Page 2

2

MICHAEL

I sit across from the date I connected with online last night. I swiped right on the newest app that promises to be the last app I’ll ever need . I downloaded it, saved this guy’s profile, and the almighty algorithm declared us a perfect match. Now here we are. In hell.

Had I read his profile a little more thoroughly before swiping, there’s a good chance this date would never have happened. I need to be more careful next time. If I’m not going to put in the effort to find true love, there’s a pretty good chance I should just leave well enough alone. This half-hearted approach is getting me nowhere except heartache and disappointment. Finding my forever isn’t for the faint of heart, that’s for sure.

Looking across the table, I internally gasp. Is he actually dipping his well-done steak in ketchup? Really? I’m a cop for goodness’ sake, isn’t ketchup on steak a crime? I should know this. No, really… I should. Glancing around to see if there’s even one other table at this five-star restaurant with a bottle of ketchup, I cringe.

Nope . Not one table.

Dammit, this is not going well. I need a distraction, something interesting to happen, so I don’t simply get up and walk away. My date takes another large piece of meat and plops it into his wide-open trap. Maybe he’ll choke. Cringing at my own intrusive thoughts, I look away.

With a sigh, I take a sip of wine and clear my mind of all this negative energy. Maybe I should try starting a conversation with Brandon… or is it Blake? The younger guy hasn’t asked me a single thing about myself since we arrived, except thinly veiled enquiries about money. He’s more interested in my salary than me as a person. Doesn’t seem to give a shit at all about anything else, not even my job, which usually at least gets me a second date from time to time.

“Tell me a little more about yourself… Blake?” God, I hope that’s his name.

He stops mid-chew, a blankness settling across his beautiful features. “Like what?” He continues to slowly roll the half-masticated piece of dead cow around in his slack-jawed pie-hole.

Breathe, Michael. Breathe.

I suppose I got his name right, which is good. Why is dating so hard? “What do you do for a living?” I ask.

Blake smiles and coyly plays with the wine glass in front of him, swirling its contents around like he knows what he’s doing. He makes a mockery of sniffing the contents before sipping a bit of it into his mouth.

Damn, should I have carded Blake before offering him something to drink? There isn’t a single wrinkle on his flawless face. His eyes are bright and sparkle with life and vitality. He is truly gorgeous but vapid.

I sigh. Despite me being physically attracted to him and his perfect body, we probably don’t have anything in common except how beautiful we both think he is.

“I’m only twenty-one, honey,” Blake says. “There’s plenty of time for me to figure out what I want in life.” He takes another stab at the steak, mixes it with the mashed potatoes, and plops it into his mouth.

“Fair enough,” I say. “Do you have any hobbies? Your online profile said you were an avid photographer.”

He snickers. “I wouldn’t say avid. I take nude selfies and post them on subscription sites for money.”

I sigh, louder than intended, but it can’t be helped. There isn’t anything wrong with someone trying to make a living, and I definitely don’t want to kink-shame him for his life choices, but I’ve been down this route before with dates recently. Ultimately, it never ends well. The last two men who did the online sex site thing demanded I show up online with them while wearing my uniform. No way in hell was I ever going to put my career at risk to get a little action.

“Your turn,” Blake says. “What do you do?”

Oh, here we go. A decent question. Although, I know I’d mentioned it in our brief interaction on the app, but now meeting him in person I can tell he never read my responses. “I’m a detective for the Los Angeles Police Department.”

“So, you chase after bad guys?”

“Among other things, yes. I always wanted to be a cop… ever since I was a little kid. There was something about making the bad guys accountable for their actions… you know? Keeping the good people of the world safe. Probably sounds pretty corny.”

Blake takes a sip of his rosé. “Cop… got it.” Did he just roll his eyes? Clearly he’s not impressed with my earning potential, but there’s more to it than that. Whatever. At this point, I don’t much care… this date has been more effort than it’s worth.

Silence settles over the table once again. I internally scream. Trying a new dating app has once again been a big mistake, but I’ve been reminded a million times by my best friend, Leah, that I need to put myself out there. What song does she always start singing to me? Oh, that’s right, “If I Could Turn Back Time” by Cher. I definitely don’t need a reminder that in the gay world, I’m getting older fast, I’ve reached daddy status in some circles. There aren’t a lot of stops left along the way before I become completely invisible or irrelevant… or both.

My stomach clenches, and I put down the fork, the soft clink on the porcelain dinner plate breaking my self-deprecating thoughts.

I better keep him talking so I don’t get up and leave his ass here. “Where are you from, Blake?” I don’t care, but the silence is killing me.

He takes another sip of wine. “Kansas.”

“What brought you here to Los Angeles? I bet that was quite the change from where you’re from.”

“I’m going to be the next Matt Damon,” he says, dramatically looking off into the distance.

“Oh, very nice,” I say sincerely. “I’ve never been much of an actor myself. I have a ton of respect for the industry though. Long days of shooting scenes and memorizing scripts. It can’t be easy.”

