“Far enough, though, eh? Seeing as you still don’t own a coat.”
“How do you know I don’t own one? Maybe I’m just hardy.”
“Viking, are you?”
“Maybe.” Luis started to back up, to turn around and disappear into the night.
Paolo’s hand shot out to stop him. “Fuck this cold, mate. Do you want to come in?”
* * *
Paolo’s flat smelt like the cafe had that day, of herbs and contentment. Luis shut the door behind him and leaned against it a moment, breathing it all in. “Did you cook the pasta here?”
“I did, actually. How can you tell?”
“I can smell it.”
“Good. My neighbour hates garlic and he’s a right dickhead, so I do what I can to annoy him.”
“That bad?”
“He called the police on the little old lady below me because she had pot plants outside her front door. The bloke’s a psycho.”
“Sounds it.”
Paolo grunted and slid his coat from his fine shoulders and then peeled off his T-shirt, swapping it for another that was draped over the arm of the couch.
Luis tried not to stare. Paolo was narrower than him, but his sinewy muscle screamed strength in a way that made Luis feel hot all over. Or maybe it was the wine. He hadn’t been drunk in forever, and he’d forgotten how much he liked it. How, if he balanced it right and didn’t neck too much, the sweet oblivion was gentle enough to carry him away from the world for a while. The real world, at least. Not the one where he was nosing around Paolo’s flat while Paolo took his clothes off. That world could stick around as long as it liked.
Paolo’s flat was a tidy bachelor pad, equipped with a big TV, games consoles, and just the right amount of mess to let Luis know that no girlfriend shared the space.What if he’s got a boyfriend, though?
Luis couldn’t decide how he felt about that. On the one hand, it made more sense than someone as hot as Paolo being single. On the other, it made the daft notion that Paolo was flirting with him nearly real.
Nearly.
Paolo fetched beer from his tiny kitchen and directed Luis to the sofa in his open plan living room. After the warming red wine, the cold bubbles woke Luis up. He drank slowly, eyeing Paolo over his bottle, trying not to notice his full lips, elegant neck, or how his throat worked as he swallowed. But it was tough. And he failed. He shifted on the couch, wishing he’d worn jeans. More small talk flowed between them. Paolo, it seemed, could talk shit for hours, and Luis didn’t mind. Away from the stress of the busy cafe, Paolo was calm, and he smiled a lot. It was a far cry from the crazy person he’d been the day before, and Luis was enchanted. He stayed as long as decency allowed, but eventually, the beer ran out, and Paolo stopped talking.
Luis rose from the couch. “I’d better go.”
Paolo said nothing and trailed him to the front door, leaning on the wall as Luis stepped into his shoes. “You have nice shaped feet.”
“Er, thanks? I think?”
A slow laugh dripped from Paolo, giving away the beer and wine they’d shared. “You’re welcome. I didn’t mean it in a weirdo way.”
“I didn’t take it in a weirdo way.”
“Good.”
“Yeah. Good.” Luis straightened. Paolo hadn’t moved but somehow seemed closer in the dimly lit hallway. His body heat thrummed in Luis’s blood, and Luis’s heart seemed to beat in time with the pulse in Paolo’s neck. Luis stepped closer, and Paolo pushed off the wall. They met in the middle. Luis snatched a breath, and then madness overcame him. He put his palms flat on Paolo’s chest, pushed him against the front door, and kissed him.
A distant horror fought for dominance with the wild sensation that swept over him, but Paolo kissed him back with zero hesitation, eviscerating any fear that Luis had made a terrible mistake. He flattened himself against the door, drawing Luis closer. His tongue slipped between Luis’s lips with the sweetest groan, and Luis knew without a shadow of drunken doubt, the earth could erupt beneath them and their mouths would stay fused together.
I could kiss him forever.
7
Paolo paced the cafe with scratchy eyes and an aching head, listening out for the tap at the back door, despite the fact that it was, as ever, four in the morning, a full hour before Luis usually showed up for work. And even that was another hour before his official start time. There was every chance he wouldn’t rock up until six.If he turns up at all.
