Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 1

nothing to say to him!" Cam said, his fists clenching under the table where his father couldn't see them. Losing it at his father was not likely to help his cause.
    "Well, when you do find something to say to him, I'll know there's some kind of progress."
    That was the end of that discussion.
    ****
    Three more, endless, torturous days went by, and not a sign of Anton.
    Cam was going crazy. He fluctuated between anger, frustration and a deep, visceral longing that took him by surprise. Anton was just another guy. Nothing special. So what if he was tall and broad-shouldered and had bright blue eyes like some kind of Norse god...
    The thoughts plagued Cam twenty-four hours a day. By the end of the week, he decided it was time to do something.
    Since he was in good graces with the security people, Cam had no trouble leaving the room for an afternoon. He only went as far as the hotel's lobby, where he addressed the smiling blond girl at the desk.
    She batted her eyelashes at him and spoke very good English. When Cam asked about the party someone had rented one of the luxury suites for about a month ago, she wrinkled her forehead and told him she'd check. Cam inwardly congratulated himself: he hadn't lost his touch with the ladies, either. This one seemed ready to do just about anything for just a scrap of his attention.
    But all she could tell him was that the room had been reserved under the name of Dmitri Orlov. Once again, that led Cam nowhere. He tried to ask her, casually, who Dmitri Orlov was.
    Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened in a frightened little O. "I don't know," she chirped, but being a good liar was apparently not part of her many skills.
    Cam managed his most charming smile. "Come on, sweetheart," he prompted. To help jog her memory, he discreetly slid a $100 bill across the desk.
    She threw a quick sideways glance and snapped up the money before he saw her hand move.
    She leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice.
    "Dmitri Orlov is a very prominent... businessman," she said, giving Cam a significant look.
    He frowned. "Okay. What does that mean?"
    She rolled her eyes. "You're American, aren't you?"
    "What does that have to do with anything?" Cam exclaimed, genuinely annoyed.
    She sighed. "It means, Dmitri Orlov is big in the other business. You know what I mean?"
    Cam looked at her blankly.
    "The mob," she said.
    Cam blinked. "Oh," he said tonelessly.
    "Now, I'm not even going to ask what you wanted with Mr. Orlov, American boy..." she started.
    "You'd be right," he snapped, and quickly walked back to his suite.
    Over the next two days, indignation and anger gave way to fear. Okay, so he just fucked the son of a mob boss. No big deal, right? No one knew... right?
    He found himself remembering every face at that fateful party. Who could have seen what, and where had the information ended up?...
    The sharp trill of the hotel phone made Cam jump. He stared at it bug eyed, like the thing would bite him, then picked up.
    "Hey." It took Cam a few seconds to place the gruff voice on the other end. "It's me."
    Cam's heart dropped into the pit of his stomach.
    "Look, I'm sorry. But this can't continue. Don't hold it against me, okay?"
    "What—" Cam panicked. He hadn't prepared for this.
    "It's just, something came up," Anton murmured. He kept his voice carefully neutral, as if he were having a casual conversation with someone he barely knew.
    "So, anyway. Thanks for everything. Bye."
    "Wait!" Cam exclaimed, regaining his ability to speak. But the only answer he got was the dial tone. Anton had hung up.
    Cam slammed the phone down. No, it was not going to end like this. Who did this Anton think he was?
    Within minutes, Cam was dressed and out of the hotel room.
    ****
    He raced past the check-in desk, and out of the corner of his eye he noticed the girl eyeing him warily. Then the glass doors slid open without a sound, and Cam found himself facing nighttime Moscow for the first time.
    It was magnificent, aglow with lights, luxury cars rolling down the street with the windows down and music pounding heavily. But partying was, for once, the farthest thing from Cam's mind.
    He had no idea where to even begin looking for Anton in this huge, foreign, noisy city. He tried to think clearly, but his mind was racing, and he walked a few blocks as if in a haze. He remembered the few brief conversations he had with Anton, the places he mentioned, clubs, bars, restaurants, but all the too-long, consonant-laden Russian