Love on the Dancefloor
Page 28
“You saw me. You were with me for most of it.”
“I worry.”
“That’s sweet of you, but I don’t need anyone worrying or feeling sorry for me.”
“Being surrounded by people who are off their heads must get boring.”
“I’ve still got the music, the dancing, the people, the mad middle-of-the-night conversations. It’s a lot of things, but it’s not boring.”
“Sure?”
“How you feeling at the moment? Nicely floaty? Want me to give you a hand massage?”
He massaged my hands, pressing firmly so the waves of pleasure radiated from my hand up my arms into my chest, first on one hand then the other. After a while, he said, “What we got today?”
I held his hand. “Nothing. All day, nothing. And we’ve got such a lot of it to do.” After much fanfare of our return to the island, with some help from Slinky Simon and Paul’s charm, we’d secured a Friday and Saturday night DJing slot at Ibiza’s biggest super club, playing to about fifteen thousand each night.
“When we next working?”
“Friday.”
He looked up at me. “And today is Sunday, right?”
“All day long.”
“I never thought I’d look forward to a week full of nothing as much as I do now. Eating, walking, sunbathing, seeing friends, isn’t nothing, though, I suppose.”
“Busy doing nothing.”
“Depends on your definition of nothing.” After a pause, during which he used his finger to trace a trail from my belly button to inside the top of my shorts, he said, “Your mum’s coming over tomorrow…or is it next week?”
In an instant, I felt unsexy again. I laughed. “Oh, shit, forgot that. Yes, tomorrow, but you know what she’s like—bit of wine, bit of paella, one of her little romance paperbacks on the beach and she’s sorted. She told me she’ll amuse herself when she’s here.”
“What about Dad?”
“Dad’s pulled his back resurfacing a car park in Hounslow town centre. He’s on bed rest, doctor’s orders. Mum said to tell you he says hello.”
“Do you think he’ll ever meet my father?”
I shrugged. “Probably. No rush though, eh? We’ve got the rest of our lives to make plans together.”
We lay in companionable silence for a while, the sea lapping on the sand, a gentle breeze blowing from the water, the warmth of the sun growing as the morning light filled the sky ready for another day on the island.
Paul linked his hand with mine, our fingers alternating. “I don’t think I could love you more than I do now.”
I leant forward to kiss him. We kissed for a few moments, then I said, pulling back, staring at his twinkly blue eyes and his broad smile. “Me neither.”
The End
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Liam Livings lives where East London ends and becomes Essex. He shares his house with his boyfriend and cat. He enjoys baking, cooking, classic cars and socialising with friends. He has a sweet tooth for food and entertainment: loving to escape from real life with a romantic book; enjoying a good cry at a sad, funny and camp film; and listening to musical cheesy pop from the eighties to now. He tirelessly watches an awful lot of Gilmore Girls in the name of writing ‘research’.
Published since 2013 by a number of British and American presses, his gay romance and gay fiction focuses on friendships, British humour and romance with plenty of sparkle. He’s a member of the Romantic Novelists’ Association, and the Chartered Institute of Marketing. With a Master’s in creative writing from Kingston University, he teaches writing workshops with his partner in sarcasm and humour, Virginia Heath as www.realpeoplewritebooks.com and has also ghostwritten a client’s five-star reviewed autobiography.
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For Liam’s other stories check out his website: www.liamlivings.com
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