Page 61 of Henri (Confessions 5)

“Really?” Henri said, then popped a fry into his mouth. “I just figured you’d show up in uniform.”

Bailey took another bite of the cheese stick and shook his head. “Nope. Wearing your uniform is basically stating you’re on duty. Our department is fairly strict when it comes to changing at the station, unless you’re driving directly from point A to point B. Plus, sometimes it’s nice to just go into a store and not have everyone stare at you like you’re about to arrest them for walking too slow down an aisle.”

Henri laughed as he grabbed the salt to add a little more to his fries. “So what you’re really trying to say is that most people have guilty consciences.”

“Oh, you have no idea.”

Actually, that was one thing Henri really did have an idea about. But unlike the people who avoided Bailey for fear he would see something that wasn’t there, Henri had just gotten really good at ignoring his conscience, as well as his common sense.

“You should see them. The way people won’t overtake you when you drive down the street beside them. Or the way they smile and move aside in a Starbucks as though you deserve to go first, even if they’ve been standing there for thirty minutes.” Bailey shrugged and took a sip of his soda. “I get it. I grew up in a family of cops. I think I was born with a guilty conscience always watching my every step. But sometimes it’s nice to just fade into the background, you know? To disappear.”

That was definitely not what Henri had expected. He’d assumed Bailey loved being a cop and embraced the authority and power that came along with it.

Henri cut into his steak and brought a piece to his mouth as Bailey took a bite out of his BLT, and once they were both done, Henri said, “So you didn’t always want to be a cop?”

Bailey wiped at his mouth with his napkin and shook his head. “No. I just fell into it. Don’t get me wrong—this job is important and I enjoy it, but not the way my father did. He loved his job. It was in his blood. My oldest brother’s the same, and when it came time for me to decide what I wanted to do with my life, nothing else jumped out at me, so…this is where I landed.”

Wow, who knew that two people who were so very different could feel the exact same way about their lives? Sometimes they’d rather be anyone other than who they’d turned out to be.

Henri nodded and reached for his beer. “Well, if it’s any consolation, from what I’ve seen firsthand, you’re very good at what you do.”

Bailey looked at him out of the corner of his eye and laughed. “Uh huh. Got a lot of experience with cops, do you?”

More than he would like, that was for damn sure. But, not about to open up that can of worms, Henri shrugged and played it off. “You’d know. You’ve run my name.”

“Hmm, well, from what I could see, you haven’t had any issues lately.”

“Not any legal ones,” Henri said, and then lowered a hand under the table to rest it on Bailey’s thigh. “But I have a really hard issue for the cop sitting beside me.” When that delicious blush appeared on Bailey’s cheeks, Henri grinned. “I like that.”

“What?”

“That I make you shy.”

“I…” Bailey’s words faded out as Henri smoothed his hand up his leg and squeezed. “It’s just…you make me feel things I’ve never felt before.”

Henri leaned over and put his lips to Bailey’s ear. “Good things?”

Bailey nodded and turned to face him, their mouths only inches apart, their food completely forgotten. “Good, scary…exciting things.”

Henri brushed their lips together. “Wanna know something?”

“Hmm…”

“You make me feel those exact same things.”

BAILEY’S LIPS CURVED, and when Henri nipped at his lower lip and raised his head, Bailey almost begged him to come back. Instead, he watched Henri pick up his knife and fork and cut off another piece of steak.

Wow, did Henri really just admit he was scared about what was happening here? Because Bailey didn’t think anything would scare someone as confident as Henri. Especially not someone like him.

He picked up his BLT and took another bite. “So what about you, Henri Boudreaux? That’s a very…French name, right?”

Henri tensed slightly, and while most may not have noticed, Bailey caught it before Henri seemed to shake it off.

“Cajun, actually. The spelling of my first name is French, yeah. But no one pronounces it that way. At least, not anymore. My mother used to call me that, but she died when I was very young.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Bailey said, thinking how strange it was for two men in their thirties to have both lost their parents. Not the best thing to have in common, yet it was something they did share.

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