“What’s wrong with me?” Nevin whispered.

  “Nevin?” Now Colin sounded alarmed, which is not how Nevin wanted him.

  “Just getting myself a little worked up. Where’s your hand, Collie?”

  “Anywhere you want it.”

  That was much better. “Play with your nipples. Pinch ’em. Flick your thumb over ’em.” As he spoke, Nevin followed his own commands. “How does it feel?”

  “Um… good. I’ve never had phone sex before. I don’t think I’m any good—”

  “You’re doing just fine.” Nevin wasn’t lying. At this point, though, Colin could be reciting the Criminal Code of Oregon and that would be plenty to get Nevin off. “What’re we doing next with our hands?”

  After a brief pause, Colin’s voice came back a little throatier. “Abs. You have great abs, Nev. Just… feel those muscles.”

  Nevin did, the ridges hard under smooth skin. Colin was a little softer there. “You feel like warm velvet,” Nevin said. His mouth was dry, and he wished he had water within reach.

  “Oh, God. I want…. Cup your balls.”

  “They’re heavy.” Nevin gently tugged and squeezed the sensitive flesh. He heard Colin breathing, which ironically made it harder for Nevin to work his own lungs. “You’ve got a free hand. What are you—”

  “Nipples. I have really sensitive nipples.”

  Fuck. Nevin followed suit, but while his right palm continued to roll his ball sack, his left moved down his belly to his dick. He didn’t want to leave Colin behind. “Put a hand on your shaft. You ready for that?”

  “Definitely ready,” Colin replied with a slight hitch.

  “Feel how big it is. How solid it feels.” Nevin shifted his foreskin up and down over the swollen head. Colin’s cock would feel different from his, a little longer and a lot girthier.

  “Nev? I can’t believe I’m saying this out loud…. I’m going to put two fingers in my mouth and suck on them. Make them nice and wet.”

  Nevin tried to answer, but nothing came out except an embarrassing whine. He stuck fingers in his mouth to shut himself up. But he heard Colin slurp, the most erotic, dirty sound imaginable, and Nevin’s cock pulsed in his fist. “Moving along,” he managed to choke out.

  Colin laughed. That was sexy too, and Nevin almost sobbed with the desire to see him and hold him. When had that happened? Craving not just a fuck, not even physical contact for its own sake, but desiring a particular body. A very specific person. And knowing that no other human being on the planet, male or female, would fill his need.

  This ain’t just physical, said a voice in his head. A cop voice that wouldn’t listen to arguments. Collie Westwood’s squirmed into your heart. That heart’s not as fucking hard as you pretended, is it?

  A particularly rough tug on his cock shut the voice up. But not, he feared, for long. Fucking. That’s what he needed to concentrate on. “Slide those fingers inside yourself,” he coaxed. “You feel so tight, baby. So hot.”

  “God.”

  Good. Now Colin was whining too.

  From that point on, the best either of them could manage were a few garbled syllables and a lot of grunting and panting. “Close,” Nevin rasped. His bedsprings squeaked as he pumped his dick and probed himself, and although he knew his body well, he pretended it was Colin’s. It was, goddammit. It was all Colin’s.

  “N-no monks next time.”

  “Okay,” Colin agreed breathlessly.

  “N-next time… I want… mmm… want….” His brain was so close to short-circuiting that he could see the fucking sparks. “I want y-you in m-meee.”

  Colin’s answer sounded like agreement.

  A few more seconds, a few more strokes, and Nevin was spiraling outward—and Colin was there with him, despite being across the river in his sweet, cozy loft instead of in Nevin’s arms. But even as Nevin floated back to reality, his nerves thrumming and his skin sticky, he knew that whatever happened from now on, some part of Colin would always be with him.

  “BUSY NIGHT?” Frankl asked as he plopped into a chair across from Nevin’s desk on Thursday morning.

  Nevin rubbed his face. “Did you walk all the way down the hall just to fuck with me? ’Cause an old bastard like you, I figure you’d just do a phone call instead.”

