37. Matty
Chapter thirty-seven
Matty
Another month flew by before I could catch my breath. Omar was a fixture in my life. I’d never had that, not in any real or serious way. It both thrilled and frightened me in equal measure. He didn’t seem bothered by how close we’d gotten or how quickly it had happened. Depending on how one counted such things, we’d been dating for four—no, five-ish months.
I loved him so much it hurt . . . in a good way . . . giving me soreness and an awkward gait for a solid day after he, um, made his point or whatever.
God, he knew how to make a good point.
And shove that point so far up inside me I could feel his point bouncing between my lungs.
Anatomically, that was impossible. I was a medical professional. I knew these things. Still, that was how it felt. He stole my breath, stretched my asshole, and bruised my prostate without breaking a sweat.
That was also untrue.
He sweated like a professional sports baller on a summer day.
And I loved smearing myself against him, getting his musky scent all over me, ensuring there was no way I wouldn’t smell him for days, no matter how often I bathed.
Yeah, I had it bad.
A couple of weeks ago, he asked me how much vacation I had saved up. Again, Omar could get me excited and scare the shit out of me better than anyone I’d ever known. For the life of me, I couldn’t begin to guess what he had up his furry little sleeve.
“Four weeks,” I replied. “Why?”
“I want you to come to Cairo with me. I need . . . well . . . I would like you to meet Teto.”
His grandmother? Not his mother? I knew there was a family dynamic in play here. He hadn’t been close to his parents for a while, but with his father’s failing health, I always assumed we would travel to London together before we experienced anywhere else in the world. It seemed he had other ideas.
“Cairo? As in Egypt?”
He nodded, sheepishly.
“The place where governments fell faster than trees in a lumber yard and gays were hanged or stoned or whatever was in fashion at the moment?”
“That’s Iran, but sure, same region. And yes, there is a bit of a government stability thing there, but life is calm at the moment. Plus, you’ll be with me, and I carry a black passport.”
“Will said passport protect me from stick-wielding crazies?”
He laughed at that. “I can’t recall seeing any stick-wielding crazies in quite some time.”
“When was the last time you visited your homeland?” I crossed my arms and cocked a fabulous brow.
“Fair point.” He shrugged. “So, will you come? I want . . . Teto is very important to me, and, well, I need you to meet her.”
I studied him a moment, then nodded. “Where you go, so I go. Isn’t that how the saying goes?”
“I don’t think so, but you have the gist.” He grinned, then gripped my face and kissed me. “This will be amazing. You’ll see.”
I wasn’t sure “amazing” was the word running through my mind, but I didn’t argue.
It was official: I was in Cairo, Egypt, with my hot boyfriend. I would love to say I looked fabulous as we stepped off the plane, and all of Egypt would stand in awe, but walking outside felt like walking into a convection oven. My hair, already beaten down by hours on an airplane, wilted faster than those elephant palms I never could keep alive. Sweat immediately beaded across my brow, and my underarms chose that moment to overpower my deodorant.
I looked at Omar and fanned myself. “Sweetie, are we trying to roast me alive? I’m flambé as it is!”
Omar chuckled, a rich, warm sound that melted my insides more thoroughly than the Middle Eastern sun ever could. “You’ll survive. Besides, you look fabulous. Cairo’s not ready for you.”
I knew he was lying, playing to my ego to help me adapt, but—who was I kidding? It worked. With a playful flip of my bedraggled hair, I smirked. “When is anyone ever ready for me?”
Omar shook his head with an amused grin. A half hour later, we’d been hustled through customs thanks to his magic black passport and led to an equally black sedan. Before I could adjust to the sweltering heat, we piled in and were thrust into the chaos of Cairo traffic.
Cairo drivers were something else.
It was like bumper cars, but with fewer rules and more honking. I didn’t see any cars bang against one another, but there were more close calls than in March Madness. Despite my fear of being outed in a country that didn’t fly the rainbow flag proudly, I clutched Omar’s arm throughout the drive.
