Page 17 of Torn
He smiled. Ran his fingers across my cheek. He nodded. “Am I ever gonna see you again?”
“I certainly hope so.” I stared into his eyes. “We’re here through tomorrow. Then, we’re heading to Boutros’s hometown.”
“Which is where? Never Never Land? The Island of Misfit Toys?”
I laughed. “Something like that.” I drew in the night air, exhaled slowly. “Bath.”
“Ah, the home of Cheap Street and Gay Street. You’ll love it. But stay out of the baths. They’re toxic.”
And with those parting words, he leaned in to kiss me very briefly, yet very sweetly. Then he turned and disappeared into the night.
I was pretty sure I’d never see him again. A bittersweet thought.
I was wrong.
Chapter 7
THE SOUNDof our door creaking open woke me. Through half-closed eyes, I watched Boutros tiptoe into the room. Brilliant sunlight illuminated him in a thin slat through the opening between the window curtains. And even in that restricted light, I could read the mixture of shame and satisfaction on his face.
I groaned and turned over. The Bakelite Westclox alarm on the nightstand told me it was only a little after six.
Boutros froze in his tracks as though he were a cat burglar who’d just slipped in through an open window and spied a growling pit bull.
I got up on my elbows. “Where’ve you been? Isn’t it awfully early to be out and about?”
He grinned at me and raised his eyebrows. “Apparently, it’s not for some of us. The cock has crowed!”
“You went to those bushes across from the nude beach, didn’t you?” I would have been jealous, but my ass was still smarting from last night.Give it a rest, Mary!Ah, sweet tactile memories of love.
“Yes. It was wonderful. I bumped into a lovely young thing from Leeds. I caught him spitting out a mouthful of jizz just as the sun was rising. Very romantic! I asked him, ‘what the hell was that?’ and do you know what he said?”
I settled back on the pillow. “No.”
“He said, ‘my last love affair.’ And then this sweet boy raised his eyebrows at me in a most fetching manner. ‘Do you fancy being my next?’”
“I bet he didn’t have to ask you twice.”
“No, sir, he did not.” Boutros giggled. Giggling was rare for him. “But I did come twice,” he said in a whisper.
“Wonderful. Now, some of us need to get a little more sleep.”
Boutros tore off the athletic shorts and tank top he wore and crawled into bed. He cuddled up next to me. I rolled away.
The last thing I recall before drifting off was him reminding me that we were off to Bath today. “Home of the ancient Roman baths,” he told me. “And buns with clotted cream.”
Now the latter sounded quite interesting….
WE ARRIVEDat Bath Spa station late in the afternoon, among a whole crowd of jovial summer travelers. There was a sense of excitement in the music of their murmurs, the heat of the late-afternoon sun, and the sheer history of the city we’d just arrived in.
“Just the other side of the station is the River Avon,” Boutros said, and it made me immediately think of William Shakespeare (as in Stratford-upon-Avon). Little did I know that the parking lot for the Bath Spa station, right along the river’s banks, would very soon have a much more erotic association. “But we’re not going that way.” Boutros maneuvered us through the crowds and led me outside.
Across the street from the station were a lot of charming little shops, restaurants, and cafés. The town appeared to consist of a mix of mostly old and ornate buildings, rising up three stories or so, and more modern ones that, I admitted to myself, looked ugly next to their elder, statelier sisters. In the distance, tree-covered hills rose up.
“It’s just full of charm, isn’t it?” Boutros paused for a moment beside me to look around. He lit a cigarette.
“You’re being sarcastic?” I never knew with him, even though we’d been best friends for going on five years now.
“No, silly. I grew up here, so I tend to take it for granted. But now, seeing it through your eyes… well, it’s really quite lovely.” He scanned the horizon.