  Frankl didn’t take the bait, but then he rarely did. Sober as a judge, he was the kind of cop who refused free coffee, even when he worked a beat. Nevin’s bullshit bounced right off him. Some of the gorillas called him Saint Frankl behind his back.

  “Believe it or not, Detective Ng, I don’t spend my waking hours thinking of ways to get under your skin.” He tapped the desk with a broad finger. “I worry about catching the bad guys.”

  “Yeah? Did you catch any today?”

  “Sort of.”

  For the first time, Nevin concentrated fully on Frankl instead of on the report he’d been completing. “Who?”

  “Blake and I spent the last three days watching video surveillance footage of a backyard in Boring. It was every bit as thrilling as you imagine.”

  “Oscar-worthy, huh?”

  “Well, we learned how Roger Grey’s mandible got there.”

  Frankl paused and examined his fingernails as if he were considering getting a manicure. Then he leaned back in his chair and gave the sort of smile a man might display when a vending machine gave him two bags of chips instead of one. Nevin scowled, determined to wait Frankl out. But Frankl hummed and pretended to be fascinated by the muscle-car calendar on Nevin’s wall.

  After briefly considering pulling his Glock, Nevin heaved a sigh. “What did you see? Did you make the neighbor for the murder?”

  “No. We gave Clackamas County sheriffs enough to pop him for trespass and burglary, though. Turns out the guy really was breaking into the shed and stealing stuff.”

  “But the jaw?”

  “It fell from the sky.” Frankl made a falling missile gesture with one hand.

  “C’mon, Frankl. I’m not in the mood.”

  “And I’m not kidding. It’s clear as day on the video—that bone dropped straight out of the sky.”

  “So… what? Roger Grey was murdered on a fluffy white cloud by an angel?”

  Frankl shook his head. “We’ve talked to some people on this. Made some calls. We even had people watch the video in case we were missing something. And we’ve all come to the same conclusion. A bird.”

  “What?”

  “A bird dropped the bone. That yard in Boring’s less than seven miles from where the rest of the body was found. Some kind of scavenger—our best guess is a turkey vulture—picked up that jaw, carried it away, and released it over our guy’s backyard.”

  Nevin stared at him, but there was no indication Frankl was making shit up. The one decent lead in the case turned out to be a goddamn bird. “Fuck me sideways,” Nevin groaned before sinking his head into his arms.

  “No, thanks. I’m a married man.”

  NEVIN SPENT most of Thursday reminding himself that texting Colin would be the act of a needy, pathetic asswipe. The kind of asswipe who claims he doesn’t want a commitment but then glues himself to some poor bastard like a leech. At least a dozen times he started to compose a message but deleted it before hitting Send. He almost sobbed with relief when his phone buzzed.

  Sleep well last night? Colin asked.

  Like a baby. No lie there. After the phone sex, he’d dragged himself out of bed just long enough for a quick cleanup, then collapsed back onto his mattress until his alarm startled him awake. He didn’t remember any dreams.

  Am I stalking you now?

  No. I’m glad you texted. Nevin stopped himself just in time from saying he missed Colin. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. A change of subject was in order. Found out the story on Roger’s jaw.

  A suspect?

  No. A vulture dropped it.

  Colin didn’t answer immediately—not that Nevin blamed him. It was the kind of news that took some time to digest. When Colin finally did respond, it was with a wow emoji, then, I’m sorry that went nowhere.

  We’ll keep looking. Somehow sharing this work-related frustration with someone who wasn’t a cop made him feel a little better.

  I know you will. I bet Roger would be tickled if he knew about the vulture.

  ???

  It’s like he had one last adventure.

  Nevin smiled at Colin’s insistence on seeing the glass half-full. He’ll be remembered around here, that’s for sure.

  That would make him happy too.

  After a brief pause, Colin sent another text. Will I scare you off if I set another date with you already? For Saturday?

  Not tonight? Nevin added a winking smiley face even though he wasn’t quite kidding.

  I wish. But it’s my night to visit Ivan & Bob. Tmrw is dinner with parents. Mom’s bday. You could join us if you want.

  Nevin shuddered and didn’t answer. After a minute—and probably a deep sigh—Colin texted again. Ok. Sat @8. I’ll pick you up.

