid away. “I, um, don’t suppose I gave him much of a chance. I was bored out of my tree by then, and he was….” I smiled inwardly. “He was pretty mouthy about it all. Plus he was one of the organising committee we’d been told to keep an eye out for, and he was behaving… oddly. Then, back at the station, I got pulled away and it all just took too long. I, um, might also have forgotten to pass on some important information.”
“So you screwed up?”
I bristled. “It was a protest march. He was on our list. He could’ve been doing anything in that bathroom.”
Carmen cocked a brow my way.
I withered under the glare. “Look, I secured the place like I’d been ordered to. If he’d been a terrorist, I’d be getting a freaking medal,” I reminded her sourly.
She shook her head as if I was two years old. “Really, Cal? That’s what you’re going with? This is Whangarei, you dipshit. When Tom Johnson went on the piss and tossed his cookies on the bonnet of the mayor’s Jaguar, it made front-page headlines. Fucking ate through a great paint job.”
I laughed despite myself. “True, but there’s always a first and I didn’t want to be that guy, the one who missed something. My mistake wasn’t in arresting him, regardless of what you think, but that I didn’t check in and make sure he was okay at the station.”
“Because he pushed all your buttons, right?”
“No… ugh, all right, maybe. I just needed some… space.”
Her eyes danced behind those thick lashes. “Mmm. No wonder he turned you down. Bet that hurt.”
That earned another chuckle from the man at my back. Goddammit. I spun to find a pair of sixty-plus gentle, slate-blue eyes crinkled in amusement staring back at me. “Would you like to join us?” I deadpanned. “It would save you the strain of eavesdropping.”
At that he laughed and waved his hand with not the slightest trace of embarrassment. “Hell no. She’s all yours and good luck to you, son. And it’s not eavesdropping when you all are talking loud enough to rattle the front door. You want private? This ain’t the place. Most fun I’ve had with my morning coffee in years. Besides, I’m not going anywhere till I know if you’re gonna grow some balls and ask this Drake guy out. So get to it, I’ve got a Bowling Club meeting in thirty minutes.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” I spun back to Carmen. She took one look at my expression and swallowed what was undoubtedly another snarky remark.
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” I grumbled.
“Damn right.” She pushed her empty cup into the middle of the table and dabbed delicately at her mouth with a napkin. “So, Romeo, what’s your plan?”
“Yeah, what’s your plan?” said the man at my back.
I leaned in toward Carmen. “This is all your fault,” I whispered.
She sent me a kissy face. “Answer the question.”
My gaze rolled off her and onto the street outside. “There is no Romeo and no plan. I struck out, is all. Moving on.”
More silence. I chanced a sneaky glance and caught an epic eye roll.
“Of course you are.” She leaned her chin on her hands and got comfy, none of which boded well for the conversation ending anytime soon. But before she could start in on me, the server busy clearing the family’s table approached.
“Mr Ashton?”
I glanced up, surprised. “Brenton, what are you doing here?” Though I’d nailed his problem older brother for dangerous driving a month ago, Brenton was a good kid, and if he also wasn’t a million miles my side of the queer/straight line, I’d eat my rainbow hat.
“Did I hear right, Mr Ashton?” The young man’s eyes popped comically. “You struck out? Wow.”
A chuckle from the man behind sent Carmen into a fit of giggles.
“Possibly,” I griped. “And I’ll slide you five to keep it on the DL.”
Brenton folded his arms and shook his head disapprovingly. “That’s bribery, Mr Ashton. That’s against the law.”
“Yes, Brenton. Yes, it is. Do you want it or not?”
Brenton threw out his hand. “Of course I want it. Mum made me get a job so I didn’t turn into my arsehole of a brother, her words by the way.”
“Good for her.” I slipped a five-dollar note into his hand and added my credit card to pay the bill. I was done sharing my private life with half the café’s clientele, who had become suspiciously quiet.
Brenton charged the card as we waited, then returned and handed me the receipt whilst sliding Carmen a shy smile. “I like your outfit today, Miss Carmen.”
I choked on the dregs of my coffee and had to grab a napkin to avoid spraying the entire table.
“Why, thank you,” Carmen preened, biting back a smile. “You’re looking pretty damn cute yourself, honey.”
“Really?” Brenton’s eyes widened in pleasure.
Carmen nodded. “Absolutely. A drag queen never lies about that shit… ah, stuff.”
“Thanks. You’re the best.”
She flushed adorably, a rare sight in a drag queen. “Aw, you’re very sweet. Now run along before someone tells Pete I’ve been chatting you up.”
Brenton looked equal parts delighted and terrified. “Oh. But I wasn’t… you weren’t… I didn’t mean….”
