Don't Look Back by Gregg Hurwitz Page A

deep breath. “If I’m honest, I would’ve left me, too.”
    There was a silence, long enough to be uncomfortable.
    Claire held up the empty bottle, gazed at her reflection, made a noise in the back of her throat. “He found someone better.”
    Will kept his gaze steady on Eve. “I doubt that.”
    Eve looked away so he couldn’t see how pleased she was at the remark.
    “My confession?” Jay said. “I don’t like Lady Gaga.”
    Their laughter was interrupted by a brisk tapping on the door.
    Sue entered, an odd contraption strapped to her head, tugging up her chin. It resembled a jock strap. “Could you keep it down a little? We’re trying to sleep.”
    Jay covered his mouth with his hand. “ What is on your face?”
    Sue’s own hand rose in chagrin, hovering near her cheek. “It’s a face bra,” she said, a touch haughtily. “It’s intended to reverse aging.”
    “What’s wrong with aging?” Claire asked.
    But Sue had already retreated. They waited for the footsteps to fade, then burst out laughing.
    “Okay,” Will said. “Remember what Aristotle said: ‘When someone busts out a face bra, it’s time to call it a night.’”
    Claire thunked down the empty bottle. Jay hoisted her to her feet, held her steady as she locked her leg braces. For once she accepted the help. Jay stooped so she could sling her arm across his broad shoulders. “Come on, lady. I’ll drag you to your hut.”
    He paused in the doorway, looked back. “Will, why don’t you go back to Eve’s hut and critique the window dressings?”
    “Cute,” Will said.
    “Or we could work on your jazz hands,” Eve said.
    Will shook his head, fought a grin. “This is how it’s gonna go now, isn’t it?”
    “Yes,” Jay and Eve said at the same time.
    Jay stepped out into the night, all but carrying Claire.
    Will and Eve, alone. He shifted his weight, kicked at the floor. She scratched her neck.
    Tell him. Tell him what you want.
    Right now. Just go ahead.
    “Look,” Eve said. “I’m not old, but I’m old enough that my body feels … lived in. I have this knot in my shoulder that gets better and worse, but I know now it’s never gonna go away.”
    Will blinked a few times. “O kay .”
    “I have a kid and a mortgage, and I drive swim practice four times a week. I don’t want games.”
    “What do you want?”
    You know. You know what you want. For once in your life, do it.
    She was just drunk enough to listen.
    She hooked his neck and stepped forward into him, her mouth finding his, tasting again the flame of the mezcal. He was the perfect height, taller but not too tall, so she could tilt her face to his but keep her feet flat on the ground. She sucked his bottom lip, pulled away, felt something wild and dangerous dancing in her stomach, flicking at her insides.
    “Okay,” he said. “Right.”
    She led him by the hand down the bamboo path to her hut, and they kissed again in the doorway and then a few steps into the room. Hard-shelled insects pinged off the walls, and outside a hunting bird gave a series of triumphant hoots. They shed their clothes, slipped through the mosquito netting, fell into the enclosed safety of the bed. And then they were intertwined, their bodies slick with humidity, all mouths and hands and hips until they lay spent, panting.
    Will rested his cheek on the slope of her stomach, his head rising with her breaths. “You’re quite an athlete.”
    She made a soft noise of amusement. “Not since high-school soccer.”
    “Mmm.” He yawned, curled his back, his cheek damp where it met her flesh. His words, little more than an exhausted mumble. “Were you any good?”
    The room grew hazy at the dark periphery, whether from the afterglow, the late hour, or the tail end of the mezcal.
    “Decent. I was fast, so I got slide-tackled a lot.” Her blinks grew longer and longer. “I wasn’t the best, but I kept getting up. Kept … getting up.”
    Before she drifted off, a final thought caught the last