  After a brief hesitation, Nevin sent his address. Nobody except Ford ever came to his place. Not even Jeremy. But there was no way to refuse without being a twat. Nevin could meet him outside. He followed with another message. Call if you want tonight. Wouldn’t be stalking.

  Colin sent him a sparkling heart emoji.

  In retaliation, Nevin texted back with the eggplant emoji and, for good measure, a finger pointing at a cartoon hand doing the “okay” gesture.

  LOL, Colin typed. Of course.

  “Jesus Christ,” Nevin muttered. “We’re fourteen-year-old girls.” But he couldn’t stop grinning.

  Chapter Seventeen

  WHEN BOB AND Ivan Thomas bought their Northwest Portland house in the 1960s, the neighborhood had been in decline. People with money had abandoned the grand Victorians in favor of modern houses in the hills or suburbs, and many of the houses were subdivided into apartments or simply torn down. Bob and Ivan, though, had lavished loving care on their home, painting it in bright colors that emphasized the fancy gingerbread trim and furnishing it with carefully restored antiques. Maybe back then some people had hassled them—two openly gay men living in a time when most were forced to remain closeted—but the Thomases and their house had stood strong.

  Now, though, things were very different. While neighboring houses, most of them restored and updated, sold for over a million dollars, the Thomas house sagged and peeled. Bob and Ivan, who were in their eighties, remained mostly confined to a few dusty rooms on the ground floor. Not only were they unable to manage the stairs to the upper floors and basement, but even the steep steps between the front door and the street were too much for them.

  Manuel had been trying for years to convince them to move somewhere more accessible, a condo or even assisted living, but they’d flat-out refused. “This is our home,” Bob had explained to Colin more than once. “We’re here until we die.”

  Colin didn’t argue with them. He understood the wisdom of Manuel’s advice but didn’t blame the Thomases at all. Over fifty years together under that roof, weathering the kinds of challenges Colin could only imagine, accumulating memories all the time. He’d want to remain there too.

  On Thursday evening, Colin circled several times before finding a parking place a few blocks away. Then he dashed through the rain, doing his best to keep the grocery bag dry, and finally reached the protection of the front porch. The doorbell had died at some point in the indeterminate past, so he knocked.

  It took a long time for Ivan to answer, but Colin expected that. Eventually the door swung open. “Colin! Come in, my dear boy, before you catch pneumonia.”

  It was damp but not all that cold outside. Still, Colin stepped into the foyer with a grin. As usual, Ivan was dapper in dark pants, a white shirt, and a velvet-and-satin smoking jacket. Colin had never seen an actual smoking jacket until he met the Thomases. Tall, thin, and mustached, Ivan bore a strong resemblance to an elderly Vincent Price.

  “I picked up a few things,” Colin said, handing over the grocery bag.

  “You didn’t have to. You know we get food deliveries.”

  “Sure. These are just a few treats.”

  Ivan peeked into the bag. “You scoundrel, you! Our doctors would disapprove completely. And that is why we love you so.” He pinched Colin’s cheek with his free hand. “Come, come. I’ll never hear the end of it if Bob doesn’t get to feast his eyes on you fully.”

  Once upon a time—long before Colin’s time—Ivan and Bob had run a jazz club downtown. They’d been active in local theatre too, and sometimes Bob could be persuaded to warble a few tunes. His voice was now weak and hoarse, but Colin loved to listen. Neither Bob nor Ivan had changed their showy, flamboyant mannerisms over the years. And Colin loved that too.

  “Darling! I’m so glad you made it.” Bob needed a walker when he moved around. But mostly he preferred to remain—as he was right now—in an armchair in the parlor, ruling over his little world as if from a throne. Today he wore striped silk pajamas and had a purple woolen blanket over his lap. He was shorter and rounder than his partner, with the most mobile eyebrows Colin had ever seen.

  Colin hurried over to kiss Bob’s cheek. “I wouldn’t miss a visit with you guys, you know that. I look forward to you all week.” That was true.