“If I die crossing a street, tell my mom I loved her.”
“Stick with me and you’ll be fine,” Omar said. He spoke with the confidence of someone who’d done this a thousand times before, but I knew he’d never lived in Egypt and had only visited a couple of times in his younger years. Why his bravado calmed my nerves was a mystery, but it did.
“Where are we going first?” I asked.
“We are headed to our hotel to drop off our things, then I have a few surprises planned.”
“We aren’t staying with Teto?”
“I know she’ll adore you, but she can be a lot to take. You’ll see.” He lowered his voice so our driver couldn’t hear and added, “Besides, I thought you might want a little alone time without a nosey old woman prying in our business.”
“Omar Gamal, you horny little bastard.”
He beamed. “That’s me. Twenty-four-seven. Just for you.”
Swooning would’ve been poor form in a limo, so I flicked my hair and batted my lashes.
“And after we drop our things?” I asked.
“The Pyramids,” he said.
If I could’ve hopped onto my knees and clapped like a teenage girl telling her friends about a first kiss, I would have. “Oh my God, the Pyramids! Do you think we’ll see a mummy? Maybe we’ll unleash an ancient curse! I’d make such a fabulous cursed soul wandering the desert for eternity.”
The driver’s eyes crinkled in amusement through the rearview mirror.
Omar laughed. “You’d be the most extra mummy in history. All gold glitter and jazz hands.”
“Exactly,” I agreed. “Who needs bedazzled gloves when you can have mummy wrap?”
I glued myself to the window, watching the city pass by, while Omar’s attention flitted between the world beyond our car and his amused observation of me.
The car slowed, turned, then stopped before a posh set of golden doors. Doormen and bell boys in crisp uniforms moved with the precision of a Russian ballet. I glanced up and gasped at the sign.
“The Nile Ritz-Carlton? Omar, this must’ve cost a fortune!”
He shrugged. “The Egyptian government, like many in the region, needs to reform. Corruption is rampant. Those in power receive preferential treatment by stating their names. For this trip, however, I will gladly accept what comes with being the ambassador’s son, which includes a stay at this hotel, compliments of the Egyptian government.”
“Mama likes!”
Omar choked on a laugh.
“Now, unless you want the crazy stick-wielding people to call each other and come for us, we need to play it cool as we check in.”
I nodded. “Bro, no problem. Football, soccer, jock strap. See, I’ve even got the lingo down.”
The driver stopped pretending he wasn’t listening to us and snorted.
Omar groaned.
“We won’t be long,” Omar said to the driver. “You have the itinerary?”
“Yes, Mister Gamal. The Ministry forwarded all the details, as well as instructions to provide you and your guest with our protection. If any—how did you say it? Crazy stick wielders? Yes, if any of those show up, we will handle things swiftly.”
“Thank you,” Omar said with an air of authority. “What is your name?”
“Ramy, sir.”
“Thank you, again, Ramy. We will be right back.”
Check-in was painless, and the bell captain had our luggage in our room before we even set foot inside. Ritz folks didn’t play. I loved it.
Omar gave me five minutes to do something with my horrid hair. After two, I surrendered to Cairo’s heat and donned a baseball cap. My outfit might earn me a ticket to one of the lower levels of gay hell, but it worked well with my “dude” cover.
Omar didn’t laugh when I stepped out of the bathroom, but his eyes sparkled in a most disrespectful way.
The drive to Giza was an experience. I alternated between staring out the window in wide-eyed wonder and peppering Omar with questions. “Why are there so many donkeys? Do people eat pigeon here? What’s that guy selling?”
Ramy seemed amused, his eyes flitting from the street ahead to peek at us through his mirror. Now that I knew his role was protection for the son of the almighty, I stopped worrying what he would think about me fawning over everything in sight.
