“Tell me about yourself, Jamie,” he said, interlacing his fingers with mine.
I blurted, “You already know all the high- and low-lights. I’m a twenty three year old virgin. I surf. I’m Irish. End of story.” Suddenly I was back in cop mode, my mind racing to piece together a cover story.
Because I couldn’t tell him the truth. There was no way. I could just see me admitting, I’m an undercover cop sent here to gather information on you. He’d run from me so far and so fast that I’d never see him again.
And I didn’t want that to happen – for my own personal reasons, not for the job.
He said gently, “Yeah, I really don’t like talking about myself either. It’s fine, I promise not to push.”
I relaxed a bit and took a sip of beer, staring out into the distance. I knew I couldn’t really open up to him, but I wanted to give him something. So I said randomly, “My youngest sister Maureen is getting married in December. She’s actually making us groomsmen wear green tuxedos, which if you ask me is taking the Irish thing way the hell too far. Can you picture it? Nine grown men dressed like the Grinch. I’m trying to think of some way out of it, but she’s my little sis, so basically I’m completely trapped.”
He grinned at that. “How many siblings do you have?”
“Three sisters – two older, one younger. Maureen is only twenty. I can’t believe she’s getting married already.”
“I have five sisters, all of which are younger than me, and all of which are married. So I can empathize. Though none of them made me wear green when I was in their wedding party,” he said with a smile.
“Really? They’re all younger than twenty six, and they’re all married? How old are they?” I asked incredulously. Immediately I realized letting his age slip was a mistake. I was seriously not cut out for undercover work – which was pretty damn obvious, judging by the fact that I was currently cuddling with a suspect.
“There are two sets of twins, ages twenty two and twenty four, and then there’s the baby, Ani, who’s twenty one and yes, married already.” He glanced at me and said, “And you have been doing your homework, you even know how old I am.”
“You’re kind of famous in this town,” I told him, which was true.
“Or infamous, as the case may be.”
“Yeah, you’re right about that.”
He looked at me intently and said, “Please, Jamie – don’t believe everything you’ve heard about me. If I could ask you for anything, it would be to judge me based on our interactions, not on rumors.”
“I’m doing exactly that,” I told him. “It’s why I’m here with you now.”
“Thank you,” he said, and gently swiveled my head toward him with a finger under my chin. When his lips found mine, the kiss was soft and sweet, undemanding.
“You really aren’t what I expected,” I told him when we broke apart.
“But I was. Earlier, in the club. That was exactly what you’d been expecting, right?”
“Yeah, pretty much.” I squeezed the hand that was still interlaced with mine.
“I apologize for subjecting you to my boorish behavior,” he said, and cuddled against me.
“So, I have a serious question for you,” I said, and he sat up and looked at me curiously. “Are you still going to like me in the winter when my hair goes back to being light brown?” And then I grinned at him.
He laughed at that, the same joyous, uninhibited laugh I’d been treated to earlier. And he said, “I really don’t like blondes at all. Except for you, and you’re not really all that blonde.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh please. You couldn’t have more of a blonde fetish if you issued bottles of peroxide at the door to your club.”
“I’m serious. I make sure all my sex partners are blondes because that way, I figure I’m pretty unlikely to fall for any of them.”
“Ok, that’s weird. And what would be so wrong with falling for one of your sex partners?”
“It’s not part of the plan,” he told me, his eyes once again fixed on some point out in the bay. “It’s important that I keep my distance.”
“So, what exactly are you doing now, here with me?”
“Going way, way off plan,” he said, and returned his head to my shoulder.
You and me both, I thought.
I was still trying to get my head around the blonde thing, and I said, “Really, though. What would be so wrong with falling for someone?”
“I’m engaged to be married. To a woman, in case you’re wondering,” he told me quietly, and I thought, oh Christ, another gay man who wants to pretend to be straight. Awesome.
I tried to keep my tone light when I said, “Ah. So, when’s the wedding?”