The Layover Read online

  “Clubbing?” he indulged me.

  “Oh yeah! To sweaty bare-chested dancers.” I lifted my glass, and he chuckled.

  “You know that inside every cynic, there’s just a very disappointed idealist?” he asked, smug.

  “I’ll take your word for it,” I answered neutrally.

  He watched me, not saying anything. Weirded out by the intensity of his stare, I scrambled for a new topic.

  “So where do you hail from?” I asked.

  His face gentled. “Ketchum, Idaho.”

  “I’ve heard that before.”

  “Lots of hiking and skiing,” he said, still smiling. “I don’t know if it’s an irony or what, but I was born in the town where Hemingway killed himself.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope.”

  “I’ve never liked Hemingway. I mean the language is brilliant. But all the machismo and pointless heroics….”

  He didn’t say anything, just looked at me thoughtfully, a hint of mischief in his eyes that I might have imagined. Hopefully, I hadn’t just insulted his favorite author. But seriously, have you read The Snows of Kilimanjaro? It’s fucking terrible. And misogynist. Bleh.

  “What do you do for a living?” I asked.

  He winced and gave a strained smile as if forced to compliment a meal that he found bland. It only made me more curious.

  “I’m at the University of Edinburgh.”

  “Student?” He did look young.

  “Not anymore. I do some research and teach.”

  “What do you teach?”

  Again with the wincing. Was he ashamed? For being that educated? In my book that was awesome.

  “Biochemistry with a bit of genetics.”

  Oh. Okay. “Wow.” And that was about the end of my conversational skills. I mean how do you talk to a guy who is probably three times smarter than you are?

  “See! That’s exactly the reaction I hate.”

  I played stupid. Pun intended. “What reaction?”

  “You clammed up on me.”

  “I did not.” But apparently, I regressed to primary school.

  He raised his eyebrows.

  Damage control! “Okay, okay! You have to admit it’s scary. You’ve achieved a remarkable level of education in subjects most people find elusive. It makes an average Joe like me feel a bit of stage fright.”

  He laughed. “You’re such a bullshitter! You call yourself an average Joe and use words like elusive in the same sentence? And stage fright? I bet you can flirt in your sleep!” He continued chuckling when he looked away and finished his drink. He was on his way to being moderately tipsy.

  So I decided to put my cards out there. “If I make an idiot of myself, I won’t get into your pants.”

  He didn’t seem nervous anymore. He cocked his head, narrowed his eyes, and made a show of assessing me.

  “Maybe I don’t mind having sex with idiots,” he said, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his mouth at last.

  He was smart, freakishly so. And moody, changeable. He felt like sand running through my fingers, and I desperately wanted to hold on to him. He saw through me, and he still hadn’t decided if he’d play along.

  I didn’t only want him in my bed. I wanted him to like me, to remember me. I wanted to be enough for him to say goodbye tomorrow with just a little bit of regret. That damned ego of mine.

  “That’s how you compensate for being a nerd?” I asked, pointing my finger at his Doctor Who T-shirt.

  He laughed, and I saw the tip of his tongue flick against his front teeth as he grinned at me. He said nothing.

  “Why were you afraid of me when you saw me in the terminal?” I asked quickly. No time like the present.

  He paused, looking at his hands. The nervousness was back, and I wanted to kick myself. I preferred the cocky flirt.

  “I wasn’t afraid. Just surprised. It was the way you looked at me. Intense. It caught me off guard,” he admitted slowly.

  “That’s it?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. You have an unusual face. I mean, obviously, you know how you look. You looked pissed. Like you knew me and had a valid reason to be pissed. And then you changed. Your face is… expressive.” He fidgeted, looking down. “I wanted to know what you thought.”

  “I thought you were beautiful.” A loose cannon, there it was.

  And he snorted. “Yeah, right.”

  Excuse me? The little brat thought it was a line. Well, it was, in fact, a line. But it was also the truth. Damn him. “Hey! I meant that. I liked what I saw, and I like looking at you now, so quit the attitude. Learn to take a compliment, nerd.”

  “You do this a lot?”

  “Hitting on strangers at bars abroad? And you want to know because you want to hear how special you are?”

