Digging Deep

by Jay Hogan

  It said he’d done what he’d promised and taken time, real time, to research Crohn’s. You don’t hit herbal remedies like this on the first go around. That meant he’d read up on the symptoms and treatments, the course of the disease, and knew a bit about what it might mean for a relationship. Knowing that astonished me. It was more than Jared had ever done, and Caleb and I weren’t even dating.

  It also said he cared, that he wasn’t giving up on me or letting me push him away. And knowing that fanned a small flame into life, the one I kept hidden in the dark corner of my heart that hadn’t yet given up hope. But then hope was such a dangerous thing.

  Above everything else it was how he’d conveyed all this that for me was almost more important. He’d done it with such ballsy humour, in a code he knew only I would understand, and it blew my damn mind. He’d thought a lot about it, a whole lot. He wasn’t taking the mickey, or I’d have buried his arse in an instant. He was serious. He was letting me know he knew what he was up for but in a light-hearted way that didn’t bring any pity to the table. And Jesus Christ, could I do with more of that in my life.

  I reached for my cell and texted a response, hoping I’d read him right. You do realise the cut flower trade has a massive negative impact on the environment.

  I grinned, threw my phone on my desk, and grabbed a client file to update while I waited.

  A minute later it buzzed. Clearly a romantic. Do tell.

  I laughed and replied. We’re talking a huge carbon footprint, herbicides and fungicides, hothouses in countries with dubious labour laws, methane production….

  This time his answer took several minutes. And here I was hoping just to woo you….

  Woo? I snorted loudly. Who the hell woos anymore?

  A few seconds later: Clearly not me. Or not successfully it would seem….

  Oops.

  Caleb: So I take it a lock of my hair in tomorrow’s mail, or a vial of my blood might be a wasted effort?

  I laughed. Idiot. Then I stared at my phone for a bit before pushing send on the next one. But honestly, thank you. It meant a lot. Though you might want to work on the presentation.

  Caleb: Let’s just say the florist wasn’t happy with the instructions.

  Me: I bet.

  My phone stayed silent for a bit, and I glanced at it nervously, relieved when it finally buzzed again.

  Caleb: So I didn’t screw up fatally?

  Me: Not a bit.

  Caleb: Good. So, not a fail, then, on the woo side of things.

  I stared at the ugly addition to my room and grinned. The man was a freak. Not by a long shot.

  Caleb: Excellent. Then buckle up.

  Me: Meaning?

  There was no reply to that or any of the next five texts I sent demanding he explain. Fucker.

  Caleb

  IT WAS hard to deny the relief I felt, though I didn’t linger too much on the why of it. Just that the risk had paid off. Drake hadn’t sent me packing, and I was so taking that as a win. The fact I’d spent way too long agonising over the best way to earn his trust I put down to a break in a robbery case at work with its ensuing overtime, and not because it mattered more than it should. I wanted him to know I’d done my research, that I wasn’t stuck in any Pollyanna headspace, nor was I about to go all awkward about the details of his disease. I just hoped he would get it. He had. Point to me.

  Not that I hadn’t had second thoughts about the whole thing, because I had. The fact I was even attempting to build a relationship with anyone was fucking 6.00 p.m. newsworthy. Bad enough to be thinking about dating a guy, let alone having to work this hard for it. And I had kind of questioned his you’re-in-boots-and-all-or-piss-off approach to us even going on a date. Who the fuck did that before they even got to first base? But now? Yeah, I guess I got it.

  It wasn’t like you had to read more than a couple websites to get hit in the face with the unavoidable truth that Crohn’s could fuck up your life big time, depending on where you sat on the severity spectrum. What was also clear was that anyone close to the person didn’t exactly get a free ride either. And holy hell, when had I suddenly wanted to become that someone?

  But it was clear Drake wasn’t going to waste his time with anyone who didn’t bother to find out what they might be in for. I knew where I stood. As yet I wasn’t important enough for him to risk adding me to his life or to dent his routine for. I needed to prove myself or at least that I had some substance. Hell, I didn’t even know if I had any substance. It wasn’t like you needed that shit for a love life that consisted of an endless revolving door of pump-and-dump encounters. If a guy wasn’t interested then I was, without exception, out of there and on to the next. But Drake? I couldn’t get the little bugger out of my head. Damn if I didn’t like him. He was cute as hell, especially when he got all prickly and pissed, not that I’d say that to his face. I fancied keeping my balls a little longer.