“Shhh.” Carmen took his hand. “I’m just joking. Go have fun with some boys your own age and don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about, cuteness. Oh, and play safe.” She threw him a wink, which sent a blush to the roots of his cheap haircut and his feet scurrying for the kitchen.
I shook my head. “You’re a bad, bad girl Carmen. You’ll have that poor kid confused as shit.”
She stood and smoothed her skintight jeans over her runway legs. “Nonsense. He knows exactly who he is. He just needs someone to say it’s perfectly fine. Like someone else if I recall.”
And that’s why I loved her. “Yeah, well just don’t go sticking your tongue down his throat like you did mine, or Pete really will have something to sa
y, and I will too, even if the guy is legal.”
Carmen managed to look horrified and intrigued at the same time. “Tsk, tsk. As if. I’m not in the hunt, sugar, nor ever likely to be again. Pete’s too much man for me to handle as it is.” She fanned her pretty face.
Oh. My. God. I let that one go in the name of self-preservation. The image of tiny, balding Pete manhandling a fierce Carmen in bed would require a significant amount of brain bleaching as it was.
Pushing my chair back, I stood and offered my hand. “Come on, gorgeous. I’ll walk you to your car.”
“Hey.” A pair of slate-blue eyes danced mischievously up at me as we turned to leave. “You can’t just go without telling me what you’re gonna do about that Drake boy. I’ve got a heart condition, you know.”
I laughed. “Watch me.”
Carmen reached down and patted the man’s hand. “I’ll let you know next time.”
He pouted dramatically, then fired her a wink, and with a wave to the café owner, Charlie, we headed out. I held the front door open as a gentleman should and Carmen sashayed through dragging most of the eyes in the café with her.
Approaching Carmen’s brand-new emerald-green minivan, I couldn’t help but laugh. The incongruity of a drag queen in a soccer-mum car still struck as inordinately funny.
Beside me a pair of cherry-red stilettos tapped in undisguised irritation. “Quit that,” she snapped, slapping me upside the back of my head. “How else am I to ferry Benjamin and his friends to kindy and back when it’s my turn to do the school run?”
I laughed. “You just proved my point.” Carmen and Pete’s son Benjamin had been adopted from within Carmen’s large extended family and had just turned four the previous month. I’d have given anything to see the looks on the other parents’ faces when Carmen turned up to Benjamin’s first day at kindy in drag. “Best to let ’em know what they’re in for from the start,” she’d explained to me. God, I loved that woman.
After the initial shock, the kindy teachers had fallen for Carmen’s charms just like the rest of us, and she’d left in under fifteen minutes with a promise to perform something at the end-of-term breakup party. Pete and I immediately made a pact to vet that particular song choice. PG wasn’t a term Carmen was overly familiar with.
“So how is the whole kindy thing going for Ben?”
Carmen flicked her hand in annoyance. “Aside from a couple of super-religious bitch mums who think I’m the devil incarnate and I’m gonna gay out their kids, it’s going just fine. The teachers keep a good lid on that shit. They’re fierce mummas when it comes to their kids. And I make sure to wear my Lycra leggings, minus tuck, at least once a month just to freak out their little minds. Remind them there’s a package under those dresses. You should see the lips a-buzzing when I drive off. The other mums think it’s hilarious and I even go to a few play dates with Ben. I’ve got a hen’s party booked with one of the solo mums next week.”
“Why does that not surprise me? And Ben? He’s not getting teased?”
Her expression slipped into scary predatory. “A little, at first. But I jumped on that—”
I didn’t even want to know how.
“—and, as I said, the teachers are good and I taught him a few decent comebacks.”
My brows pinged skyward. “Age appropriate, of course?”
She flashed a wicked grin. “Of course.”
I made a mental note to check with Pete.
In the van she dropped the driver’s window and leaned out. “Tell me you aren’t just going to let this Drake disappear into the ether to join all your other, scared-to-commit-to possibles.”
The woman was nothing if not tenacious. “Give it up, will you?”
The sigh she gave was intended to betray years of long-suffering friendship. “Caleb Gregory Ashton….”
Nothing ever good followed a full naming by Carmen.
“Come here.” She crooked her finger at me with a sweet smile.
I bent down cautiously.
She shoved her arm through the open window and fisted my shirt. “Now listen here. You struck out with a guy. A guy who seems to actually interest you with more than his dick. Ignoring the fact that each of those statements on its own almost defies possibility, and add to the mix that said guy was cute, snarky, intelligent, mature, and within acceptable age limits, and hey, I’m loving him without even meeting him.”
“Carmen….”
“Quiet.” She released my shirt, straightened it, then eyeballed me. “Tell me you aren’t really this stupid, Caleb? You’re thirty-six years old and the last guy who seriously caught your eye traded lunch boxes with you outside Mr Farrell’s science class.”