  But Bob waved a hand. “You’re silly. A beautiful boy like you should be spending every night dancing to terrible music and making wild, passionate love under the stars.”

  “I’m a bad dancer and it’s raining.”

  While Bob humphed and Ivan creaked his way to the kitchen with the groceries, Colin removed his coat, hung it on a crowded rack, and sat in his usual spot on a spindly piece of furniture his hosts always called the settee. It was probably constructed before Colin’s grandparents were born, and it wasn’t comfortable, but at least it held his weight.

  “So how have you been?” Colin asked.

  “Boring. We are ancient and decrepit and boring as dirt.”

  “You’re none of those. Hey, do you think we could look at some of those photos again?”

  Bob smiled widely and clapped his hands. “Of course! And do you know what? Ivan found a new album you haven’t seen yet.”

  In their jazz club days, the Thomases had taken pictures of their club, of performances they were involved in, of parties at their house, of the vacations they’d taken. Colin sometimes even recognized a few celebrities. His hosts seemed delighted to share their collection with him, and Colin genuinely enjoyed it as well.

  So today he took turns sitting beside Ivan or kneeling next to Bob, gazing at depictions of people and places long gone. The Thomases had interesting stories about everything, and although almost all their friends and family had passed away, their memories were joyous.

  “Now,” Ivan said when they were through with the album, “give a pair of old queens a thrill. Tell us what you have been doing.”

  “Nothing all that thrilling.” Wait. That wasn’t quite true. “Remember those houses I told you about? The ones my dad wants to tear down?”

  Ivan and Bob clucked and nodded. Ivan stroked Bob’s arm. “Such a terrible shame. You should have seen some of the gorgeous houses that used to stand around here. Now gone, all gone, and nobody to remember them but us.”

  “I know. But that’s the thing. I spoke with my dad yesterday, and I think I’ve convinced him to let me rehab those houses instead.”

  “You’ll return them to their former glory!” Bob exclaimed.

  “I’m not sure if glory’s the right word. Those places were never as fancy as yours. But we’ll make them nice again.” He suddenly felt completely confident about that.

  Silence fell as Bob and Ivan exchanged significant glances. Then Bob nodded regally and Ivan turned to Colin. “Dear boy, we want you to know that we’ve been speaking to our attorney.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  Ivan patted Colin’s knee. “Everything is as wonderful as it can be for two quite aged gentlemen. But you see, Bobby and I have been worrying about what will become of our home when we’re gone.”

  “Oh, you’re not—”

  “Darling,” Bob interrupted. “My ninetieth birthday is soon, with Ivan’s not far behind. We embraced our mortality some time ago. And frankly, as one’s body falls apart, one tends to become less attached to it. So let’s accept the inevitable approach of death and discuss the matter frankly, shall we?”

  Colin bit his lip and remembered what he’d said to Nevin about TriMet buses. And heck, he’d been living his entire life on borrowed time. “Okay.”

  “Such a delightful boy,” said Ivan with another knee pat—and maybe the hint of a thigh grope. He winked—and so did Bob. “We’re not dead yet,” Ivan added.

  Bob continued. “But to return to the matter at hand, we’ve discussed our home with our attorney. Also… well, not to be indelicate, but our finances have become strained. Neither of us expected to live this long, and we’ve nearly exhausted our savings. Our attorney suggested that we might sell the house to someone but reserve a life estate for ourselves. I daresay that life estate won’t last long.”

  Although he was no expert in property law, Colin had picked up quite a bit of knowledge on the subject while working in real estate. “That makes sense, I guess.”

  “It does. And darling, we would like to sell the house to you.”

  “Me?”

  “Well, your company, I suppose. We can undoubtedly reach a fair price. Ivan and I haven’t any heirs, so our only interest is ensuring we have sufficient funds to spend our final few years in relative comfort.”

  Like a mirage, a vision of the house flashed through Colin’s mind—but in the vision, it was repaired and restored, coddled back to its original beauty. Still, he shook his head. “It’s my father’s company. I can’t guarantee he’ll give your house its due.” Westwood Development could throw up a whole lot of expensive condos where the Thomas house now stood.