Page 23 of Outside the Veil
“Miriam, for God’s sake.”
She shrugged. “You are the most inhibited gay man I’ve ever met. I was just asking.”
“But it’s not relevant.” Diego closed his eyes a moment. “I just wanted to know if you’d take him with you the next time you head up that way.”
“Then his looks are relevant. It’s a long drive. I’m not ferrying anyone, friend of yours or not, if he’s ugly.”
“He’s not.”
“So why don’t you take him yourself?”
“My car would never make it.”
“So we rent you one.”
“I’ll get lost.”
“You call me if you do.”
“And I don’t want to leave the apartment standing empty.”
“Mrs. Montoya will watch it for you.”
“But I’d feel so out of place in the country.”
“Just take your new hunk and go. Can’t beat the privacy.”
“What if I have a seizure?”
“You said they’re under control.”
“Yes, but—”
She held up both hands. “Fine, fine. If I meet him and like him, I’ll drag him along. If he’s a friend of yours, I’m sure he’s a good enough guy. But I’m not going up there until June, just so you know.” She leaned forward to peer at him. “Bit off more than you can chew with this one?”
“No. That is…” Diego slumped in his chair. “My head’s not on straight. I know any decisions I make right now are suspect.”
“You need to get over the last one, hon. What better way than someone new?”
“I can’t do that to Finn. Treat him like some piece of therapeutic equipment.” He twisted his scarf in his hands. “I might be seeing Mitch this afternoon.”
“You know I love you, but you’re an idiot.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
With Miriam’s assurances that she would come over for dinner soon, Diego left for the Village. Café Lucca, nestled alongside Washington Square, had been their favorite meeting place at the start of his relationship with Mitch, a place to people watch and sit with their heads close together in earnest, whispered conversation. Happy memories. Now the inviting scents of coffee and pastry, the dark-wood table by the window, the comfortable, chatting couples, all made him feel as if he’d been sucked dry.
We are the hollow men.
What a time for his brain to start reciting T.S. Elliot.
A hand fell on his shoulder, turned him. He caught a glimpse of pale blue eyes before strong arms wrapped around him. “Damn, it’s good to see you.”
Diego shivered and Mitch hugged him tighter, rubbing his back. So easy to surrender, to let himself believe again. He clung for a moment, breathing in Mitch’s unmistakable mix of musk and cologne, a stab of desire threatening to take him out at the knees.
Pushed to his knees, Mitch’s hands rough with passion. Fingers kneaded his shoulders with impatient force as he took his time with the trouser button and zipper. The hard moan from above when he wrapped his lips around Mitch’s cock…
The memory jerked to a halt. Mitch had never reciprocated and fallen to his knees for him. Not once. Gone down on him a time or two in bed to coax him along when he didn’t feel like sex, but never that gesture of helpless lust and adoration.
