We stepped out of the pub, discussing Art Tatum and Joshua Redman. We stood in the middle of the pavement arguing and raving until we started to laugh. The night air was warm.
Marc smiled. "Let's go to my place. I've got a ton of jazz records we can listen to. Stay in the air-con room, drink coffeeŠhow's that?"
His long fingers slipped into mine. Suddenly he grabbed me and we ran towards the road. Marc was laughing and I followed mutely, drawn into the exhilaration of the moment, heart pounding with feet on the pavement. We spilled into the taxi, perspiring and gasping for air. I saw his eyes slant upwards and then his lips. We were interlocking, our bodies flushed from the exertion. Heat swallowed us whole.