Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/280

 And the brightness was all around her like a living thing. Around her and within, filling up the vast and echoing beat of her heart.

"Gay … my little Gay," Paul Boudreaux whispered in his sleep and touched the naked figure next to him.

"What did you say?" asked the masculine figure. "Hey!" He shook Paul … "You want some more loving …?"

"What …?" Paul stammered and opened his eyes.

"You've been talking in your sleep. Said … ‘Gay …' and felt of me … I'm ready, honey … but my name ain't Gay."

Paul paid no attention to the look or the words. His head ached dully and his mind worked slowly, painfully, his unhappy thoughts groping through the lingering fog of liquor and the memory of his shameful assault on his bed-mate.

"Oh!" he said in self-disgust; and only when he saw the man's face did he realize he had made the sound aloud.

"Got a hangover?" the man asked.

They stared at each other searchingly, looking deep into each other's eyes, both with different thoughts … and then Paul broke the silence by saying huskily: "I sure have … please don't … I feel terrible." He rubbed his eyes and asked, "How do you feel?"

As Paul watched him he saw him suddenly throw down the sheet to expose his body, lying naked and so close to him. The man glanced down at his own nakedness and Paul's eyes followed until they saw again what he had already seen.

"How's that?" the man grinned and tried to draw Paul close. "I'm ready again."

"I'm not," muttered Paul with disgust. "I'm going to make some coffee."

And with this he sprang out of bed, picked up a robe and put it on as he left the room.

So the night had passed in the different rooms and so the morning followed. 270