  But when he talked about having a program to keep himself healthy and that it needed to be his highest priority even above a relationship, he wasn’t kidding, and that gave me pause. It meant that if I wanted a chance at him, I had to put his needs above my own, and wasn’t that just a kick in the teeth for a self-centred, narcissistic commitment-phobe like yours truly. Honestly? I wasn’t totally convinced I could actually do it, and that scared me for Drake’s sake as much as mine. What if he was right? What if it all became simply too complicated? I didn’t do complicated. Hell, I barely did sleepovers without a panic attack.

  I didn’t want to dwell on the sex part like a douchebag either, but I was a redblooded guy for whom sex had rated number one on my preferred recreation list since I first found my dick between my legs, so… yeah, there was that. And it became pretty clear that particular arena was never gonna be straightforward, pun intended. I enjoyed switching it up; so not topping wasn’t a deal-breaker at all, but it was clear we’d have to negotiate a ton of other stuff around his health and… fuck. Was this really what I wanted?

  The question had taken a fair bit of pondering, not to mention a panicked phone call to Carmen followed by a night of tequila shots and discussion with Daniel—read: lecturing by Daniel, who’d surprisingly ditched his alter ego, concerned Carmen might be a little too direct for my needs. Daniel, or the tequila―I couldn’t be clear on which played the bigger part―didn’t iron out all the wrinkles in my concerns, but it did establish one thing: I wasn’t gonna run, I just needed to hear myself say it out loud.

  The first thing Daniel had said on snagging us a table well away from the pumping, steaming dance floor, was that he’d decided that me even considering a relationship was a waste of time. I was clearly freaked out and should just forget Drake and move on. I was, after all, a relationship nightmare, bound to hurt the guy who, let’s face it, could do a lot better than me. To that end I should back off now and let the guy find someone who’d genuinely care for him.

  Did I mention he was good?

  Not being at all what I’d expected, I sat there with my jaw on the table while he ordered a round of shots, told me to drink up and that he’d be my wingman while I found someone to fuck the cute little midwife out of my system. And yeah, hadn’t that sounded all kinds of wrong.

  I threw back the shot in silence, followed by a second, which was damn sneaky of Daniel, all the time imagining Drake with another guy. Jealousy curled in my belly at the mere thought, and until then possessiveness hadn’t even been in my vocabulary. As bewildering as that was on its own, what was infinitely worse was the total lack of interest I had in Daniel’s suggestion of cruising, especially considering I hadn’t in fact been laid since the day I’d first laid eyes on Drake. And goddamn, that recognition in itself sent ripples of nervous confusion through my body. So much so, I had to wrap my fingers around my own pulse and then down a third shot, just to be sure. And stone the fucking crows, that’s when it really hit home. There was never any question that I wasn’t gonna do this. I was just chickenshit about admitting it.

 
; I looked up wide-eyed to find Daniel leaning back in his chair wearing a self-satisfied smirk. “I take it that’s a no, then, to the cruising?” His hazel eyes flashed with mischief.

  I nodded, still speechless.

  He downed his fourth shot and I followed suit. And where the fuck had those come from?

  He pushed his chair back. “Right, my work here is done.”

  I grabbed his arm. “Where are you going?”

  He wrapped his hand around mine and pulled me to my feet. “First off, we’re gonna dance. Zero cruising involved. Then we’re gonna sit down and you’re gonna tell me what the plan is to convince this hot little number you want that you’re worth the effort. That you’re not some shallow, man-whoring dickhead who can’t see past a little inconvenience to be with a guy who clearly has more going for him than the sum total of every other guy you’ve ever even looked at. And God knows that’s not gonna be easy. And then, my friend, I’m gonna make sure you don’t fuck it all up to kingdom come.”

  I scowled. “Your faith in me is such a comfort.”

  He smirked. “Hey, I call ’em as I see ’em.”

