Playing With Fire

by Dirk Greyson

  He went through the motions, and this time he came in tenth. “I beat them?” Barty asked, pointing to the ones lower on the list.

  “Yeah. Now do it again.” Jim reset it once again.

  This time Barty was more aggressive, shooting around the other drivers and letting go. He laughed and might have whooped a few times when the others crashed, but he came in third and was thrilled.

  Jim high-fived him and everything. “You never had anything like this as a kid?”

  “No. Only educational things. Can I do it one more time?” He was ready to go, but this time it was a new track and he only did all right. “This is sort of fun, but kind of mindless.” He passed the control back to Jim, who ignored him. “You’re being pushy.”

  “And you’re acting scared of a video game,” Jim countered with a gentle smile that took the sting from his words. Barty didn’t understand why he knew that, but he did, and that made it all right. “And being mindless is part of the purpose. What do your studies tell you about play in adults?”

  “That it’s good stress relief and helps them cope with the harder things in life. People need downtime.”

  “And you’re a person and so am I. So there’s nothing wrong with having a little mindless fun.”

  Jim started the track again, and this time Barty was having a ball. He’d sort of forgotten about the other things around him, and when on his sixth race, he came in first, Barty jumped to his feet, and Jim did the same, hugging him.

  Barty stilled as he wondered what had happened. Jim was still holding him, and when Barty lowered his gaze slightly so he could look into Jim’s eyes, he asked, “Is this a friend thing or a something else thing?” Barty was feeling warmer by the second. He inhaled and almost moaned as Jim’s intoxicatingly intense, musky scent filled his nose. He was getting hard, and if this was just a friend thing, then he was going to have a difficult time looking Jim in the eye in about two seconds because it was going to be obvious.

  “I don’t know what it is,” Jim said, releasing him, taking a step back, and wiping down his face. “If it would have been someone else, like Garrett”—Jim cringed slightly—“I probably would have said it was more than that. But I don’t know what you want, and….” Jim sat back down. “Shit… let’s just play. I was happy that you did so well, and we should leave it at that.”

  Barty was totally confused, but he sat back down and tried not to let the blood ringing in his ears get to him. Jim had simply overreacted, and maybe he didn’t like him the way Barty thought he might have liked him. Not that Barty would have expected a guy like Jim to be interested in him anyway. He was a freak of nature. His intelligence and abilities were rare in anyone, and they came with a price. He liked that he was smart, but there were so many times he wished the price for that intelligence hadn’t been so high. Sure, he could read a thick book in less than an hour and absorb everything in it in a single read, recall it, and rework it to fit his own arguments. Then he could store it and recall the information years later. Nothing ever left him, so during an academic argument, he could bring in obscure facts and figures to back up his position at the drop of a hat. That was the positive side, but the negative was that he didn’t make friends or understand the reactions of other people outside his textbooks and academic pursuits, which made him even more of a freak—a professor of psychology who didn’t understand people.

  At least he had his answer and didn’t have to wonder what Jim thought.

  Penelope climbed on his lap, and Barty watched Jim come in first in his race, then handed him the controller.

  “We can play together.”

  “I think I’m ready to go to bed,” Barty said softly, the fun having gone out of the game.

  “Barty,” Jim said. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just got a little carried away with the hug.”

  “You think that’s what upset me? You hugged me, and it was nice. No one touches me. I haven’t been hugged or anything in a long time, unless my sister counts, and somehow I don’t think she does. I guess I’m not the kind of person that people think romantically about, and that’s okay.”

  “Is that what you wanted? I thought I’d scared you and gone too far.”

  Barty groaned. “Just because….” He didn’t know how to say this. “Just forget it, okay? We don’t have to have this conversation.” He wasn’t going to try to explain that he’d been hoping that Jim liked him that way. That he’d been watching him the entire time they’d known each other. All Jim had done was hug him in a moment of happiness. Nothing more. He was the one making a great big thing about it, and now he felt like a fool.

