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The sky above Heathrow was tombstone gray. A storm looked inevitable, common for a London summer. Race backed away from the vast airport window. Christian ground his teeth then snarled, “I have to go, babe,” speaking to the back of Race’s neck.
Race’s pale hands clung to the glass that overlooked the ashen asphalt. He’d just gotten a pedicure. He smelled a hint of chemicals and something sweet--his cologne had absorbed into his skin like sunbeams into an orange. Dirty carts held various bags--Coach, Chaps, Louis Vuitton, Tumi, American Tourister. Slovenly, dark-skinned men scurried by carrying plastic trash. Their body odor lingered. “I’ll meet you in New York."
"Two days. It’s starting to rain. I hope you don’t get delayed, love.” Race turned then blew him a kiss, making Christian smirk.
I hate when he does that, Christian thought. He battled the smile forming, loving Race’s flirtatious acts. Gorgeous, tall, twenty-seven-year-old, Race was so charming at times. His Saxon nose was striking, as was his face and body. His unnecessary workout regimens and monotonous practice of consistent hand washing had been a bit much over the past year. It occurred to him this moment seemed like the many break ups Christian had had in the past.
“I’ll see you off then,” Race said.
“It’s going to be a great trip. See you in the States in two days.”
“Yes, babe, it’ll be our one off--our best. Come with me now? Please.” Christian held his breath.
“I have to work. I’ll be there soon, love.”
Is our relationship going to end here? Christian recognized the bumpy conversation, which had always led to uncomfortable break-ups. He smiled at the excitement growing in the terminals like ferns in balmy jungles, or like the solidity of men’s bodies when touched seductively. He’d always felt the electric jolt shake his body when he’d prepare to travel somewhere he’d never been.
Bridge and tunnel families scrambled to locate the correct terminals. Race had always said they didn’t belong in the city. They’d travel to some metropolis to work via a tunnel or bridge then mess up the bloody stream of urbane life. After they’d fucked up the smooth flow of no-name mega city, they’d bumble back to safe suburbia. He’d encountered many of their types throughout the world’s largest municipalities.
His lover checked his text messages, bopping in place. Race was a sucker for his gadget porn. He fetishized about sending texts or images on his Blackberry or the latest slim mobile. His footwork reminded Christian of the first time they’d danced at Heaven--a popular London club for twinks. Or it could be the boyzillian he’d just gotten. Race had heard how trendy it had become, but he seemed to regret the painful sting of the wax.
“You better hurry.” Race scratched the thigh of his tight black jeans.
Were they over as a couple?
Christian tried to let the possibility sink into his skin. He wouldn’t let that happen. He’d invested too much time in their relationship--besides, he loved him.
If you enjoy novels full of interesting and contradictory characters, learning to be you, being proud of who you are, and finishing a loved one’s wishes, this is the book for you.
Danielle for Coffee Time Romance