Chapter 11 #2
Gray heads to the bar first, and I catch up to him as he joins the line.
The crowd is pretty well mixed—some guys, some girls, and a good number of people who are probably nonbinary or agender.
They’re young, but not as young as I thought they might be; I think I look about the right age, and nobody’s going to give me any second glances.
Gray might be at the older end, but to judge by the number of guys staring at him, that’s a good thing.
A couple of the ones watching him actually linger, trying to catch his eye.
I figure we’re here for the whole boyfriend thing, so I stare at them and make my point as best I can.
One of them notices and stares back at me.
“If you keep looking at him like that,” Gray says, barely loud enough for me to hear him over the music, “you’re going to have to fuck him.”
“I’m not—I wasn’t—”
“It’s the polite thing to do.”
“He’s not looking at me. He’s looking at you.”
“Oh yeah?”
When I glance over, the guy is still there, staring at me, and when we make eye contact, he smiles. He’s real skinny, with long dark hair that’s got glitter in it, and he’s got more glitter on his cheeks. I guess he’s pretty if that’s what you’re into.
“Okay,” Gray says, “you passed the thirty-second mark. You’re now legally obligated to smash.”
I yank my gaze away and stare at the bar.
The line shifts. We move forward.
“Uh, that was a joke,” Gray says.
“I know.”
He’s quiet again. And then he says, “Is this too weird? Do you want to go home?”
“No.”
“Great. Because I can tell you’re having a great time.”
When I look at him, he’s waiting for me, and the amusement on his face dissolves the worst of whatever I’m feeling.
The line moves again, and I say, “I need a drink.”
To my surprise, Gray does a shot before collecting our beers. He pays before I can, and then we have to shuffle aside and let the girls behind us take our spot.
“So,” Gray says as we start to move along the perimeter of the party. “What were you thinking? Want to mingle and try to talk up some interest in WISP, or hang back and get a feel—”
I’ve done my research, and now that the first wave of—what? jitters?—is over, I’m focused and back on track. I scan the crowd until I see one of the people I’m looking for: she’s Black, her hair in a short afro, and she’s talking to a person wearing a jacket with a lot of leather studs.
“I want you to meet her,” I say, and before I can think too much about it, I take his free hand and start towing him through the crowd.
“Who?” Gray asks.
But our timing is perfect because as we approach, the person in the studded jacket leaves, and the woman with the afro is alone.
“Dr. Jordan?” I say as we approach. I’m still holding Gray’s hand, and in the last second before I release it, I let myself be aware of it.
I’ve never held a guy’s hand before. I haven’t held hands with a lot of people in general.
His hand is bigger than I’m used to. The skin is rougher.
He has calluses along the ridge of his palm.
And then it’s too much, I let him go. I reach out to shake hands with Dr. Jordan and say, “Sam Yarmark. And this is my partner, Gray Dulac.”
Dr. Jordan smiles at me and then shakes Gray’s hand. “Nice to meet you. Aiyana is fine. I don’t think I’ve seen you at a Wrox-Out event before.”
“We’re not students,” I say. “But I wanted you to meet Gray.” I turn to Gray, who is playing along like this is normal for us, his face smooth, his smile friendly.
“Dr. Jordan is the Unitarian minister for the campus. She does a lot of work with Wrox-Out—well, a lot of work with a lot of groups, actually.”
“They get sick of me,” she says with a laugh, “but they can’t get rid of me.”
“Dr. Jordan, I think you’d be interested in the work that Gray’s doing.
Have you heard of WISP?” And then I launch into the spiel I’ve prepared—about what WISP does and why it’s important and how the LGBTQ community, not to mention everybody on campus, could benefit from it.
Mostly, though, I try to talk about Gray—about how he got the grant to provide the initial funding, about how he’s basically run the initiative as a one-man show until now, and about how he’s working to grow the nonprofit and make it something that will last.
When I finish, Dr. Jordan is looking at Gray, and there’s something in her expression I can’t quite make out. Like she recognizes him, maybe. But all she says is “It sounds very impressive, and like something our community needs.”
“It is,” Gray says. But then he looks at me and says, “Sam is being modest because he’s not telling you how much he’s helped.”
