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“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—”