  He blushed but answered immediately. “Basically.”

  At least he deserved to know if I constituted a health risk. “Honestly, not anymore. Yes, I used to be the kid at a candy store. But that was years ago.”

  “And now?”

  “I like a conversation, a connection. But it’s hard to find something that’s not… transient when you travel constantly.”

  “Transient…,” he repeated and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  I twirled the pink straw between my fingers. Every time I tried to tell him something truthful, it spoiled the mood. This was going to be another one of those. But I wasn’t going to bullshit my way into this guy’s pants anyway; that much was obvious. Still, the whole evening was marvelous. I had an intelligent, beautiful man talking to me with interest and full attention. I wanted to tell him about myself just because he listened. I took a breath and looked away. “I think my longest relationship since I started this job lasted three months. It was with a colleague, and our conflicting schedules killed us before we even got started. We managed four very careful dates in Dubai and roughly one thousand Facebook messages. Then he called it quits. He said he couldn’t imagine being faithful with that much traveling. I gave him credit for honesty.” I felt his eyes on me but didn’t want to see his reaction. “I hook up with people sometimes, of course. But it’s been rather rare and… unfulfilling.”

  “That sounds lonely.”

  “It is what it is.” I shrugged. Yeah, I’d killed the mood all right. And I kept kicking the corpse.

  He sighed and stared at his empty glass. “I’m not good at this.”

  “What? Drinking? Conversation? You’re doing very fine on both counts, according to my high standards.”

  He studied the empty glass like there were secret inscriptions on it. I don’t know where it came from, but I felt as if the moment were pivotal. As if whatever he said next would mean a lot. Possibly more than I’d like.

  He put the glass down and looked at his hands, intertwining and twirling his fingers. “I got to go on this trip only because a colleague of mine got sick. Otherwise, they would never send a lowly minion like me. And sure, it was about work primarily. There was a meet-up about stem cell therapy in ophthalmology.” He stopped himself with a wave of his hand. A very graceful hand. “Never mind. I had a few days off in Zurich. I wanted to try something new, maybe let a little loose… I didn’t expect anything to be life-changing, just maybe get a little taste of a slightly different lifestyle. Nothing crazy or dangerous.

  “But my friend, she had this idea that it was supposed to be more of an adventure. She bought me a travel pack of some stuff, you know. Like a go-out-and-get-laid kit. Ginny’s a bit weird. And she gave me the hat. She made me promise that I’d wear that thing.” He gestured toward the hideous headgear and sighed again. I sensed that I wouldn’t like the direction of his speech. “I googled some crazy club and tried to go out in Zurich. And I felt like an alien there, exposed. It’s ridiculous but getting hit on only freaked me out. It’s not my thing. In the end, I was ready to go home, looking forward to it even. And then….” He stopped talking and threw his hands up in the air, scrunched his face in apparent frus
tration. With me? With himself? With the boundaries of the English vocabulary? “And now you are sitting here flirting with me. And I… I’m sorry. I like you, I do. You’re funny and hot as hell. But I’m not….” He waved a hand in the air again, fishing for the right words. There weren’t any. “I’m not comfortable with one-night stands. I’m sorry.” He paused and seemed to brace himself before delivering the final blow. “I should go to bed. Long day tomorrow.”

  It wasn’t my first I-like-you-but conversation. I was a champion of those too. More often pitching those than receiving, but still. I knew the game, but this time, it tasted bitter. Maybe it was because I was in a weird place in my head, feeling like the world was changing around me, and I was changing, and my life was at a crossroad, and it was all a chaos like a freaking Hungarian goulash soup. The world was bleak, and I didn’t want to let go of the only one still colorful, even vibrant thing in it. Since I felt that clingy, I should have ripped off the Band-Aid, fast.

  “It’s a shame,” I said. He was probably the most interesting guy I’d met in months. Or years, to be honest. Such a damned shame. “But tomorrow we’re flying away from here in opposite directions.” That shy smile he gave me…. So, so sweet. “I understand. I guess I respect it even.”