  “Come on,” Jim said, handing him back the controller. He switched the game so the screen split, and they were racing each other. Barty knew he wasn’t going to win, but frustration was a great motivator. He waited for Jim to start the race, and then Barty shot out the starting gate and onto the course. This was the same one he’d raced first, and he knew every turn now, so he gunned it and was prepared for the tricky spots. His memory came in handy, and he went as fast as he could, not caring if he wiped out. All he wanted was to beat Jim. He was ahead, but then Jim passed him. Then Barty caught up and passed Jim, only to have Jim pass him once again. The game said there was only one lap left, and at that moment, Barty was the fastest turtle on a scooter ever. He floored it, going around the curves, ignoring the skid, and overtook Jim just before they crossed the finish line.

  Barty handed Jim the controller. “I won,” he said softly.

  “What do you want for a prize?” Jim asked, his voice deepening, watching him intensely.

  “You don’t have to give me anything,” Barty said as he squirmed slightly under Jim’s intensity. He wondered what he’d done wrong.

  Then Jim smiled, warmly. “You did great. Did you have fun?”

  “You don’t mind that I beat you? Everyone always hates it when I win.” Barty had stopped playing games of any type years ago.

  “Nope. It’s only a game. Why get all worked up over it?” He leaned closer, and Barty swallowed. “Like I said, what do you want for a prize?”

  Barty didn’t know how to answer, even though he thought he really should have been able to figure it out. He sat back, still staring at Jim. “You’re sending me very mixed signals, and I don’t know what you mean.” He decided to stay on solid ground and go for a more analytical approach. “First you hug me and then back away. Now you’re looking at me like I’m lunch and asking me what I want for a reward for winning.” Barty set Penelope on the sofa and stood. “Is this a game? Because I don’t get it. If you want something, just ask. If there’s something you’re trying to hint at, it isn’t getting through. So please just tell me.” He walked toward the door only because he didn’t need to see the expression on Jim’s face.

  “Barty, I didn’t mean to confuse you.”

  “But you did. I don’t get people like that. What’s left unsaid is foreign to me. Just say what you mean. I won’t get mad or upset, but this beating around the bush just makes me confused.”

  “All right.”

  He heard the creak of leather and then Jim’s footsteps approach from behind. He was about to turn when Jim’s hands settled on his shoulders. Barty closed his eyes and soaked in the simple touch of another person. He liked Jim’s warm breath on his neck and the heat from Jim’s hands as it soaked through his shirt. He didn’t dare move because then maybe the touch would retreat and he’d be left out in the cold once again. He wasn’t sure what this meant, if it meant anything at all other than Jim trying to soothe him. But he wanted it to last. So he practically held his breath just so he wouldn’t move a muscle and bring the moment to an end.

  Barty slowly turned because he couldn’t stand it any longer. Jim’s gaze caught his, and Barty gasped softly as the light of understanding dawned. God, he hoped he was getting whatever message Jim was sending right. Barty flushed, and heat welled under his clothes as he became more and more sensitive. Jim moved closer, lightly guiding
him forward until their chests touched. Jim’s hands slid off his shoulders and down Barty’s back, drawing him more firmly to Jim’s embrace. He tilted his head, Barty did the same, and they closed the gap between them. A kiss, warm and firm, spread even more heat through Barty. The hold increased, and Barty moaned softly, moving his lips slightly while letting Jim lead the way. It was incredible, and his head felt floaty and wonderful, the musk he’d smelled earlier intensifying as the taste of food and Jim sent his tongue on a dance of joy. He wanted more, but he wasn’t quite sure how to ask for it. Still, he got it. Then Jim backed away slowly, and Barty blinked as though he needed to make sure it was real. The kiss had been sublime, special, amazing.

  Their kiss. His first kiss.

  “Is something wrong?” Jim asked, and Barty realized he’d been staring off into space like he was on some sort of cloud. He smiled widely, and Jim chuckled. “I’ll take that as a no.”

  “Good choice,” Barty said.

  “See. Games are fun, especially when you win.”

