Safe Passage by Kate Owen Read Free Book Online Page B

Samson's collar and told him, "Okay, Sam," and he broke the sit and started to play with the puppy.
    "Okay, you're a math teacher, an Olympic athlete, an amazing cook, some kind of genius, and a dog whisperer. You're starting to sound too good to be true, Jules."
    "Oh, trust me I have plenty of bad qualities too." Jules stood up and leaned against the wall with a rakish grin.
    "Oh? Like what?"
    "Why would I tell you mine, I haven't found any of yours."
    "I told you I can't cook."
    "You found one already, too. I'm clueless, remember."
    Gen laughed. "Yes, vividly, but you didn't reveal that one, I just noticed it."
    "Fair enough. Here's one, I'm pop culturally stupid to the point that I never know the names of actors or bands and I'm always asking the people I'm with. 'Who sings this, it's kinda good,' or 'what else was she in, she looks familiar.' It annoys the crap out of people. Oh, and I'm a movie talker. You know, 'Don't go in there!' or 'Why is she doing that?' or the favorite of most of my friends, 'Oh, of course!' when I think I have it figured out. Does that work for you?"
    Gen laughed. "For now, but that is still kind of endearing."
    "So was, 'I can't cook.' My thing, according to those nearest and dearest to me, gets old."
    "I still feel cheated."
    "Well, I guess you will get more of my faults later. If you're desperate to find them, ask Mike, or Angie, I'm sure she'll tell you plenty."
    Gen cringed. "I'll just have to find them on my own."
    "Good choice. I'm starving, you ready to eat this food?"
    "Sure."
    "What can I get you to drink?"
    "Wine?"
    "Sure, red or white?"
    "White."
    "On it."
    Jules went to the kitchen and pulled the pinot grigio from the fridge and brought it out with a glass and a beer for her. Gen had put the pad Thai on the plates Jules had already put out and was sitting down. "Thanks," she said when Jules handed her the wine.
    "So, what's in the journal?" Gen asked.
    "Oh, I don't know; I haven't looked at it yet. You asked me to wait, after all."
    Gen nodded. "So, it could be French, it could be codes."
    "It could be a map to buried treasure."
    "Probably not," Gen replied shaking her head
    "No, but that would be cool."
    Gen smiled. "So, you were going to tell my why your gaydar is so pathetically bad."
    "See, there's another fault, tragic gaydar." Jules pointed at Gen with her chopsticks, punctuating her point.
    "I think that still falls under the heading of clueless, Jules. So, tell me the story."
    "Well, technically, I promised to explain. It's not really a story. First things first, everyone has some made up thing they look for to be a tipoff. Whatever BS things people use, the tried and true way to tell is to see if she's interested in girls. And there are times when I'm fairly sure a girl is gay because of something superficial, but with girls like you, I always default to straight."
    "That's not fair. Do you want all lesbians to be like you?"
    "Hell, no, I wouldn't want to date a girl like me." At Gen's arched eyebrow she laughed nervously. "What I meant was, jock girls are not really my type."
    "Better."
    "But, while it's not fair, it is self-preservation, Gen. With girls I'm very attracted to, if I tried to figure out if she is gay or straight my gaydar goes into wishful thinking mode."
    "I think I was making it painfully obvious I was interested."
    "See, that goes back to the real way to tell if a girl is gay: expressing interest in another girl, right? The problem is, lots of straight girls love flirting with me. It happens ALL the time. Go out to a straight bar in the quarter with me sometime. Mike takes me because I'm the best wingman for him. They all come over to flirt with me and then they hook up with him to prove they're straight."
    "Okay, that doesn't make any sense."
    "I didn't say all straight girls flirt with me. I'm not that arrogant, or deluded. What I meant was a certain kind of straight girl always flirts with me."
    "Oh, what kind is that?"
    "The needy, damaged messes."
    Gen