“Come on. Frieda will know where the photographer is this year.”
Cory took his hand and Sanderson tugged him close for a
final kiss before he reset the lock, pulling the door closed behind them.
Sanderson hoped Frieda would feed them. He was hungry and
he’d do cartwheels for her coffee.
His gaze trailed to the shadows down the aisle ahead of
them. A prickle of unease skittered along Sanderson’s skin like leaves blown
before the wind. Niari’s tent lay down that path. The tinkle of her ankle bells
echoed in his mind, or had he heard them in the dark that crouched behind the
Sanderson kicked a pebble at his feet. He’d thought touching
Cory, tasting Cory one last time would make it easier to hand him over. Cory
was just a good-looking guy that Sanderson had fucked. There was nothing
special about him. Sanderson had just wanted one last moment and now he’d get
one last meal with him.
Then he’d take Cory to Niari. She would take his memories,
and Sanderson could go on his merry way. They’d meet up again on campus. Next
time Sanderson wouldn’t screw it up. Next time he’d take Cory out and show him
how charming he was before he fucked his brains out. Next time Sanderson would
take him to a real bed where he could spend hours worshipping Cory’s body
instead of stolen moments clinging together in whatever small bit of privacy
they could find.
Cory losing his memory of Sanderson would be a good thing.
It would give them a fresh start. He didn’t have to give up Cory to satisfy the
Weaver. Just the memory of their time together.