  “Yeah. But….”

  “As adults, we need to play too. Maybe sometime I can take you to a playground. Well, an adult-type playground.”

  Barty lowered his gaze. “I’ve already been to that kind of playground, and I don’t think I ever need to go again. It was disgusting, and some guy asked me if I wanted to give him a—” Barty lowered his voice. “—blowjob.” He said it the same way older people say the word cancer. “I told him no thank you and left as fast as I could.” Barty felt like giggling but refrained. “I mean, I might have thought about it, but it was a creepy place, and eww. I mean, who knows where his bits had been. I’m picky about my food, let alone things like that.”

  “I wasn’t referring to places like that, but since you brought it up, why did you go there?”

  “I was young, just an adult, and I wanted a magazine. I wandered into the other part, and then that man asked me that, and I turned and left without getting anything and never went back. I found the bookstore in the Gayborhood after that and got what I needed there. It was safer and less creepy.”

  “Is that where you’ve gotten your information about sex?” Jim asked.

  Barty grinned and shook his head. “You can’t do anything in my field without dealing with sex. I’ve read textbooks, sex education materials, stories, seen some movies—you name it. I’ve just never actually had any myself that involved another person.” God, that was so embarrassing. He remembered the guys in college talking about it when they didn’t think he was listening. Maybe if he’d had some friends, he might have been able to do more, but things were the way they were.

  “Well, I’m glad you got out of there and didn’t do anything. You could have caught something that stayed with you for the rest of your life,” Jim said. “Besides, I like that you’re a little innocent. It’s attractive and kind of sexy.”

  Barty didn’t think that was true, but he wasn’t going to call Jim a liar. Especially when he kissed him again and Barty pretty much forgot about the stuff they’d been talking about. Heck, he nearly forgot his own name and what he did for a living, and that was the best feeling he could ever remember. When the kiss ended, his second kiss, Barty held his breath once again, this time just so he could file the memory away in a place he could never forget it.

  “I really should go to bed.” If he didn’t, he’d likely throw caution to the wind, rip off his clothes, and rub naked all over Jim like an oversized cat, but the whole rubbing and meowing thing was Penelope’s bit. The whole naked thing with Jim sounded like an amazingly good idea, but he knew, academically, that caution was the best course of action, so he reluctantly backed away. “Please,” he added in a whisper almost low enough that if Jim didn’t hear him and pressed it, he knew his resolve, already shaky at best, would shatter.

  Jim nodded but didn’t say a word. He didn’t move either, and Barty stayed still as well, the pull between them ebbing and flowing with each breath they took. Part of Barty really wanted Jim to take him upstairs, leading him by the hand, to Jim’s bedroom, strip him down, and show him the best time of his life. He wanted it badly, but he was afraid of it too. It was new, and Barty never adjusted to new things very well. New academic pursuits were awesome; other things, not so much.

  “Come on,” Jim finally said, breaking whatever it was between them. “Wait, your bag is still in the car. I’ll go get it.”

  Barty nodded, unable to speak for fear of what he’d say, and Jim turned, deactivated the alarm, and went outside. Jim returned less than a minute later, closing the door, resetting the alarm, and making a call at the same time it seemed.

  “Yeah, I need patrol cars to my house now. There is someone watching the house. … I don’t know. … Be sure to tell the captain it could be related to the shootings. … No sirens—we want to catch this guy if we can.” Jim hung up and turned to Barty. “Turn out the lights, then go upstairs and turn on the light in any of the bedrooms. I want whoever is out there to think we’ve gone to bed.”

  “Okay.” Barty began turning out the lights.

  “Just leave Penelope. She’ll be fine,” Jim said, and Barty continued turning off the lights and then went up the stairs, turning on lights and then turning them off again as he moved. He chose what looked like the first bedroom at the top of the stairs, turned on the light, and went inside. The room was stunning, with dark wood, light walls, a huge king-size antique bed that looked fit for royalty, and enormous furniture that glowed in the soft light. Everything from the fireplace to the gleaming floors and plush rug said wealth, status, and luxury. Barty hoped this was the room he got to stay in at least for a few nights. Penelope was going to feel like the queen in this room. Barty shook his head as he realized he was thinking about his cat at a time like this.