“That’s what partners are for,” Dr. Jordan says. But then she says, “You’re a detective, aren’t you? With the Wahredua PD?”
Gray nods. And maybe it’s because of how much time we’ve spent together lately, but I notice the little changes that tell me he’s on his guard: a tightness in his jaw, the way the easy playfulness in his face gets locked down.
Because Gray has decided—even though I’m not sure that’s true—that if somebody recognizes him, it’s only because of the bad stuff.
“You probably read about him when he caught those traffickers,” I say. “He saved a van full of people.”
Dr. Jordan nods at me and smiles, but it seems automatic. “Well, maybe we should talk about what the church can do to help you. I need to look at my calendar, but is there a time next weekend you could meet?”
“Absolutely,” Gray says.
“Oh no,” I say. “Could we move it up?” To Dr. Jordan I say, “That’s the weekend Gray’s going to help my gran with some stuff.”
Dr. Jordan smiles at us, and it takes me a moment to realize she thinks it’s cute. “Yes, definitely. I’m usually free Wednesday evenings.”
“Perfect,” I say. “Right, babe?”
Gray doesn’t even blink. “That’d be fantastic.”
“Okay,” Dr. Jordan says. “I’ll give you my number. It was nice meeting you, Gray. You too, Sam—thank you for introducing us.”
She heads off into the crowd, and as soon as she’s out of earshot, Gray turns to look at me. “You little bitch. You planned this.”
“Well, yeah.”
He grins. “And you’re a liar, too. God, you’re quick on your feet.”
“I didn’t lie,” I say. “You are going to help Gran. She’s got a ping-pong table in the basement I can’t move by myself. So it’s not a lie. Oh shoot, get ready. We’ve got to talk to him too.”
Him is Rashad Fuentes, who’s the president of the Mid-Missouri LGBTQ Alliance, and I flag him down before he can pass us.
It’s even easier this time. Gray and I are both more comfortable now that we’ve done this once.
I lean into him a little when I’m talking.
And when he and Rashad start discussing the details of what WISP offers, I look around like I’m just a boyfriend who’s been dragged along to a party, and I take Gray’s hand like this is something we do all the time.
He looks over at me for a second, but he doesn’t stop talking.
Not even a hitch. By the time we’re done, Rashad and Gray have set up a Zoom meeting for next week, and I’ve managed to talk about Gray getting a commendation from the mayor and about Gray solving two different murders, because based on Rashad’s Twitter feed, he’s a true crime junkie.
After Rashad, I steer Gray toward Orion Robinson, the current head of Wrox-Out.
Orion’s younger than me by at least two years, but they seem smart and engaged, and they’re eager to talk about ways Wrox-Out can be involved in making the campus safer for everyone.
I’m doing my boyfriend stuff too, touching Gray’s back when he talks, putting my hand on his arm when I want to make a point.
And although this conversation seems to be going even better than the first two, I’m starting to notice that Gray doesn’t let the contact last long.
He shifts, or he moves his arm. When I try to hold his hand again, he squeezes my fingers and lets go almost immediately.
It’s because he’s focused on the conversation, I tell myself. Or he doesn’t want to make me uncomfortable.
And it doesn’t matter because everything is going so well. What really gets Orion excited is when I say that Gray spearheaded the police department’s collaboration on a campus safer-sex initiative the year before.
“Holy shit,” Orion says, “that was you. That was the first fucking safer-sex initiative I’ve ever seen that was actually fucking real.
Hold on, I want you to meet an alum who’s pretty much the reason Wrox-Out has a budget, and this shit is right up his alley.
” To me, almost as an afterthought, he adds, “We’ll be right back. ”
Before I can object, Orion is leading Gray off into the party. Gray glances back with an apology on his face, and then they’re gone, the crowd closing around them, and I’m alone.
I get myself another beer, even though earlier, I told myself no more than one.
The closing social is shifting gears—you spend enough time policing public events, and you get a feel for the energy.
What had started as a bunch of college-age kids having a few drinks and talking about their summer plans is turning into—well, a party.
The music is louder. People start to pair up and dance.
There’s a blond guy leaning against the wall, watching me, and when I can’t help myself and glance back, we make eye contact, and he smiles.
Where is Gray?