The Worst Bad Thing by J.E. Birk

Author:J.E. Birk [Birk, J.E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay romance
ISBN: 9781634771306
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2016-03-23T00:00:00+00:00

THE BUS arrives in London just as it’s getting dark. Gabriel and I stand together in front of the bus station.

“Do you want to come back to my place?” Gabriel asks.

I want to. I want to so badly. I want to spend the night with Gabriel, knowing that he at least knows some of the truth about me and hasn’t pushed me away yet. I want to spend the night with someone who wants to spend the night with me.

But I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. Despite what Gabriel said in Bath, I know I need to stop making this trip about me. The trip is about her, and she needs to stay the center of everything I do.

“I shouldn’t….” I say.

He crosses his arms. “Why? Because you think it’s dishonoring Kelly in some way if you have too much of a good time over here?”

“Yes, actually.” I cross my arms too, and the words from that e-mail float across my mind once more. Must be nice to take a relaxing vacation right now. Too bad THEY can’t do that.

Gabriel sits on a bench and pulls me down next to him. He leans over and pushes our mouths together, and we circle our tongues against one another, moving the pressure back and forth until I can’t think about anything else but him and that kiss.

He leans back. “Tate,” he says. “I know this is going to sound clichéd and old and like I’m trying to just get you to come back to my room with me… but you know what I finally decided? After that journalist died?”

“What?”

“That the best way I could honor him was by living a good life while I still had mine.”

I groan. “You’re right. That did sound clichéd and old and like you were trying to get into my pants.” But it is also exactly what I need to hear. Gabriel seems to have a knack for that. I stand and hold out my hand. “Are you coming?”

He jumps up almost gleefully. “Yeah? You’re coming over?”

“Don’t get too excited,” I warn him. “Remember what happened last night?”

“I do,” he says as we walk away from the bus station. “You slept on my arm most of the night. It was pretty hot until I lost feeling in my hand. And that other thing that happened? You were still alone in your head last night. You’re not alone with this anymore, Tate.”

If only that were true. But I’m just slightly less alone than I was last night—maybe just enough that what we both want to happen can happen.

We take the Tube back to Earl’s Court and walk to his hotel by the light of the tourist shops, which are as bright as neon dance halls. “Want any souvenirs?” Gabriel asks, gesturing at a shop that seems to be selling every possible iteration of Beatles mugs ever made.

“Nah. I think I’m good. Never been much of a souvenir person.”

He cocks his head. “You bought that postcard.”

“That wasn’t for me.” I squirm, dreading the question that’s coming.

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