The mild chill in the air was much more preferable to the stuffy heat inside of that investigation room. Seriously, could they find anything smaller for us next time? I expected them to lead us into a goddamn broom closet. The sounds of the city were also better than the drunken howls and the angry yells inside. I much preferred listening to taxi cabs honking.

“Do you think he did it?” Enzo asked me point-blank. He had his arms crossed against his chest. He looked really good, dressed like someone who was just lounging in the Hamptons hours earlier. A pair of dark blue pants and a white shirt made him look sharp but also relaxed. The jacket he had on was clearly tailored to fit him and only him. I wanted to jump him right there and then. Tear off the designer jacket and pants, get down to his bare skin.

“I’m not sure,” I said, wanting to be a hundred percent honest with Enzo. Especially since I had to skirt around the truth earlier. He didn’t seem to be upset about Tito, although there was something in his posture that felt off to me. Almost as if he was guarding himself. “Now there’s an even bigger motive for him to do it, besides the fight. If he had a relationship with Oscar, that kicks things up to an entirely different level. And the fact that he was asking Tito for drugs, it tells me he’s the type to act on his impulses.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think those impulses were ever to kill anyone. Much less two people.”

“You’re right. I never said he did do it. I’m going to chase down the lead Tito gave me and hope it gives us something.” We walked down the steps of the station, stopping in the street. Tall skyscrapers were blocking the sun from hitting us, casting heavy shadows. We stopped at the intersection and turned to face each other. I was going to catch the subway back to the office, but I was hit with an idea for something we could both do.

Before I spoke, I noticed Enzo’s eyes bouncing between mine, dropping down to my lips before darting back up to my eyes. “When were you going to tell me you were going to go meet with Tito?”

Shit.

So Enzo was angry. I could sense it in the way the muscles on his jaw flexed. This was new. Something I hadn’t been on the receiving end of. For a second, I was taken aback. I wasn’t certain how to react, and that made me to close up.

“You didn’t need to know.”

“Are you kidding?” Enzo’s voice rose, and his hands danced in the air. He always spoke with his hands, but when emotions started to rise, Enzo’s hands took on their own special choreography. “You go to meet with a convicted criminal and lunatic gang leader, and you don’t think it’s important to bring it up to me? Say hey, Enzo, listen, I really care about you and want you to know that this is where I’ll be and what I’ll be doing in case you never hear from me again.”

Now I was getting angry. Investigating was my job; he had to stick to the courtroom and slay the monsters in there while I hunted down the ones out on the street. “It’s just part of the job,” I said, my tone turning defensive. “I didn’t want to get you worried.”

“Well, you succeeded in doing that, except now I’m going to assume you’re off infiltrating uno cazzo terrorist organization every time you tell me you’re going out to grab some coffee.” Enzo threw his hands up into the air. “Cristo, Zane! Trust, man. That’s number one for me. I want to trust you.”

“It was never my intention to lie to you. If you asked, I wouldn’t have lied.”

“I did ask, Zane. You just didn’t answer. That’s lie-adjacent, and enough to make me question things.”

“Question what, Enzo? What are you questioning?”

The fire between us was growing. “Don’t fucking pretend like you’re suddenly dumb, Zane. You’re the smartest damn detective in this city—don’t act like you don’t have the answer already.”

I did. But I wanted him to say it. I wanted to hear it coming from his lips. “Tell me, Enzo, what are you questioning?”

“Us. This. Whatever we’re doing.”

“Well, stop. Stop questioning it.” I was looking him right down the eyes. There was a heat between us that signed away the cold in the air. I realized then that I was never feeling anger toward Enzo. No, I could never be angry at the man. It was passion that had been rattling against my rib cage. I just hadn’t felt it in so long, I couldn’t recognize it at first. “I didn’t tell you about Tito because I care about you, Enzo. More than I’ve cared about anyone in a very long time. I want you to be there when I wake up and there when I go to sleep, every single damn day. And you’re right, I should have told you. I was dumb in keeping it from you. But you can trust me, Enzo. I swear to you.”

I reached and grabbed his hands in mine. The station was located on a side street that wasn’t as populated. We were standing outside of a bodega, the smell of deli sandwiches wafting out from the open door. People were crossing the street, going around us, completely oblivious to the intense moment Enzo and I were having.

“Trust me,” I said again, squeezing Enzo’s hands. He was looking at me, but the anger in his stance seemed to dissipate like evaporating water. He relaxed, his face dropping before picking back up again with the hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“I do, Zane. It’s just difficult. I haven’t had the best track record with placing my trust in the right person, and I really don’t want to relive that merda.”

“You won’t.” I had no idea what Enzo was talking about, but I wanted to. I wanted to know who hurt him in the past, who made him laugh, who made him cry. I wanted to learn about all the experiences that shaped him. I brought his hands up to my lips and kissed them, looking deep into his eyes as I did. “I’ll never hurt you.”