Blake shrugs and gulps down more wine. His last mouthful appears to swish around in his mouth like mouthwash before he swallows it. Where in the Dante’s nine levels of hell have I found myself this evening?

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. When I get my big break, I’ll make this town my bitch. I’ll set my own schedule. Only work the days and times that suit me—trust me on that.” He stabs his fork into the chunk of steak on his plate with gusto.

Me. Me. Me. Does he ever think about anyone else? “Do you have an agent?”

“Honey, look at me. I don’t need an agent.”

Conceited and lazy. “Your confidence is inspiring,” I say. Every last drop of sarcasm lost on him. “I’ve never been one to be comfortable without planning out my path before I start down it. Maybe it’s a control thing, but there’s something to be said about knowing what’s coming next. You know what I mean?”

Blake plops another hunk of beef in his mouth and pulls out his phone, completely ignoring the question. Is he on social media right now? In the middle of our date?

Clearing my throat, I try and get his attention. “I’ve been a detective now for seven years, a cop even longer. I can’t believe how fast the time has gone, but it can make it difficult to date.” I take a sip of wine. “The hours I keep prevent me from making solid plans and have often gotten in the way of my relationships.”

Blake continues to scroll on his phone and then giggles. “Look at this meme.” He holds up his phone, showing a picture of a dog with a birthday hat on and something written below.

I don’t bother to read it. Instead, I try to imagine myself getting physical with this guy. Nothing. I actually feel nothing, not even a tingle or twitch. Either my age is affecting my libido, or I’m simply done with this date, and Blake. This self-absorbed jerk couldn’t care less about me. I’m a meal ticket, nothing more. I need to get the fuck out of here, and fast. The restroom sign in the corner is like my beacon of hope. If I excuse myself, I could hide in there until this guy gets bored and wanders away on his own. Maybe he’ll find another meme incredibly funny and go searching for someone to share it with?

Not likely.

Without any other options, I’m about to get up and leave when my phone buzzes. I’ve never been so relieved to see my boss’s name across my phone screen. This is my out, my chance to escape. If I could kiss my chief through the phone, I would— I’m desperate. “Excuse me for a second,” I say and get up from the table to take the call away from the crowded dining area.

Once I’m near the entrance, I answer. “Borne here.”

“Borne, we have an incident,” my boss, Chief Derrick Mace, says. His voice is stern and no-nonsense on the best of days. This is not one of them.

“What happened?”

“Need you down at the Who’s Your Caddy Golf Club, immediately. There’s been a murder. One of the rich clientele, who happens to be somewhat of a local celebrity, was found tonight along with a staff member.”

“I’ll be right there, sir.”

“There’s more,” he says. “I need you to be very discreet about this.”

Discreet. The boss knows I’m gay, and this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been sent to a murder scene involving a celebrity caught in a compromising position. My guess is whoever this straight celebrity is, he was found in a not-so-straight situation—with his pants down.

“Let me guess, our local celebrity has family in high places? They don’t want certain details getting out to the press?”

Mace clears his throat. “It appears there may have been a sexual relationship between Branson James and a male staff member from the club. The family would like to keep Branson’s, how should I say it… proclivities, private.”

Not that it’s the 1970s or something, but the idea of someone being gay still instills fear and loathing in some people. Sad, but true. “Understood, sir.”

Mace hangs up the phone. The conversation is over, and I don’t have much time to get there and secure the scene. I look for our waiter and spot him at the cash register. Without a minute to waste, I hurry over to him.

“Hey, bud, I have to get going. My date over there,” I point to Blake, “hasn’t finished his meal, but I have to run.”

“Okay?”

“Work comes first sometimes.” I shrug. “I’d like to pay for our bill.”

“Sure thing.” The waiter searches through his apron pockets and pulls out the meal ticket.

“Thanks.” I hand him my credit card and wait for the transaction to go through. It’s over one hundred sixty dollars, but the relief I feel to get out of the nightmarish date and head to the crime scene is better than sex. Did that really just cross my mind? Either I’ve had some really shitty sex or not enough sex, either way, I hope never to think those words again. I hand the waiter a forty-dollar cash tip and say, “Can you let him know I won’t be back?”

The waiter looks back at Blake and then to me. He gives me a knowing smile and nods. “Sure thing, man.”

“You’re the best.” I hand the waiter another ten dollars and hurry out the door.

While dining and ditching a date was never in the plan or in my normal wheelhouse, I can’t help but acknowledge the sense of relief I feel at my escape. I’ll definitely need to discuss this with Leah next time I see her for coffee. She’s not a therapist, but she has been through more in her lifetime than I could ever imagine dealing with and subsequently is a wealth of advice.

As I exit the restaurant, I’m assaulted by the sounds of the massive city where I work and live. The many lights, distant sirens, and horns remind me of the life and possibilities that still exist. One bad date can’t get me down. Running for my car, I unlock the door on the fly and get inside, slamming the door behind me.

Let’s find out what Mr. Branson had been up to.