Page 18 of Hush
“Idoknow what I want.” Mike could picture it, could imagine life with the man of his dreams. He wanted a partner, a real partner, an honest-to-God relationship. He wanted to find The One, the man he’d marry. He wanted someone to love.
Faces blurred together, his exes and his hookups, a haze of haughty smirks and sneers, flashing eyes and slit-eyed glares. Sarcasm, biting tongues, ferocity when provoked. He loved Kris like a brother, but Kris wasn’t the kind of man he dreamt about night after night.
“He’s kind,” he finally said. “I want someone kind. Gentle. Loving.” Memories kept rushing by, a harsh counterpoint to his actual desires. Nights spent alone, or watching his partner texting all night long. Distance, when all he wanted was closeness. He could count the good times with Silvio, the moments where they seemed to be really close and not trying to shred each other with sass and sarcasm that flayed too close to the bone. “Affectionate. He wants me. Really wants me.”
Days he wanted to talk about his work, the cases he saw. The law, politics, and the world they lived in. Being laughed off, or ignored, or talked over. Being told he was boring. “He’s smart. We talk about things. Maybe we’ll stay up all night talking sometimes.”
The truth was, he wanted someone so out of his league that his mystery man might as well be a satellite orbiting the earth. And Mike was an ant. He wanted someone intelligent, grounded, and with a heart of gold. Someone who wanted to hold his hand and cuddle with him, watch movies on Friday nights, and sleep in on Sundays. Someone gentle with his heart, with his dreams. Someone who wanted him to be their whole world, the way he would be Mike’s.
“Doesthatsound like a fuckboy?” Kris’s voice was gentle.
Mike shook his head.
“You’re looking in all the wrong, places. You want Prince Charming, but you’re looking in a swamp. Get away from the bars and the apps. I know God isn’t your thing, but there are gay men’s groups at some of the churches, and the center has volunteer gigs you can join. There’s a lot for gay men to do, Mike, other than troll for a hookup or look for The One at the club.”
“I know.” He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing them with his fingers. “We already are doing that, though. I mean, we’re in the league. And we volunteer. That’s how we met Billy and Aaron.”
“Do more. This is our culture. It’s not just bars and clubs and hookup apps. If you want to find someone special, go look for him where you think he’s hiding.” Kris tilted his head. “And,bethe kind of guy you want to attract. You’re a good guy. Stop settling for less. Quality attracts quality.”
“That’s not true and you know it.”
“The flakes will stop hassling you when you stop feeding them your dick.” Kris stood, brushing off his pants. “Doctor Caldera prescribes a cleanse, Deputy Marshal Lucciano. A cleanse of the scourge of fuckboys.” He pointed at Mike, tapping the tip of Mike’s nose with every word. “No more fuckboys.”
“Yes, doctor.” Mike smiled.
“C’mon.” Kris snapped. “We’ve got to get you a new kitchen. And tonight, you’re taking me to the Kennedy Center.Madame Butterflyis playing. I’ll culture you, even if it kills me.”
“Yes, my queen.” He winked as he stood, and Kristskedat him as he grabbed his trench coat.
Mike sighed, blowing air out of his hollowed cheeks. “We need to stop by the clinic, too.”
Kris whipped around, his eyebrows disappearing beneath his spiky fringe. True concern poured from his gaze.
“Silvio was banging the guy bare. I don’t know how long he was cheating, but if he was going bare, then I need to get checked.”
Kris turned away and shoved his arms through his coat sleeves, bunching the fabric and viciously tugging on the lapels. He took a long time straightening it, smoothing his shirt front, facing away from Mike. When he turned back, his expression was back to his haughty indifference, but Spanish fire still smoldered in his gaze. “Ineverliked that bitch.”
“I will listen to you from this day forward about any man.” Mike pressed his hands together and bowed, as if bowing to a master.
“You’re damn right you will. Now go shower and change. We’ve got a busy day.”
How did someone enter the gay scene these days?
When he was in college, he just showed up at one of their bars. He drank, grinded on the dance floor, and wiled away his nights in a music-fueled haze.
If he, Judge Tom Brewer, U.S. Federal Judge, walked into a gay club and started to grind against someone, he’d be plastered across the tabloids before morning.
He needed something a little subtler. Something a little more… anonymous.
Cruising was out. He didn’t want to just fuck. Didn’t want to just pick up a random man at a park or a truck stop and trade a quick hand job or blow job. He wanted to meet someone. Make friends. Eventually… maybe find something deeper.
How did anyone go about that, though? The chances that anyone he happened to meet in the world happened to be gay, happened to be single, and happened to find him attractive and desirable were… God, probably practically zero. And how would he even approach anyone? There was no calculus to determine if a man at the coffee shop was gay or straight, or open to his tentative smile.
What if he joined a gay organization, a sports league or a volunteer group? That would be firmly planting his flag on gay ground. Was he ready for that?
…Maybe not, since he was hesitating.
Twenty-five years, though, brought a lot of technical changes. Smartphones, websites, and apps. There were two, in particular, that stood out.
