Snowed In: Suhaib and Elijah, page 6
“You do, too,” he said. “I love the short hair!”
“Yeah? Thanks. I’m still getting used to it.”
“It’s very handsome.”
We strike out across the terminal toward short-term parking.
“I’m so glad we’re not gonna have to go months without seeing each other anymore,” he says, slipping his hand into mine as we stroll. “I mean, it’s a cute haircut, but I wanna see the bedhead version…”
“You can rustle up the bedhead version as soon as we get to the hotel,” I assure him with a laugh.
“Did you get the car all packed up?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“Was it a big deal?”
“Nah.” I shrug. “Couple bags of clothes and some keepsake stuff, a few books. It looks more like I’m hauling shit to some three-day-weekend garage sale than moving to Chicago.”
“I got a bed and I live by a Target,” he says. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t have needs that can’t be met in one of those two places.”
“I guess I don’t either.”
“Did you talk to your cousin Hassan?”
I nod. “His Olive Garden in Elk Grove’s been open for a month now. He says I can start whenever I want.”
“And classes…?”
“Start in May. Like the third, I think.”
“I’m not even sure I knew there were male midwives,” he muses.
“I kinda didn’t either. There aren’t very many. But I’m excited about it.”
“Well, we know you’ll be good at it.”
“I’m one for one!”
“That’s not nothing.”
The headlights flash on and off with a beep as we approach my little hatchback. The back end is piled high with bags on top of boxes. A cardboard poster tube and a zippered case of DVDs clutter up the back window, and my two nice coats are heaped behind the passenger seat. “Better put your bag in the backseat,” I say. “I’m afraid if I pop the back end we might not be able to get it shut again.”
He slides his duffel onto the seat behind mine, takes a second to assess all my worldly goods.
“So we’re doing this?” he asks.
“Kinda looks like it.”
“I’ve been getting kind of excited about it. Like kind of really excited about it.”
“Me, too. I mean, I’m out of my parents’ house, we said our goodbyes. We’re gonna get on the road from here. We pretty much live together starting now.”
He puts his arms around my waist and pulls me against him. “Do I really get to hold you every night? Do I really get to kiss this mug every day?”
“You can kiss me right now,” I point out.
He does. Slowly. Sweetly. Shortly with more gusto, pausing only to whisper dirty promises into my tantalized ear. People pass by—prairie families, oil men in cowboy hats, TSA and airline workers. A few gawk; even fewer seem to notice us at all. Regardless of who passes, Elijah doesn’t stop kissing me.
Inshallah, I find myself thinking, he never will.
THE END
ABOUT MICHAEL P. THOMAS
Michael P. Thomas is a flight attendant whose passions include the coffee in France, the hundred-yen stores in Japan, and the men in Argentina. His writing is continually inspired by his work with the flying public, who flatly refuse to be boring. He writes gay fiction because when he was coming out, he sure was glad to have it to read.
After misspending his youth in San Francisco, he now lives in his native Colorado with his husband. He blogs at misterstewardess.com, and you can follow him on Twitter @MrStewardess.
ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC
JMS Books LLC is a small queer press with competitive royalty rates publishing LGBT romance, erotic romance, and young adult fiction. Visit jms-books.com for our latest releases and submission guidelines!
Michael P. Thomas, Snowed In: Suhaib and Elijah
