Speakeasy by Suzey Ingold

Author:Suzey Ingold
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Tags: Gay Fiction, Love & Romance
ISBN: 9781941530702
Publisher: Interlude Press
Published: 2016-02-07T21:32:28+00:00

CH. 6

When Heath awakes, it is to a mouthful of the pillow beneath his head. He groans and curls his tongue around the dry, stale taste of the inside of his mouth as he blinks his eyes open. Drool clings to the corner of his mouth, and he would like to stick his head under the faucet to wake himself up this morning.

He is not granted the luxury of a slow ease back into full consciousness, however, as the phone starts ringing angrily from the hallway. Content to let it ring, he stuffs his head under the pillow. But the sound persists, and he reluctantly pulls his legs free from the tangle of sheets and pads his way downstairs in just his pajamas. He takes the phone from the cradle and tucks it to his ear, letting his eyes droop closed again.

“Hello?”

“Heath! Oh, darling, it’s so wonderful to hear your voice. You couldn’t have called? I was starting to worry.” The Duchess’s bright tone is too much for this time of the morning. “How are you? Are you eating? Has Louis been coming by?”

Heath rubs at his temples with his fingers. “I’m fine, mother; you needn’t worry so much. I’ve been busy with friends, that’s all. I’m sorry I hadn’t thought to call sooner.”

“Friends? Francis, you mean? And what was his name now—Arthur, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. Yes, them, and a few others.”

The Duchess is silent, but Heath can hear her fingernails tapping on the end of the receiver. “And?”

“And the time has been very beneficial for me, I feel. To think. About everything.”

The Duchess hums, but she doesn’t sound entirely satisfied. “Well, I’m glad for that. You will call, won’t you? At least every other day would be nice, Heath.”

Heath hangs up with a promise to do just that. He sighs and pushes his fingers through his hair and back from his face. He still has time. He still has plenty of time—July is not yet over. Pushing inevitability from his back, he clings to that thought and starts toward the stairs. His eye catches on a small white envelope resting by the door.

Scooping it up, he slides a finger beneath the seal to tear it open. It has only his name on the other side, no address, so it must have been hand-delivered. The note within reads simply: One o’clock, by the west side of the lake in Central Park. It is unsigned, but Heath recognizes Art’s handwriting. He isn’t so petty that he would simply ignore it, throw it away and continue to sulk over Art’s recent behavior.

Instead, Heath takes his time to bathe and dress, enjoying a slow breakfast that he puts together himself. He stands by the windows and swirls lukewarm coffee over his tongue to dispel the stale taste from his mouth. The heat is already beginning to seep into the living room. It presses against the back of his neck, and he instantly longs to get out of the house in the hope of finding fresher air.

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