  “And this is better than Carmen, how?” I’d asked sourly.

  He clapped me on the back. “Hell, Carmen wasn’t even gonna bother with words, sugar. She’d skip straight to the part where she slaps your fool head for being such a douche and threaten to place an ad renting your arse out next Pride.”

  “Fuck.” There was just enough plausible truth in that to have my nether regions clamping hard.

  “See, I knew you loved me more.” He dragged me out onto the dance floor till my legs turned to jelly and I remembered why I loved this man to bits.

  I WAS still staring at the phone in my hand as I tried and failed to quell the mounting flutter in my belly. Half of me was scared shitless while the other half was doing a strange happy dance that Drake hadn’t just sent me packing. I’d talked up a big game to him and now I had to follow through. Just how the hell I was supposed to do that remained unclear. I barely knew how to spell romance, let alone dish it out, but I had a chance with the smart-mouthed hottie and I wasn’t gonna throw that away without giving it my best shot. I was gonna woo the shit out of Drake if it killed me… and it just might.

  Holy shit. Carmen was gonna laugh her damn arse off.

  Chapter Six

  Caleb

  NOVEMBER, OTHERWISE known as the month I lost my fucking mind.

  With a detective down due to unexpected surgery and a caseload blowing out every damn direction, you’d think I had enough to contend with just getting through three weeks of hellish overtime, but no. Instead of making the most of the slim time off I did have, I spent it plotting and angsting over a certain cute-as-fuck midwife with a sting in his tail.

  Whether drug raids, canvassing, and arrests went as planned came a poor second to the reaction of said midwife to my lame attempts at pursuit. God knows what he thought of me, but it was too late now. I was so far beyond being personally mortified by my all-in approach to this wooing ridiculousness that you couldn’t see my arse for fairy dust, and yeah, double entendre fully intended. Carmen joked that I’d found my inner queen, which horrified and flattered me in equal measure.

  “So, what’s it this time, Romeo?” Leanne asked with a knowing smirk. “Two tickets to the theatre? A hot stone massage? A gift basket of organic bath products? Or maybe a lunch on Waiheke Island?”

  I’d snagged a roll and coffee from the cafeteria and was lunching at my desk, trolling the internet for ideas… again. Leanne leaned across in an attempt to read over my shoulder, and I instantly switched screens. “Fuck off.”

  She bit back a laugh. “Oh, come on. I’m a terminal spinster. I have no choice but to live vicariously through you. Besides, I’m enjoying this new and improved version of my partner. Who knew you had it in you?”

  One of our new recruits fresh out of training chose that very moment to pass by, and choked back a laugh.

  “I heard that, Ford,” I threw back at the youngster. “Fancy a night on pub duty cleaning the vomit out of your car, then you just keep that up, sunshine.”

  “No, sir. I’ll keep that in mind, sir.” He moved quickly from my vicinity.

  “Terminal spinster?” I eyeballed Leanne. “I thought young Cole in dispatch had you in his sights?”

  She pulled a face. “So did I. Seems that was all a ploy to make his ex-girlfriend jealous. Worked, apparently. They’re back together.”

  I winced. “Damn. I had high hopes for him.”

  Her lips quirked up at one corner. “Aw, you really do care.”

  “Of course I bloody do. You deserve a bit of loving, girl. You’re an attractive, intelligent, caring woman. And some lucky guy is gonna earn that one day.”

  She stared at me for a long minute, a curious fondness in her eyes. “Thanks. I do deserve it. I know that. But it’s not as easy as it sounds. I got burnt once and the skin’s still peeling. I’ll get there.”

  “If I weren’t gay….”

  “Ew.” She shuddered. “Don’t even. And don’t think I didn’t see you change the subject there. I still want to know what you have in store next for your toy boy. The fact that you, a dyed-in-the-wool man-whore, are jumping through all these hoops to catch the attention of another guy just warms the cockles of my wrinkled heart. Gives all mankind hope.” She took a sip of the black tar she jokingly called coffee.

  I sighed, pulled up the website, and turned the screen her way. “He’s not my toy boy, funny girl. He’s not… anything… yet.”

