“Fine, cigarettes and alcohol. Now leave me alone while I order our food. I’m getting you the same as me. Okay?”
“Okay.” She nods, and I can tell she’s trying to keep her smile contained.
“Good girl,” I say, and before I pick up the phone’s receiver, I see that little grin of hers expand beyond any of her best efforts.
Once I’ve ordered our food, I sit back on the bed and watch her as she shifts back to join me, leaning against the headboard. I look at our naked feet – her toenails painted a perfect baby pink, and mine a blood red, with more chips than polish – and I am struck with the domesticity of this moment. Or maybe it’s more a moment made out of something else. Companionship, perhaps?
There’s a reason I don’t have many female friends. I’m too brash, too blunt, too bitchy. And I’ve never cared much. I was happy with the boys. Making music. Writing songs. Flirting and fucking and fighting, in no particular order. I’ve never had a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, by any traditional definition. The boys call me a lone wolf for a reason, and I’ve embraced it whole-heartedly.
But staring at our painted toenails, our legs emerging from our hotel robes, I start to wonder if maybe I’ve been missing out on something.
“How are you feeling?” I ask her to fill the silence. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
“Good, but actually”–she shifts so she’s turned towards me, fiddling with the robe’s tie–“since you mentioned all that food … I’m really hungry.”
“Good sex will do that to you,” I say, and I mirror her pose, moving onto my side.
Her hand lifts as if it’s about to reach for me, but it drops before she makes contact. When I look at her face, she’s biting her lip.
“What?” I ask. “What do you want to say?”
“It’s not what I want to say,” she replies. “It’s what I want to do.”
I hold my breath. “What do you want to do?”
“I want to touch you,” she says. “I feel like I have to.Needto. It feels wrong that we were just … so close, and now, you’re so far away.”
It’s still a struggle to breathe normally. “I’m right here, next to you.”
Her eyes seem to double in size as she looks at me while replying so quietly, I almost miss it. “And yet that is just too far away.”
It must be because I’ve shed my armour, or maybe it’s because her big blue eyes have true magic powers, but before I know what I’m doing, I’m shifting closer to her. I tuck my legs between hers, trying to ignore how quickly,eagerlyshe tangles our limbs together. I lift my arm, and before I even suggest it, she tucks her head under it, resting on my chest. She is so light, and yet I’m aware ofallof her, every single part of her body that presses against mine.
“That better?” I ask, determined to make her think I’m doing this for her, not me.
“Yes,” she sighs and wraps an arm around my waist, burrowing in even closer. “Do you … Do you do this with all your…lovers?”
“What, cuddle?” I snort. Just the idea is preposterous.
“Yes, and order room service.”
“Well, yes, I do that quite a bit. But I don’t always order for two.”
Cassie is silent for a few seconds before she speaks again. “You kick them out? Your lovers?”
“Lovers.” I snort again. “I wouldn’t call any of my previous partners lovers. And I don’t kick them out. I politely ask them to leave.”
Cassie pulls back so she can look up at me. “Do you want to politely ask me to leave?”
“Fine, I lied about the politely bit. Normally I just say, ‘fuck off.’ So, you know, fuck off,” I say, and it gets me the exact reaction I expect, her face falling victim to the most crestfallen expression I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen more than my fair share in my lifetime. “Jesus, I’m kidding!”
She pouts at me as I giggle, but then she seems satisfied enough to fold back into my embrace. “Even if you do want to get rid of me, I’m staying. I want my cheeseburger. And for this day to never end.”The last sentence is said so quietly I have to strain to hear her. I may have even misheard her. Maybe I’m projecting what Iwantto hear.
“But tomorrow we get to record our song,” I remind her. “Our song. With our secret message.”
“Secret message,” Cassie repeats, and I wait for her to say more, but she doesn’t.
“What’s wrong?” I ask as I comb my fingers through her hair. I like how it has some knots now, like mine always does. I like that I’ve messed up her perfect appearance a little.