  He had to think I was a slut. By some standards, I probably was. I stood, stretched my arms, and finished: “I’ve had a lovely evening. Thank you for not ditching me sooner.” It sounded whiney, and I winced inwardly. I gave him yet another crooked smirk and went to the bar. I took a napkin, borrowed a pen, and scribbled down a number. I went back, put it on the table in front of him, and he looked at me, frowning.

  “In case you change your mind.”

  I went all the way this time, and the odds were against me. But I would bang my head against the wall later if I didn’t try one last time.

  He stared at the napkin for a second and scratched his temple. He lifted his large tired eyes at me, and my heart started beating a little faster.

  “Thanks. Have a good flight tomorrow,” he said. The coffin snapped shut, the dirt was scattered on the lid, black shadowy figures stood in the rain, heads down—with that kind of finality.

  I would remember him forever. If only for the hopeless kind of lonely he made me feel. So lonely, like I was at the bottom of a crater on the dark side of the moon, the temperature was absolute zero, and the last space shuttle left days ago.

  My gaze slid over the napkin with my room number on it, and suddenly I felt like an ass. He was so much better than that kind of shit.

  “Sorry for that.” I gestured toward the napkin briefly and went away, not looking back.

  I was on the verge of a new era, trying to reclaim my life. Apparently, that made me vulnerable as fuck. I dragged my sorry ass upstairs, stripped, and packed my bag, in case I wanted to sleep in the next day and would have to leave in a hurry.

  I brushed my teeth, took a piss, washed my hands, and blew my nose. Then I was lying in the strange bed unable to fall asleep. I felt a little cold but too lazy to get up and look for a T-shirt.

  Funny and hot as hell, he said. It sounded lame, forgettable. And true. There were twenty-five of me in every gay bar in every larger city in Europe. And he was brilliant, genuine, most beautifully human, and real.

  Jamie. His name was Jamie.

  DAY TWO

  I WAS staring at the ceiling trying to sleep. I knew on some level that my body was tired. But my brain wouldn’t shut up. The alcohol made me buzzed but not sleepy. I blamed Jamie.

  I hated hotel rooms. The sterile whites, creams, and grays, the compatibility and practicality. I yearned for the clutter and personality of a real home. Where people truly lived. My apartment in Dubai was just like a hotel room. A corporate setup with a gym, a pool, and a posh reception area, a place to exist in between flights. Roommates were coming and going, people from all over the world who I never befriended.

  When you live abroad and only spend your time with other foreigners, you first develop this kind of kinship. The fact that you are all living a long way away from your respective home countries makes you bond. And then you realize that the experience of being a foreigner might be the only thing you have in common. You see how superficial those friendships are; you only whine together about the food, bureaucracy, the constant heat, sandstorms, and the quirks of local culture. I started to despise meeting new people. “Oh, you’re from Slovakia? That’s so cool! I once met a guy who was Czech.” Shall we buy matching bracelets now? Who gives a shit?

  I didn’t feel like that with Jamie, not for a second. He didn’t bother to pretend and saw through all of my pretension. That scared me and intrigued me, and in the end, it made me feel hollow. There was a connection there, a real one. I fucking felt it, and he did too. Well, to be honest, I probably ruined it first by making it about sex. It was about sex, a lot. But on the other hand, it wasn’t. And it didn’t matter anyway because he snatched it away, damn him. I rolled on the bed angrily, making it squeak.

  It was past one o’clock at night, and it was still drizzling outside. I focused on the fact that compared to Dubai’s extreme heat and occasional sandstorms, Swiss winter weather was a pleasant novelty. The airport was going to be a mess tomorrow, though. A delay was unavoidable, but hopefully I’d get to Bratislava in the evening. I’d curl on Kristina’s couch, and she’d get drunk with me.

  I HEARD a soft knock on the door and jumped up from the bed. Because, although disbelieving, I knew who that was.

  I tore the door open, and there he stood. Jamie clutched the purple hat in one hand, his exhausted eyes staring up at me, his lips parted, his expression terrified but determined at the same time.

  I wasn’t prepared. I mean, I stood there in my boxers taken aback, positively shocked that he came. So I said: “Jamie?” And then I realized I was actually in my boxers. I took a step back, scrambling for a way out of the situation. That was when he smacked into me. I guess he tried to hold on to my head, but he almost tore off my ear as he dragged my face down and smashed his lovely mouth on the corner of mine.