  “Go down to the end of the hall and turn on the lights in the last room on the right,” Jim said softly, probably from the top of the stairs.

  Barty did as he’d asked. That room was just as amazing, maybe more so, with its carved fireplace mantel and wall lined with rich wood paneling around it. This was Jim’s bedroom; Barty had no doubt about that for a second. The room was clean, the bed made, but it smelled like Jim: earthy, rich, musky. Barty sat on the edge of the bed and waited for what Jim asked him to do next. His heart raced, and he wanted to go to the window to see what was going on outside, but he knew that wasn’t a good idea, so he sat where he was, wishing Penelope was with him so he wouldn’t be all alone.

  Barty strained to hear voices as they came up the stairs and drifted down the hall. There were definitely other people in the house, but he couldn’t hear what was being said. He left the room, keeping the lights on, and slowly walked to the top of the stairs.

  “What were you doing hiding in my bushes?” Jim asked, but Barty didn’t hear an answer. “Fine, take him to the station and book him on suspicion of murder. He certainly fits the description we have.”

  “Now wait a minute. I didn’t kill anybody,” a strange voice said, and Barty went down the stairs. “That’s the guy who’s up to something,” a strange man in dark clothes said, pointing at him. “I was hired to follow him and find out if he was cheating on his wife. I saw him come out of the police station with you….” He looked like the quintessential bumbling private eye on television, wearing old black clothes complete with a hole in his shirt near the pocket.

  “And the camera?” Jim asked, holding up the large lens.

  “My client wanted pictures,” the man explained, glaring at Jim.

  “Show me some ID, now!” Jim barked in full cop mode.

  He took out his wallet and handed Jim a driver’s license.

  “Willard Samsone.” He looked at Barty, who shrugged. Then he handed the license back.

  “You have to be the dumbest private dick on the face of the earth,” Barty said. “If you’d have done your homework, you’d have known I wasn’t married and that this is the home of a police officer.” He stepped forward. “So cut the crap and tell h
im the truth and who you’re working for.” He was so angry, he wanted to hit the man, and he’d never struck another human being in his life. “How dare you decide to follow me.”

  “That’s what I was told, but I thought it was bullshit. Still, I was paid to follow you and report back with pictures.”

  “Who paid you?” Barty demanded in a growl, and Penelope added her own indignation, swatting the man with her claws, and he jumped back with a yowl.

  “I don’t really know. The job was through e-mail, and the money was sent electronically. I don’t question things too closely. He had a job for me, and I was paid.”

  “I want every e-mail you have.” Jim turned to the other officers. “Take Willard to his office and get whatever he has. And check him out thoroughly.”

  “You can’t do that,” Willard groused. “I know my rights.”

  “Then lock him up. He can sit in jail for a while. You’re a person of interest in a murder investigation. I’ll be in tomorrow to talk to you. In the meantime we’ll find you a nice, comfortable cell with a very interesting roommate.”

  “Wait,” Willard said nervously as Barty took a second to smile at Jim’s use of psychology. The last thing this guy wanted was to spend time in jail, and somehow Barty didn’t think this man had anything to do with the man they were after. The shooter was way too smart to hire someone like this. “I have a copy in my car, the glove compartment.”

  “Go take a look,” Jim said to one of the officers while the other stayed with Willard.

  Barty took a few steps back, and Jim came over. “I don’t think this guy is working with the shooter. He’d never hire someone, because everything has to be done just right. This man is way too sloppy and not too bright.”

  “I agree, but why does someone have a detective following you?” Jim asked. “If it isn’t him, then someone fed this guy a line so that he’d follow you.”

  Barty shook his head, trying to think, but came up with nothing. “I don’t have any idea. I’m just a professor, and I live with a cat.”