Our hands came back down to our sides, but our eyes stayed locked. “Come on,” I said, nodding toward the subway entrance. “I want to walk this off with you. You’re not busy now, are you?” I glanced at my watch. It was five in the afternoon on a Friday, and I figured Enzo could probably spare a couple of hours. I’d probably be up all night working on Ricardo’s case anyway—might as well take some time to clear my head with Enzo by my side.

“No, I’m not,” he said, cocking his head. I still felt a little bit of weariness in the air, but I was determined to change that. I would prove to him that I was a man who he could trust.

“Okay, cool,” I said, happy to see the flicker of his smile grow brighter. “Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” I said. “I promise, it’s somewhere we can talk seriously and have a really deep one-on-one.”

The Museum of Sex was blasted in neon pink through the glass next to the ticket counter. It was a dimly lit room with smiling employees welcoming everyone to the world-famous museum. I had been wanting to come (ha. ha.) and see it for a while and thought it would be the perfect place to go and lift (ha. ha. ha) Enzo’s mood. Seemed like I was right, because he was giggling like a little Italian schoolboy as we got our tickets and walked over to the entrance.

“There’s a bar downstairs—you both are more than welcome to start there, or you can go up the stairs and start your journey through the history of sex.” The woman taking tickets at the bottom of the stairs opened her hand to take ours, smiling at us both. Everyone who worked there seemed to be so happy. I didn’t have to really wonder why, though.

“I can’t believe I was in the Hamptons this morning and now I’m climbing the stairs into a sex museum.”

“Isn’t life grand?” I said over my shoulder as I led the way. The stairs opened up on a floor where another attendant was standing. It was a narrow hallway with dark walls, the light also dim except for the doorway behind the attendant. That was brightly lit and spewing its light out into the hallway.

“This is the boobie jump house. We’ve got a group just finishing up in there, do you guys want to bounce?” the man asked, once again smiling from ear to ear.

“Boobie… jump house.” Enzo almost snorted. I had made sure to pay extra for the experience because I figured Enzo would get a huge kick out of it.

“Hell yeah we want to bounce,” I replied.

“Just take your shoes off before going in.”

We both slipped off our shoes (“Wouldn’t wanna hurt the boobies, eh, Zane?”) and opened the door into a brightly lit bounce house, except this wasn’t your typical kids’ birthday party bounce house. The floor was two huge boobs, inflated and ready to be bounced on. But that wasn’t all. Around the bouncy boob house were other big inflated balls, all painted to look like different breasts.

“This is a gay man’s worst nightmare,” I said as we fell in, both of us laughing as we bounced up on the nipple.

“I might get night terrors after this, Zane.” He was pushing himself up onto his feet. “Will you be there to cradle my shaking body?”

“Of course,” I said, getting up onto my unsteady feet but failing to find my balance and falling back down, only to bounce up and land on my side. There was a dark areola right smack on my face. I batted it away with a hand, watching the ball hit the wall and bounce back, straight for Enzo’s head.

“Ow!” he said, rubbing the spot. “You almost gave me a boob-cussion!”

It was all so silly and so fun and such a perfect way to wind down after a chaotic day. It felt good being able to play around with Enzo, even though tensions may have been higher than normal. We were two grown-ass men; we weren’t going to hold on to petty arguments because in the grand scheme of things, if we were going to work, we’d need to get past way bigger obstacles.

We bounced around for our allotted time before another group was allowed to come in. We collected our shoes and bounced out of the boob house through the back door, into a pink hallway that reminded everyone to check for breast cancer. The hallway then opened up onto the first floor of the museum exhibits. This room was also dark, with windows set in the gray walls looking into different exhibits, a plaque next to each window giving some background as to what was inside. In the center of the room was a huge wooden bike with a long pole attached to the front. It took us both a second to realize there was a dildo on the pole, and it was moving whenever someone hopped on the bike and peddled.

“How much do you think that would cost to get installed in my bedroom?” Enzo asked, leaning in. I could smell the faint oakiness of cologne on him mixed with the outside. “I’m looking for a good cardio machine.”

“I’ll ask on our way out.” We laughed as we walked around the exhibit, looking into the windows at all the old-time sex objects. There were dildos made of leather with authentic raccoon tails attached, sex dolls that were from the ’60s, a cock-and-ball torture thing that made my own balls suck themselves back into my body. All the while, Enzo was walking by my side, making jokey comments and laughing the entire time. There were other people in the room, but they all disappeared around us. I couldn’t describe any of their faces because I was so caught up in the moment with Enzo.

It was there, surrounded by ancient sex toys in a dimly lit room, that I realized, holy shit, I think I love this man.