I lay atop dark, tangled sheets soft and exhausted, slightly glowing. He crawled over me all bronzed skin and bright smile, hair and eyes as black as coal. In tongue-curled English he snarled at me, “I told you: no mascara.”
He reached out with both big hands and cupped my face like a basketball. His thumbs gently swiped from beside my nose to my cheekbones and with them all of my tear-soaked mascara.