  Holy shit. He was so determined yet clumsy and guileless. My hands lifted automatically, and I was holding his face, stroking his jaw with my thumbs, looking my fill. Beautiful. One of us shut the door, and Jamie was caged with his back to it, his eyes wide and chest heaving. He came. He wanted me.

  I kissed him properly then, slowly, as you are supposed to when you kiss someone for the first time. He tasted of toothpaste and rum and Coke. Toothpaste—he’d prepared. He’d been to his room and decided to come to me. His lips were dry and velvety, his mouth lukewarm. His complete surrender filled me with an overwhelming sense of relief. He held my wrists as I cupped his elfin face, and I felt him tremble.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” I whispered against his lips, and he smiled sweetly at me. I wasn’t nearly drunk enough and remembered everything he said to me earlier. “You won’t hate me for this tomorrow, will you?” I asked.

  He nudged my nose with his. “No.”

  WE KISSED for a long time, learning each other’s taste and movements. Jamie squirmed in my hold, tiny tremors going through his body. I tasted his jaw, neck, and collarbones, dipping my tongue into the hollow at the base of his throat, hearing him suck in a breath when I did that. He had lovely collarbones, defined and glowing in the dim light. I tugged his T-shirt off, and he sighed when our naked chests touched. He was lean and slim and just perfect. His skin was pale and almost hairless. Tiny dark birthmarks dotted his body here and there.

  He was letting me have all the control, and I loved that. At the same time, I wanted him to remember me. I had my right hand inside of his jeans teasing his erection, and I held his face with my left. I leaned my forehead against his to force him to listen to me without having to look me in the eyes.

  “Jamie, what do you want?” I whispered as gently as I could, but my accent was heavier than ever, the t and d hard, echoing sounds in the hollow emptiness of the hotel room.

 
; Jamie shook his head a tiny bit, a jerky, unsure movement. Disagreeing? Wanting me to shut the hell up? Trying to clear his brain? I brushed his lips with mine.

  “You have to tell me. You changed your mind and came here. Wishing things, imagining things. I want to do what you imagined us doing.”

  “Please,” he whispered bucking his hips against my hand. I stroked him lightly, holding his body immobile against the door. He huffed in frustration.

  “Tell me. What did you imagine? What do you want me to do?” I kissed him again, deep and short. “Anything.”

  Jamie squeezed his eyes shut and answered in one breath. “I held your face when you sucked me.”

  He was so genuine it made me want to kneel at his feet and beg him to like me so I could consider myself human again. I leaned even closer, my mouth at his temple.

  “Tell me more.” Fuck, I sounded off. The old Slovak accent lay over my words like oil paint—a thick layer of clashing colors, betraying my nerves and anticipation.

  “You looked up at me.” He was breathing heavily, trying to push into my hand that was barely moving along his cock.

  “More.” I rewarded him by a firm stroke up and down his length, and then I bent down to kiss and nuzzle his shoulder.

  He whimpered—a barely-there sound, and then the rest of his words tumbled out of his mouth in a rush: “I came into your mouth and around your fingers. You were above me, and I was still hard. I watched you when you pushed your cock inside me.”

  That. He was precious, open and brave—so rare it made me feel protective of him. And possessive. Out of my mind with desire, I wanted to swallow him whole, to bite him until I drew blood, and then lick the wounds clean, lick him all over. I wanted to do everything he wanted and more. He gave me his trust. As little as I deserved it, I wanted to make him ecstatic. I wanted him to explode from pleasure. I would gladly become his slave for as long as he’d let me.

  I was certifiably insane.

  I moved in a hurry then, my head spinning, muscles pulsing. I took him in my arms and dragged him to the bed, never letting go of his mouth, swallowing all the needy little sounds he made. I stripped him bare in a matter of seconds, left him lying there for a moment, and went to look for my bathroom kit. Those unromantic practical interruptions. He watched me, focused and impatient. I dumped the supplies on the bed next to him and shrugged off my boxers. Jamie bit his lip.