“It’s allergies.”
Radcliff slowly nodded, then said at length, “Ragweed.” He clearly wasn’t buying my answer, but nonetheless played along with the narrative.
“And assholes.”
He offered a small smile at that. “Detective Winter is inside already. Do you want me to get—?”
“I’m well aware he’s here.”
Radcliff was quiet a moment. “Ah.”
I wiped my nose on my shirtsleeve before asking, “Did you need something?”
“No,” Radcliff said as he pocketed a ring of keys he’d been holding on to. “Just making sure you’re okay.”
“I’m not, but thanks.” I started for the street corner, intending to head back to the station and make the long commute home to the East Village.
“Mr. Snow,” Radcliff said again, this time in a rush as he took me by the arm. He let go and blurted an apology as I turned.
“What is it?” I asked for a second time, but I managed to be a touch more civil.
Radcliff was chewing on what he wanted to say.
“I’ve had a very long day,” I warned. “I’m hungry, I’m tired, I’m sweating in places I can’t describe around polite company. If you don’t spit it out in the next three seconds, Detective, I’m out.”
One. Two. Three.
“Bye,” I said.
“I’m discreet.”
I stopped, looked at Radcliff, and furrowed my brow. “About what?”
He chuckled and ruffled that pretty-boy hair of his with one hand. “What do you think?”
I shook my head, about to say that I honestly had no idea, when Neil’s comment over breakfast—Radcliff and blowjobs—clicked. I shrugged and raised both hands. Did he want a participation trophy or something? Maybe Pride’s grandmaster gave those out, but I was not the gay to go to for that sort of thing. “Oh. Congratulations, I guess.”
“I meant… for you. You don’t have to worry about drama.”
I glanced over my shoulder before putting a hand to my chest. “Sorry… are you propositioning me?”
“It’s healthy to explore outside-the-relationship boundaries now and then,” Radcliff explained.
“You literally met me today.”
He smiled and said, “Sure, but it’s not like I haven’t noticed you, whenever you come by to meet Winter at the precinct.”
“I’m married.”
“I know.” Radcliff flashed that killer smile again. “And there’s something about a married man that I find infinitely more attractive.”
“It’s simple biology,” I corrected. “Probably the homosexual equivalent of mate-choice copying.”
“I’m just offering a bit of no-strings-attached fun, if you’re up for it.”
“I think you’re looking for the thrill of an affair,” I corrected.
Radcliff reached a hand out, saying, “Plenty of married men—”
