Twice in a Lifetime

? Jude stretched out on the king-size bed, his limbs tangled in the soft, satiny black sheets. He couldn’t keep the smile from curving his lips. He pulled the firm pillow from the top of the bed and stuck it under his head, letting his eyelids flutter closed.

Smack!

His ass jumped with the hard slap to his cheek. His eyes opened wide. “Hey!”

Dr. Martin Andrews grinned at him. He stood next to the bed, his hands now innocently on his hips. “No sleeping, hon. Remember I’m taking you to dinner.”

His stomach growled at the thought of food. Still, he’d been having a great time in bed with Martin. “Are you sure you don’t want to get naked and back into bed with me?” He winked.

Martin laughed. “Don’t you ever get enough?”

He shook his head. “No, not with you.”

His lover sat on the edge of the bed and leaned down to kiss him. His heart leapt. “I love you, sweetheart, but we’ve got a reservation where we are going. It’s time to celebrate. I’ll thoroughly ravish you when we return.”

Jude pouted. “Well, all right. Promise?”

Martin’s hand squeezed the same cheek he’d just slapped. “Most definitely.”

Jude swung out of bed and reached for his clothes. He grimaced as he caught sight of his disheveled, just-had-sex look in the mirror. “Do I have time for a shower?”

“Sure. I’ve some follow-up patient calls to make. Don’t take too long.”

A while later, Jude tapped his booted foot against the side of the pillar on the gas station island. It was a beautiful, sunny, slightly breezy evening in San Francisco. Next to him, Martin gassed up the car. They’d stopped here on their way to dinner by the wharf.

Happiness bubbled up in his chest, making him laugh out loud.

Martin smiled at him. “What’s so funny?”

“I’m just happy.” They’d been seeing each other for almost eight months now and last night Martin had asked him to move in.

When they’d first met, Jude wasn’t sure what they could have in common. Martin, at thirty, was ten years older than he and already an established cardiologist. He was clean-cut, well-groomed, and sophisticated, while Jude had bleached his dark hair, wore diamond studs in his eyebrow and both ears, eyeliner and lip gloss. But love was love.

Jude bounced over to Martin and gave him a quick kiss. Martin’s hand closed around Jude’s neck drawing him into a deeper kiss. When they broke apart, Jude looked around, feeling heat in his cheeks. They were in San Francisco, sure, but he still got nervous displaying affection in public. No one seemed to pay them any attention.

“Where exactly are we going for dinner?”

“Oh, no, I told you it’s a surprise.” Martin removed the nozzle and returned it to the tank. “I’m going to go inside and get a candy bar. You want anything, sweetheart?”

“A candy bar? We’re going to dinner.”

Martin rolled his eyes. “It’s just a candy bar. I don’t think it’s going to spoil my appetite. You want anything or not?”

Jude shook his head. “Nah, I’m good.”

“Yeah.” Martin pulled him close and nuzzled his ear. “You are. Can’t wait for you to show me just how good later.”

Jude licked his lips, tasting just a hint of the cherry lip gloss he wore. He tingled all over, thinking of what was to come. He leaned into Martin, forgetting for a second his bashfulness in public. A revving engine startled them apart.

Martin grinned and pecked him on the cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Be right back. You can wait in the car if you’re getting cold.”

Martin headed to the gas station market. The glass door was closed and, for just a moment, he hesitated. It had been open when they first arrived. Shrugging, he opened the door and stepped inside.

A tall, thin man wearing a bandana around his head stood in front of the cash register. He turned when Martin opened the door. He held a gun, which he pointed at Martin.

Martin raised his hands. “Oh, wait, I—”

The man pulled the trigger, hitting Martin in the head.

* * * *

Jude woke up gasping for air. His heart pounded so hard he thought it would burst open his chest. His head hurt as though he’d actually been shot, and tears streamed from his burning eyes. He twisted the switch on his bedside lamp, bathing his bedroom in yellow light.

His bedroom. He was not at the gas station again. He wiped the tears off and got out of bed. Damn. Five years and he still had the dream. Martin had been the only one killed by the robber that day. The clerk had been shot, but survived and informed the police that Martin’s last three words were just Oh, wait, I—

He walked into the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and splashed water on his pale skin. The dream always started out like it had the day of Martin’s murder.