Page 14 of Spread Your Wings
The waitress flashed a fake smile and said, “I’ll be right back.”
“Serb?” Sammy asked, trying to keep his voice low, even though they were the only ones within a three-table radius.
“Yes, but that’s not why she hates me. We went to rival schools.”
“How does she know you?”
“Debate.” Mustafa took a sip of water and changed the subject. “What did you do in school? Any sports?”
“Music. I play bass guitar, and my friends and I started a band senior year. Our biggest gig was the homecoming dance. By prom, we’d broken up.”
“Broken up? Like relationship issues?”
Sammy laughed. “You could say that. Our lead singer got a girlfriend and ditched us.”
Mustafa’s brown eyes lit up with amusement.
“Tell me about your debate.”
Mustafa shared his debate story while they waited for their meals. Sammy tried to pay attention. He was more drawn to thequirk of Mustafa’s lips, and the sparkle of his eyes. The debate between Communism and Capitalism had nothing on Mustafa’s eyes.
“Sabra did not know her facts,” Mustafa said. His cheeks colored as she returned to their table with their salads.
Sammy also enjoyed watching Mustafa eat. He started in on the salad with a grin until he came across a green pepper. He frowned and flicked it to the edge of the plate. Soon, he had a small pile of dark green chunks.
The main course arrived just as Sammy took the last edible bite of salad. He tucked into his steak, glancing up now and then to see Mustafa savoring the salmon just as much. They ate in comfortable silence, for which Sammy was grateful. Gavin had liked to talk through meals, sometimes spraying his food across the table. Mustafa chewed with his mouth shut. Sometimes, he closed his eyes with a slight grin.
“Good?” Sammy asked.
Mustafa nodded. “Excellent.”
The waitress tried and failed to talk them into dessert. They were both too full. While Sammy paid, he wished the night would never end.
“Come back to the hotel with me?” he asked.
Mustafa shook his head. “That will only end in heartache.”
Sammy frowned. “How so?”
“Tonight, you want to feel alive. Tomorrow, you will be busy with work, and by the next day, you will have forgotten about me.” Mustafa blushed, and stared at the wet pavement. “I like you. I won’t forget so easily.”
Sammy turned to Mustafa and reached for his cheek. Mustafa took a step back, and Sammy remembered where he was. A kiss would have to wait. “Sorry.”
“I have to go.”
Mustafa walked on and turned left, toward the hotel parking lot. Sammy continued to the main doors. He hunkered into his jacket, hands buried in his pockets to protect them from the biting wind. Even the weather seemed to chide him for being such an idiot. He had three months in Sarajevo. Then, he’d return to Atlanta to decide if he wanted to be a field correspondent or write for the main news desk. Mustafa would be nothing more than a rebound fuck, and that wasn’t fair to either of them.
Unfair, and yet, tempting.
CHAPTER THREE
The next morning, Sammy had showered, dressed, and was working on his second cup of coffee when Howard and Tima joined him in the atrium. Tima, their Bosnian translator, wore a purple head-scarf over a tighter white scarf. Maybe it was a headband? Sammy couldn’t tell. She wasn’t the first woman Sammy had seen with the unfamiliar head-covering. She was the first to answer his questions. Yes, she was Muslim. No, she did not have to wear the head covering, but she did it to express her freedom. “Too long Yugoslavia and the Soviets said no hijabs. Fuck them.”
“Fuck them,” Sammy said, raising his cup of coffee.
Howard glanced around the atrium at the armed guards. They were especially thick around a table in the middle, under the mezzanine. “Keep your voices down. Too many people here speak English.”
“What do I care? Fuck them all.” Tima winked and took another sip of her coffee.
