Free The Last Hour by Charles Sheehan-Miles Page A

and smiled. I didn’t understand it … it didn’t feel like we’d met just a few weeks ago and conducted our courtship online. Odd word, courtship. But it fit. He reached out and took my hand. I tentatively wrapped my fingers around his, and we walked into the theater hand in hand, the tension of that handhold almost electric.
    I was conflicted. My mind kept turning back to the scene in the hallway with Bill, and honestly, I didn’t want to think about it. I wanted to be completely here with Ray. But I couldn’t stop asking myself if I’d misjudged Bill. Was it just a friendly dinner invitation? We’d worked so closely together for so long, I really didn’t know what to think.
    The irony, of course, was this wasn’t the first time it had been suggested. I shared an office with Nikki Reynolds, another graduate assistant, who has insinuated more than once that I’d somehow done something underhanded to become Bill Ayers’ favorite. Nikki’s problem was simple. She believed she was competent, but she wasn’t. So when things failed, she always looked for someone else to blame.  
    I met Nikki my second day in the PhD program at Rice. She was a petite, compact woman, overflowing with politeness to the point I was uncomfortable.  
    She reminded me of my father in an odd way. Sometimes when my father has a little too much to drink, he’ll reminisce about negotiating with other countries during the Cold War.  
    “The crazy thing,” he said one time, “is that you’re sitting across the table with people you would never want to let in your home ... thugs and war criminals, dictators who got into their position by way of murder and mayhem, and yet, at the diplomatic table, everyone is excruciatingly polite and well mannered.”
    I’ve always been far too blunt to be able to survive a career in the Foreign Service. But in some ways Nikki reminded me of that. Always prim and proper, always wearing a smile, but her words often had an edge of contempt, and if she were to hug me I’d want to check to see if she had a knife at my back.
    I squeezed Ray’s hand a little tighter as we entered the theater, and tried to clear my mind. Bill and Nikki banished, I glanced at Ray with a smile. After a day of traveling, his face was darkened with stubble, which had roughened the skin on my face. I wanted to run the tips of my fingers along that chin.  
    Ray had taken me by surprise with that kiss. Our first kiss. It was odd, awkward for a few seconds. It was the first time I’d ever had to lean my head back for a kiss. I liked that. I liked that he didn’t hesitate. He wasn’t intimidated in the least. And then the kiss prolonged itself, suddenly out of control, my knees feeling week, my hands grabbing at his shirt, gripping it in my fists. As our bodies pressed together I couldn’t possibly miss the sign of his arousal, and I liked it that he didn’t try to hide that either.
    Thinking about it made it hard to breathe.
    We didn’t have to fight for seats, thanks to my father, who bought me a theater sponsorship when I’d first moved to Houston. I usually made it here half a dozen times a year, but I hadn’t seen Once yet. It was a Broadway musical adaptation of the 2007 movie, which I’d loved. The musical had garnered very positive reviews.  
    It would be interesting to see what Ray thought. Broadway shows, especially love stories, were a necessity in my life. Most of the guys I’d dated either tolerated it badly or not at all.
    Ray took my coat and hung it on the rack at the back of our box, then put his next to it and took a seat next to me. “Private box?” he said. “Snazzy.”
    “My dad,” I said. “My parents have long since figured out they’ll never be able to control me, so he tries to bribe me instead.”
    He nodded. “Mine just use good old fashioned guilt.”
    I grinned.  
    “So ... I’m not up on current shows, been away too long. What’s this one?”
    I took a breath then said, “It’s