Page 21 of It Takes Three To Tango

“Well, first, you wear whatever makes you happy.” His small smile at my words causes the anger to fizzle out, and it’s replaced by something much deeper. I can’t explain why, but I take a step towards him. “I like the colour. It suits you. It brings out the amber in your eyes.” I stop speaking, now close enough to touch him.

I watch his throat bob as he swallows. His soft lips part slightly as he takes a breath. The overwhelming urge to kiss him returns. I could kiss him. I’m close enough. It isn’t like me to stall, but like last time, I don’t make a move. I wanthim to be happy, more than I want to take my pleasure from him. The realisation hits me full force in the solar plexus, and I take a step back with the weight of it. Stumbling slightly.

“Are you all right?” Rafe’s concern is clear as he rushes to my side. My skin tingles as he grabs my elbow to steady me. I’m a dancer, I’m surefooted as a cat. Why the hell does he have me stumbling around like a clown?

“I’m fine,” I mutter, hardly able to concentrate now that he’s so close and touching me. “Maybe it’s the heat.”

He gives me a curious look. Yeah, I’m not buying it either. It’s not even hot here yet. Not the heat I’m used to, anyway.

“Shall we sit down for a while?” He indicates a bench under the inclined columns of the promenade in front of us.

“Okay.” Yes, not being on my feet for a minute would be very welcome. I feel like I’m moving through treacle, hyper-aware of my body, or more specifically the body next to me. When we sit down he releases my elbow, which is a pity, but at least I can now breathe properly again. He turns to me.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

No, I’m not. I can’t think straight right now. All I want to do is to lose myself in your eyes, your lips, your arms. But I can’t do that. So I have to sit here with my heart racing and hope you don’t notice.

“I’m fine,” I say brightly. “I just need a minute.”

He nods and turns to look out at the view across the city. I try not to watch him, but I can’t help it.

A thought begins to gnaw at me, and once it’s there, I can’t let it go. Does he still have feelings for his ex-fiancé? It opens up a hole in me, a dark one. I have to ask, not directly of course, then I’d sound as crazy as I obviously am.

“Tell me about Loretta.”

He turns sharply to look at me, a deep crease in his brow. His nostrils flare slightly. Yes, it’s really bad that I’m noticingthese details. Then his eyes dim slightly, and he slumps back against the bench.

“No. She’s my past now,” is all he says.

I don’t get the answer I’m looking for, which really is my own stupid fault for asking a dumb question. I don’t know whether he won’t reply because he still harbours deep hurt, or because what he says is true and he’s moved on. I hope it’s the last one.

I’ve broken all my rules. I allowed myself to fall for someone. And what’s worse is, he’s straight.

Shit.

After I feel like I can move again, I suggest we carry on. But thinking clearly? That might be messed up for some time. We follow the path through rhododendrons and magnolias. It appears the same as when we walked down this path earlier. The trees are the same and other people still pass us and greet us politely, allowing Rafe to practise his“buenos dias”at every chance he can. But nothing is the same, and never will be again. Not for me, anyway. I steal glances at Rafe. He’s a bit quieter than before and I’m not sure if I’ve caused it. I feel like I have somehow. Perhaps I shouldn’t have brought up his ex. It was a pretty arsehole thing to do, really. I want to lighten his mood somehow.

We reach the serpentine seat, the curving bench forming a balustrade for the roof of the Hypostyle Room. Its brightly coloured, fabulous patterns and motifs are depicted in a mosaic of thousands of ceramic tiles. Rafe’s face brightens when he sees it, his expression once more one of joy. I can’t blame him. I’m not sure anyone could feel down whilesurrounded by so much beauty. I watch, transfixed, as he reaches out to touch it, running his fingers over the surface, the tiles—some smooth, some with relief work. I watch his long fingers trace the cracks between the mosaics. I imagine what it would feel like to have those fingers tracing over me, following my contours, looking at me with the same reverence in his eyes. I crave it, the effects making me feel slightly dizzy. I need to get a grip and stop this nonsense. Maybe it is the heat after all. I pull out a couple of bottles of water from the bag I’m carrying. I hand one to Rafe, partly to get close to him again and partly to give his hands something else to do before I lie down on the bench in front of him and offer myself to him. But that’s not going to happen because I wouldn’t be able to stand his look of revulsion. Straight guys don’t go around touching gay ones.

I stand and look over the park, the warden’s cottage at the entrance catching my eye.

“Why did Gaudi shape that roof like a penis?”

I hear a sputtering and coughing beside me as Rafe spits out his drink. Shit, I nearly killed him.

“Sorry,” I say as he recovers. I offer to help, but he waves me away.

“It’s okay,” he reassures me, then pulls out his guidebook and finds the right page.

“It says here that it’s supposed to be a mushroom. Yes, look, it’s red with white spots. Like fly agaric, it’s poisonous but also hallucinogenic.”

“That explains a lot,” I chuckle, looking round at the colours and shapes that make up the park, a common theme of Gaudi’s work.

“It says here that he had an interest in mycology. That’s the study of mushrooms.”

“Well, he was well ahead of his time, then. I didn’t think it was a thing people did over a hundred years ago.”

“Maybe.” He shrugs, looking thoughtful.

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