  She sent me a knowing grin, then read the screen and promptly choked on her coffee.

  “Hey, watch it.” I grabbed a cloth and wiped my screen down. “I’m running out of ideas, all right?”

  Catching her breath between snorts of derision, Leanne just shook her head. “Goddamn, Caleb. A singing telegram? What the fuck has gotten into you? Does this guy have any idea how far out of your comfort zone he’s got you dangling?”

  I suspected Drake knew exactly how far, to the millimetre.

  “Speaking of which, let me get this right. You haven’t had more than a coffee with the boy and that was two weeks ago and yet you’re doing all this for him? Why is that?”

  “He’s thirty, not a boy. And it’s… complicated. He has… health issues.”

  Her eyes popped. “Health issues?” She stared at me pointedly. “You mean he’s positive?”

  I gave her my best “Are-you-fucking-kidding-me?” expression, the one I reserved for straight people’s assumptions. “Of course that’s where you’d go first. No, he’s not positive.”

  A finger wagged in my face. “Hey, don’t sass me. You’ve given me nothing to work with here. It was a stab in the dark. I mean, you have to admit, Caleb, this is hardly your normal.”

  I sighed and slumped in my chair. “You sound eerily like Carmen at times, do you know that?”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “Don’t be too sure about that. Anyway, I know I’m swimming in the crazy pool. Just don’t ask me why, cos I don’t have an answer, not really. I just… like him, okay?”

  She leaned forward, chin on hand. “Of course it’s bloody okay. It’s just… well it’s just not like you to be so obsessed about a guy… about anything, actually. Your attention span has never been the most… robust, know what I mean?”

  I did. I just wasn’t sure I appreciated that other people had clearly noticed, so I simply glared.

  Her expression sobered. “I just hope he’s worth it. It seems you could get hurt with this one.”

  Could I? And the immediate yes in my head shocked me.

  “He is worth it, I think.” I tapped my pen on my blotter while Leanne continued to stare. I caught her eye. “So, no to the singing telegram, then?”

  She laughed. “Hell no to the singing telegram, dickhead.”

  Damn. I was running out of ideas.

  Drake

  IT WAS three weeks since I’d taken
Caleb for a coffee, and I was losing my fucking mind. Three weeks of enough quirky text exchanges and bizarre deliveries that I was developing a nervous twitch in my eye whenever his name passed through my thoughts, which was multitudinous times a day. I was apparently also developing a taste for complicated adjectives. Huh.

  Caleb’s texts ran the gamut from the mundane How’s your day going? through to downright hilarious commentaries like I’d like a side of double jalapeno extra hot salsa with that order, said… no one with Crohn’s disease ever.

  That was one of the better ones and had me grinning for the rest of the day.

  The guy was either a freak or certifiable. My money was definitely on the latter. Some might’ve been offended, but for me it was a goddamn breath of fresh air. This was wooing, Caleb Ashton style and it was downright adorable… and embarrassing… but mostly adorable.

  As for the deliveries, they started with the arrival of a six-pack of potted aloe vera plants to, in Caleb’s words, “increase the oxygen in your office and provide a soothing gel if required.” Fucker.

  Me: For all those hard to reach places huh?

  Caleb: I could help with that.

  That was followed by a sheepskin cushion for my car. Double fucker. Though damn if I didn’t wish I’d thought of that one earlier myself. That shit was right on the money, not that I was telling him that.

  Me: Sheep farming is a dubious sustainable practice with a damaging impact on the dwindling ozone layer.

  Caleb: I have it on good authority this particular sheep was only fed clover from the upper reaches of the Southern Alps, drank Perrier, and slept on handwoven mats, locally sourced from a sustainable alpaca ranch, free range of course.

  Idiot. I’d laughed for hours.

  A voucher for an organic food store that did free lunch deliveries arrived several days later. Things were looking up with that one, and I shared an order with the girls, not that they deserved it for all the schtick I was getting fired my way but hey, that’s how I rolled. I did make the mistake of ordering the organic chicken roll, however, not realising it had a Moroccan spice crust and… yeah… you can finish the picture for yourself. Note to self. Always. Read. The. Full. Descriptor.