Maybe just this once, I should let myself live a little.
By the time the clock creeps toward one, the party has reached its final hour.
Guests linger in clusters, sipping the last of their drinks.
They pose for photos in front of the artwork, exchanging numbers before parting.
My crew has already begun the choreography of cleanup.
One of the kitchen assistants rolls a cart of empty glassware toward the back wall.
I wish I could sit, but I’m not meant to.
So I pretend to take photos, even though the SD card is full of images already.
They’ve turned out beautifully, but there’s one common denominator.
Somehow, every photo I’ve taken tonight includes him.
Amos talking with a musician.
Amos laughing near the bar.
Amos leaning against the brickwork.
That one is my favourite.
Would it be wrong to make a copy?
It’s not like the crush isn’t mutual.
I moan softly and let my head tip back against the wall.
I’m so aroused it’s almost shameful.
But beneath the heat is something more.
Confusion. Frustration.
Annoyance at myself.
One more hour and I never have to see this man again.
I can do one more hour.
Then the thought arrives uninvited.
What if Ineversee this man again?
I close my eyes.
Letting people close is a risk I’d rather not take.
Too hard to keep a secret when you let your guard down.
I can’t risk anyone finding out about Mark.
Besides Porter and Beth, obviously.