Omar answered patiently, his hand resting on my knee like it belonged there. By the time we got to the Pyramids, I was vibrating with excitement.
“They’re HUGE!” I gasped as the car pulled to a halt. “I mean, duh, they’re the Pyramids, but seeing them in person is . . . Jesus!”
“He’s not the guy you want to call for here,” Omar said with a smirk. Then his eyes crinkled at the corners and he added, “I knew you would love it.”
At Ramy’s direction, we joined a tour group; but honestly, I was only half listening to the guide. I was too busy snapping selfies and making Omar take pictures of me in increasingly dramatic poses. By the time I pretended to be holding up the Sphinx with one hand, Omar was crying from laughing so hard.
Ramy, our ever-present shadow, had to cover his mouth a few times.
“Okay, okay,” I said, gasping for breath. “One more. I need to look wistful. Like an adventurer. Capture my good side.”
“Every side is your good side,” Omar teased, holding up the camera.
“Flatterer.”
After the Pyramids, we went to a market, and oh my God, the colors, the smells, the sounds . . . It was sensory overload in the best way. I’d barely stepped into the first shop when I spotted a gold necklace that screamed, “Matty.”
“Omar, come here,” I said in a voice I hoped was both commanding and a tad pleading. “I need this. In a very real and legally binding way. Like the sun needs the sky. Like Sonny needs Cher. Like—”
“Stop!” he said through more laughter. “How about you let me haggle for it? Otherwise, you’re going to get tourist prices.”
I pretended to pout but was thrilled he’d taken the lead. The idea of doing battle with tourist-hardened warriors terrified me.
Besides, Omar negotiating was a thing of beauty.
He switched to rapid-fire Arabic, a language I had never heard him speak, his hands gesticulating wildly as his pitch and tone rose to almost threatening levels. I, meanwhile, leaned against a stall and tried not to giggle.
When Omar finally turned back to me, he held up the necklace with a triumphant smile. “Got it for half the price.”
“My hero!” I gushed, wanting to throw my arms around his neck, but remembering where we were. “How do you say ‘righteous dude’ in Arabic?”
“You’re ridiculous,” he said, rolling his eyes like a sandstorm across the dunes.
After the market, Omar took me on a boat ride on the Nile. Thanks to the Ministry, except for our shadow and the captain, we had the boat to ourselves.
Ramy whispered something to Omar, who turned and relayed, “The captain has been told we were never aboard his boat and to forget anything he sees.”
I was stunned. “How Jason Bourne of you.”
“We’re not going to throw him overboard.” Omar grinned. “It just means I can hold your hand.”
My cheeks ached at the smile that followed his words.
The ride was . . . magical.
The city sparkled as the sun dipped low, painting the water a dozen hues of gold. I leaned against Omar’s shoulder, feeling a rare moment of peace.
“I was nervous about this trip,” I admitted, my voice softer than usual. “You know, being . . . us . Here.”
Omar wrapped an arm around me, pulling me closer. “I know, but I would never bring you anywhere I didn’t think would be safe. And seeing you like this? It’s worth it.”
I looked up at him, my heart doing that stupid fluttery thing it always did when he said stuff like that. “You’re so smooth. It’s annoying.”
“You love it.” He winked.
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, turning back to the sunset.
We ended the day at a little café, sipping sweet mint tea and sharing a plate of koshari .
“What do you think?” he asked, pointed at the platters of food.
I shrugged. “It’s good, but I have a personal chef whose koshari is much better.”
Omar’s smile would’ve made the Sphinx weep.
We finished our dinner, took a quick stroll along one of the main avenues, then let Ramy whisk us away to the comforting arms of the Ritz.
As our hotel room door clicked shut behind Omar, I wheeled about and planted a juicy, tongue-spearing kiss on his lips. His hands gripped my waist and pulled me against him. When neither of us could kiss any longer without sucking in air, I ventured a question.
“What’s on the agenda tomorrow?”
“Teto.”