What? “How did you know about that?”
She threw up her hands. “Who didn’t know about that? Don’t ever do undercover, you fucking suck at flying under the radar.”
“I’ve had relationships,” I protested petulantly.
She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, still holding my gaze. “When?”
Cogs whirred in my brain. “Connor. I was with him for over six months last year, no, two years ago.”
Carmen laughed. “Pffft. Make it three years ago, and it was four months, not six. Plus, meeting up with an airline pilot every two weeks when he hit New Zealand soil for hot sex and a takeaway curry does not a boyfriend make, dumb arse.”
“It was more than just sex,” I protested, casting a glance around to make sure there were no eavesdroppers this time. There weren’t, thank God.
She pinned me with a glare.
“Kind of… maybe.”
She raised her brows.
“All right, so it was mostly just sex, but it was really, really good sex. That has to count for something, right?”
She regarded me with a sad hopelessness that proved infinitely worse than her angry glare. “No, sweetness, it doesn’t count. You deserve a guy, your guy. You deserve a little love and a soft place to fall. And don’t tell me you haven’t been thinking about it.”
Okay, so yeah, there was that. Carmen knew I’d been over the club scene and empty hookups for a long while, but the problem was I wasn’t sure how to do my life differently. As a cop in a middling-size town like Whangarei, examples of long-term happy gay couples weren’t exactly thick on the ground, Carmen aside, and she would hardly be considered a typical example in any sense of the word. I blew out a sigh. “So, what? You’re saying this guy could be my forever dude? Come on, Daniel….”
She arched a brow.
“Carmen. You know things don’t work like that.”
She pinched my chin hard and held it so I couldn’t look away, which only added to the pain in my back from bending over. “Don’t you sass me, sugar. You know very well I’m not saying that at all. What I am saying is that if you keep dating the same easy limp-brain fuckers, you’ll end up a fucking lonely sixty-year-old arsehole.”
I snorted. “Jesus, don’t hold back.”
She tightened her grip. “Just try something different, that’s all. Jesus Christ, Cal. You clearly liked the guy, not just how he looked. And when was the last time you actually liked a guy, not just what he could do in bed?”
She had a point.
She released my chin and gave me a playful pat on the cheek. “You know I love you, right?”
I nodded.
“And I want you to be happy?”
More nodding.
“So, then, it doesn’t have to be this guy but promise me you’ll at least think about it. Life’s too short and a good dick will only get you so far. Lift your bottom line a little, no pun intended, and be prepared to do some work. Look at me. Who’d have thought I’d ever find someone who’d appreciate all this fabulousness. Pete may not be most guys’ idea of hottie of the month, but that shit grows old real quick and so do we, sunshine. Pete keeps my heart and soul singing every second of every minute, every day. And as far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t get any hotter than that.”
There wasn’
t anything to say to that, so we simply hugged through the open window and I watched Carmen drive off in her ridiculous minivan as I pondered what the hell it meant to have someone keep your heart and soul singing every day. To a self-contained cynical cop, the very notion was ludicrous. But if there was one thing I knew for certain about Carmen, it was that she never said anything she didn’t mean.
Chapter Three
Drake
“WHAT ARE the chances I’ll make it to term this time?” Primrose watched closely from her couch, as I took a second to form my reply. Her tone was casual but I wasn’t fooled for a minute. This was Prim’s third baby, the two older boys coming early at thirty-six and thirty-seven weeks respectively. This current little poppet was still cooking at twenty-six and counting, so who knew? But I wasn’t holding out hope. Prim bred impatient babies.
A subtle waft of freesia blew in from the open french doors behind where she lay. I vaguely remembered it symbolised friendship. Kind of appropriate. She was one of my favourite clients.
I sent the most reassuring look I could muster under the circumstances.
She laughed and shoved my shoulder. “Yeah right. I know. Let’s not put money on it, shall we?”
“Well, her heart rate’s cracking along nicely at least. One-fifty, smooth and regular like good tequila.” I winked at Prim and stowed the foetal Doppler back in my bag, doing my best to avoid the inquisitive nose of her beagle, Jonas, who for some reason was enthralled by my satchel of paraphernalia every time I visited. I wasn’t sure if it was the soft leather of the bag itself or some fascinating scent on the equipment, but he was never found far away.
I continued, “Let’s hope she likes the décor enough to hang around in there, but based on your history, it would be sensible to be prepared. You seem to raise them adventurous and precocious, young lady.”
Prim laughed and pushed herself awkwardly up into a sit, ramming the overstuffed cushions behind her back for support.
“Are you worried?”
She shook her head with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Nah. In my books, earlier means smaller and that’s a good thing.” She put a hand over my mouth, smothering my reflex reply that nothing was better than nature’s intention of full-term, as long as things were all good.