Page 29 of Andalusia Dogs
“Hah! All the great poets are peerless narcissists at heart. They never found his body, did they? Perhaps that’s the story you really wish to tell, and I will be your Lorca.”
Alex laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t think he was as fit as you.”
“Artistic license?” Jago’s smile turned shy. “And thank you. I am just as I appear.”
Alex felt a tinge of guilt for wondering just how Jago appeared under his shirt. “I should get home.”
Jago stepped closer. “May I see you again?”
It didn’t take Alex long to find an answer. “Rehearsal? You made quite an impression on Joanna.”
“To be honest, she made one on me. So, yes, rehearsal, but… in other places too?” Jago’s smile widened, even as he looked down at his feet. Before Alex could pretend to stop him, their lips had brushed once more, and Alex took him in a deep, open kiss. At last, it felt as if Jago were relaxing in his arms.
“I think I’d like that,” Alex finished the thought.
Jago’s grin lit up his face as he squeezed Alex’s hand and withdrew into the night. “At rehearsal then? Same time and place tomorrow?”
“Yes,” Alex called. “The same.”
Jago was already across the square, and if Alex wanted Vicente to not tear his flesh off one strip at a time, he’d need to be just as swift. He was home and ringing his front door bell within ten minutes. When no answer came, he tried again, then knocked on the door. Still no answer. Another knock, louder this time, before he tried the bell again.
“All right, all right! Good heavens, who is it?” Lucia announced herself before throwing open the door and fixing him with such a glare, Alex was certain he’d just been cursed. “A fine time of night this is to be waking me up! You haven’t lost your keys, I hope?”
“No. I’m sorry, I gave them to my friend. I buzzed. I thought he’d let me up.”
The old woman shook her head and stepped aside, closing the door behind him. “A friend?”
“Yes, Lucia, a friend. Someone I know very well.”
She nodded begrudging acceptance. “Goodnight then.” She shuffled back to her apartment, closing her door with a loudCLUNK. What the hell was wrong with Vicente?
He bounded up the stairs two at a time, finally knocking on his door, where Vicente at last greeted him with a steely, flat expression.
“Really?” Vicente mumbled, giving him a second to feel ashamed before returning to the couch. He stretched his long arms over his head with a yawn.
Alex spied the empty wine bottle in front of him. “Seriously? You finished the whole thing?”
“You’ve been gone more than an hour.”
“I… I haven’t.”
“Oh, but you have. Look.” Vicente nodded at the old-fashioned clock Alex had kept with him since first leaving home. Its hands betrayed him, reading 12.55 a.m.
“I’m sorry. It honestly didn’t feel…”
Vicente drained the last of the wine in his glass, setting it down so hard on the coffee table. Alex was relieved it didn’t crack.
Alex flopped down in the couch next to him, wiping the sweat from his palms on his trousers. “He’s an interesting guy.”
“I didn’t ask. You got anything else to drink?”
He rolled his eyes. One of those nights, he did not need. “You haven’t had enough?”
Vicente made an exaggerated groan and lay his head in Alex’s lap. “Whoever said being poor had some kind of nobility to it was full of bullshit.”
“Yeah,” Alex laughed, gently stroking Vicente’s sandy hair. “Who was it who said that?”
“Arsehole.”
