Page 126 of Call Me Sir

He doesn’t wait for my answer though. Instead, he steps forward and signs the form of purchase beside the painting.

Tears spring to my eyes for the first time tonight and I try to wipe them away before Sal is by my side again.

“Thank you,” I say, throat tight with emotion.

Gently, he grabs my hand. “Of course. Anything for you Cole.”

“I just want you,” I find myself telling him. “Well, and the painting.”

We both laugh and he leans down and places the most delicate kiss to my lips, as if I’m a flower with petals that could fall away at any moment.

Gripping both of his biceps through his tux and him grabbing my waist, I deepen the kiss.

Tonight has been perfect, despite the flash of the camera to my right, capturing this moment.

Fatigue digs into my bones and sets up for the night.

Once we break away, I let out a contented sigh.

“I don’t want to be the lame one,” I find myself saying.

“You’re ready to go?” He finishes.

“Yes!”

His chuckle lights up my heart but is quickly drowned out by the loud music and cheering.

We should stay and dance and party the night away with my friends. The new ones and the ones I’ve had around me all along. However, the exhaustion threatens to knock my legs out from under me.

“Let’s go!” I finally yell, tugging him by the arm.

It’s still another half hour of saying goodbye to those we can find, hugging, Tony begging us to grind together on the dance floor, and fleeing with paparazzi capturing us as we run on the red carpet.

We jump into the limo and I feel like a kid again as we pull ourselves off each other as we’re laughing.

Sal fastens his seat belt and I do the same. Then, he pulls out his phone.

“I’m going to text my dad a thank you message,” he announces, searching my eyes for something.

Is it approval? Or is he waiting for me to stop him?

“Where to?” The limo driver asks, interrupting us.

“My place?” I offer.

“Sure, we can get a ride to our cars tomorrow. If you’re able to walk.”

Sal says it so casually, and perhaps I’ve had too much alcohol because it takes a minute for my brain to register what he’s said.

“Wait… from drinking too much?”

“What’s the address?” The driver asks.

He’s an older gentleman and not offering any pleasantries.

I give him the address then close the partition.

“No, because I’m going to get you as close as I can to saying Waffles tonight,” Sal says, again so casually that when my brain finally catches up, he adds, “Okay it’s sent.”

---