‘You okay?’ ‘Me? I’m fine,’ I lied, jumping slightly as the spring-loaded door closed behind me. ‘I was just thinking about, um…. Well,...nothing important,’ I finished weakly. ‘Really.’ ‘Really?’ Marco raised an eyebrow before turning back to the drawer he’d opened. ‘You’re sure, cara?’

 I chewed on the inside of my cheek, eyeing the ice bucket on the desk across the room. Would it look really odd if I went over and plunged my stinging fingers into it? Unfortunately, it probably would. 

. We weren’t wasteful, just didn’t need to care about the 20 cents or whatever it was, so we just junked them.I waved my can at him. “Drink?” He looked lonely, and I was feeling sociable.“Well, thank you, very much appreciated sir. Bill’s the name.” I introduced the group, we sat in silence, enjoying the night.“Haa,” said Bill “Bit different to last time I was here”“Oh yes?”“I was here sixty years ago, 1917. I thought it was time to come back and say sorry”“You were here? Oh man, you’re a hero. I. ‘‘Here, catch this.’’I was a little taken off guard when he threw the fabric at me. Next thing I knew, I was looking at a solid hard body, with a magnificently crafted chest and a pair of shoulders that could’ve carried the world. His traps were shaped like two eruptions of vigor and the carved-out lines of his abdominals made me want to taste every ripple with my tongue.‘‘You like that don’t you? Come over here and feel it.’’ He flexed his biceps, and the sight of his strained muscles. "You know that Abelard, Peter Abelard that is, was a 9th century French philosopher who was castrated because of his relationship with a woman called Heloise...and of course if you want to go by Abel for short, there's an even earlier story..."?Abel nodded wearily. He had suffered through a childhood of being asked if he had a violent brother called Cain. Maybe he should have gone to the Woodstock festival at Max Yasgur's farm. Kenny and Elmo had begged him to join them, but Abel never missed.