Page 26 of Spread Your Wings
“Yes. They have a fine dining room.” Mustafa slid a laminated card across the tabletop and took it with his long, nimble fingers. “It says dinner is served between five and seven. We have enough time to clean up.”
Sammy nodded, his mind numb, his body aching for Mustafa’s offer.
“I’ll run water in the bath.”
“Bath?” Sammy felt like an idiot, repeating everything Mustafa said. He followed Mustafa through the bedroom to the bathroom. The room was lined on one side with a sink and toilet, the other with a full-length bathtub. A knee-to-ceiling window with gauzy white curtains bathed the room in afternoon light. Unlike the tub in Sarajevo, this one had the fixtures in the middle, and no shower attachment.
Mustafa turned on the tap and adjusted the knobs to touch. “Care to join me?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.
“I … um …”
“I thought you were a journalist, full of words,” Mustafa said. “Where are your words now?”
Sammy fled the bathroom. He grabbed his suitcase and dragged it into the bedroom with lavish red curtains above the headboard. The red and white bedspread seemed to laugh at him. The room, including the red and white floral carpet, looked like a war between Lewis Carrol’s Red and White Queens.
He paced nervously between his suitcase and the room’s closet. He took more time than needed to unpack the few clothes he’d need for the next day. He left his pajamas folded on his pillow. He was already wearing his nicest jeans, so he took them off, shook them out, and draped them over the foot of the bed. He stood in his boxers, staring at his dress shirt. He wondered how he would get the wrinkles out in time for dinner.
As soon as Mustafa opened the door to the steamed-up bathroom, he darted inside. He held the offensive shirt in hand, balanced on a padded hanger, compliments of their suite. He felt Mustafa’s eyes on him as he measured the distance to the top of the curtain rod. He spun around and handed his shirt to Mustafa. “I need a chair.”
“Or you could use the hook on the back of the door,” Mustafa said, steadying him with a hand as he placed the hanger on the hook.
Sammy leaned into his touch with a sigh.
“Are you okay?” Mustafa asked as he faced Sammy, giving him his full attention. Sammy noticed he was only wearing a towel. It was a full-sized luxury bath towel, though. Five feet long, three feet wide, and fluffier than any towel Sammy had used in his life.
“I’m fine,” Sammy said, looking down at Mustafa’s feet so he wouldn’t stare at any of the gorgeous, glistening flesh above.
Mustafa lifted Sammy’s chin with a thumb. “You’re nervous.”
Sammy nodded. “Big day tomorrow.”
“No. About me. About spending the night together?”
Sammy shook his head in the negative.
Mustafa frowned. “Liar. You are scared of me.”
“No. Scared, yes. Not of you.”
“Of what, then?”
“I’ve never been to London before. What if we get lost? What if we get mugged on the train? What if we’re late to the concert? What if something happens again, and I don’t get to see the final Queen concert ever in my lifetime?”
“Trust me, Sammy, we won’t get lost on our way to Wembley.” Mustafa occupied Sammy’s space and pulled him into his arms. He smelled like almond soap, aftershave, and a clean male scent that made Sammy’s balls ache.
“Promise?” He knew he sounded like a whiny brat, but he couldn’t help it. He was twenty-three and on his own. He’d just survived his first assignment in a war-torn country. For fuck’s sake, he was already in London with a functioning passport. Still, his inner child quaked at the thought that it could all be taken away like the Magic tour in ‘86.
“Promise.” Mustafa wrapped his arms around Sammy and hugged him. “Now get in the water before it gets cold.”
Sammy gazed at the full tub and then back at Mustafa.
“I ran fresh water for you. Get in.”
It looked clean, with no soapy residue across the top. Sammy stripped out of his clothes and padded into the tub. The warm water on his skin felt like any other bath. The almond soap felt like butter against his skin. The wash cloth, like the towel afterward, was the softest, fluffiest fabric he’d ever used.
One glance at the prices on the menu, and they fled the hotel restaurant. Sammy offered his apologies to the waitstaff on the way out. An approving nod from Mustafa said he would not need to tip them to gain his approval, at least not tonight. They took their chances on the street. Sammy headed toward the Tube station, and then they walked around Hyde Park. On the opposite side of the park, they found a cafe nestled between two shops. Wary, Sammy checked the menu before ordering a coffee. When he saw coffee, tea, and soda refills were complimentary with the meal, and the most expensive meal was less than ten pounds, he flagged the waitress. She had a kindly face and graying hair pulled back in a bun.
“Welcome to Cozy’s, and happy Easter, if you celebrate. What can I get you to drink?”
