He slips out of me, making me gasp.
He takes my dick and pumps it until my own cum splashes across my chest. I’m his.
‘That was hot,’ he says.
‘If that’s what living in Athens gets me, I’m moving in with you.’
He reaches for a tea towel– I’ve used worse– and helps me clean up. Hopping into the shower, I take Sam’s hand. We let the water wash over us, let our wet bodies intertwine. We almost go for round two, but both of us are spent. Water rushes over our skin as our foreheads meet, our bodies inches away from one another. He holds me, swaying me ever so slightly.
In bed that night, we look at the stars as I lay in Sam’s arms.
‘It’s crazy, isn’t it?’ Sam muses.
‘What?’
‘How life works out,’ he says. ‘Who would have thought I’d find my best friend again, and we’d be together like this?’
I brush his arm, moving into him. ‘It’s perfect.’
If Ollie has done anything for me, it’s to lead me straight into the arms of a guy I’m certain I’ll be with for a long time.
Chapter Fifty-Four
SAM
Day Nineteen
Waking the next morning, I realise that for the first time in a long time I have the energy to get up and go. Normally, my alarm would go off and I’d lie in bed, groggy, thinking of the day ahead. This time, when my eyes open, Will’s back is turned to me, breathing deep. We’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms, and this is exactly how it should be. So, I rise, naked, and go straight to the kitchen, planning to make breakfast for the two of us.
Last night has been a dream. And now here I am, being all domestic, thinking about the life I could have with my best friend. His new job, his ability to work from Greece, should he get the right visa. It makes me whistle as I get the ingredients together: a traditional English breakfast.
I’ve been thinking of exploring, of getting away from here. I could still do that. Perhaps we both could, eventually. But the thought of Will joining me has me seeing this place differently. It glimmers, shines, and the idea of serving customers for another year doesn’t sound so bad. Imagine a little life of domestic bliss,running my coffee shop, as Will illustrates on one of the tables, glowing in the sunlight.
The bacon sizzling, the hash browns heating up, I find myself dancing around the apartment to music that only I could hear, playing in my head.
My eyes fall on the kitchen counter, replaying the scene from last night. Being inside Will, feeling him respond to me like that. God, it makes me want to do it all over again. I think of his naked body in my bed, think of waking him up slowly, gently. There would be plenty of time for another round.
I know he’ll be leaving soon. He will have to go back home, recoup, decide what he needs to pack, wait for his visa to be approved. But that’s days away, and while it fills me with dread, I know it’ll be temporary. Besides, I could go and see him in Cardiff for a while, fly back with him, be part of the whole journey.
It’s not like he’s going forever. This isn’t fake anymore.
We’re boyfriends, and we have plans, and we have a lot to look forward to.
Tidying up the dinner table, I begin setting it properly, thinking to treat him with a romantic breakfast for two. The sun rises outside, not warm yet, so I light some candles. I move some of Will’s things aside when a slip of paper flutters to the floor.
Reaching down, the paper has Ollie’s name, written in Will’s handwriting.
Pausing, I peer at the bedroom door. This is Will’s private thing. I have no business looking at it. But Ollie’s name triggers my curiosity. I hold the paper before me, reading his wants, and what he doesn’t want.
Brow furrowing, I bite my lip. When did he write this? This sheet of paper that says Ollie would bring him happiness? That everything would be okay if he had Ollie? It must have been before he got here, surely?
I’m about to put it aside, act as though I never saw it, when something catches my eye in the don’t want section.
He must not work as a: fisherman (the smell), a farmer (the smell), butcher (the smell). Humour is great, but he must be serious when the time calls for it. Nobody wants a joker. Must be tall, brown-haired, smart and educated. At least a Master’s or preferably a PhD.
I sink onto one of the chairs at the dinner table, rereading it. It feels so… specific? Like he’s written it after bumping into me. Must not work in retail, like it’s some awful thing. Like some guy who works in No Name Coffee Shop. Not working towards anything. No education beyond secondary school. Not brown-haired.
Not Ollie.
