If This Gets Out(17)

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Our bus pulls to a stop in front of the Corinthia hotel, and we all follow Erin out of the light drizzle into a beautiful golden lobby. Erin goes up to the desk and the rest of us hang back. A table in the middle of the room holds several glass vases. I absentmindedly touch the closest one, running my fingertips across the petals.

I’m trying to figure out what Ruben means by what he said. He’s clearly thought about coming out onstage, and he knows exactly what he’d say if he were to do it. In the past, Ruben has said he’s okay staying closeted in public, as he was waiting for the right time. But there was something sort of annoyed in his voice earlier, like he wants to, but can’t.

Ruben catches me looking at him, and his eyebrow arches. My attention is drawn to his lips. It’s clearly been way too long since I’ve kissed someone, since now all I’m thinking about is the feeling of them against my palm. They were so soft. I should figure out which lip balm he uses. I want mine to feel like that when I finally do meet a girl again.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing.”

We follow Erin to an elevator, and we ride it up almost to the top. Once the doors stop, we go outside, into a long, golden hallway.

“Zach, this is you,” says Erin, as she unlocks a door with a key card.

“Why is he first?” asks Angel.

I think everyone is too tired to respond. Even his jab sounded half-hearted.

“Night,” I say, waving to everyone.

They wave at me as I go into my room, and I close the door behind me, then latch it closed. The room is stunning, with a huge window showing a panoramic view of the London skyline. Even though I’m exhausted, I go over to the window and look out. It really is so pretty. I can see the bridge, the river, and the London Eye, all lit up. This is all I’m going to see of this city, so I need to make it count.

I touch my lips, and wonder if they’re as soft as his, then I push the thought away.

My suitcase is already in my room, so I retrieve a change of clothes. Even though I’m the kind of tired you only feel after missing a whole night’s sleep, it’s only seven p.m., so I should try to stay up for a few hours, so my body can adjust.

I undress and go into the bathroom. I turn the shower on almost as hot as it goes. It pelts down. I step in, and tilt my head back, to let it run over my face. What a day. Most of the time, a shower wakes me up, but right now … nothing. I guess there’s only so much hot water can do.

Is there a song in that … you’re hot like water?

No, that’s nothing. I’m delirious.

It must be why I’m so fixated on Ruben’s lips. I’m delirious, that’s all.

I turn off the water, and grab a towel, only to find out it’s been warmed up by a heated towel rack. Heaven.

Finally feeling clean, I go out, put on some boxers, and jump into the bed and get under the covers, enjoying the silky feeling of the sheets against my skin. I turn the TV on, and the first channel I come to is playing a rerun of Saturday Night Live. Perfect. On the bedside table is a soft gold folder with the room service menu. I flip through it. It’s weird; I’m hungry, but the thought of eating something substantial makes me feel a little sick.

I grab the phone and order a chicken soup and a black forest hot chocolate, because I can’t not try something like that if it’s an option.

I hang up and feel my eyes starting to close.

No.

Come on, Zach, you can do this. Think of the hot chocolate.

Maybe I can just close my eyes for a few minutes, though. That won’t hurt. When the food gets here, the sound of knocking on the door will wake me up, and I’ll have recovered enough energy to make it to a more reasonable time to sleep.

It’s fine.

This is a smart plan.

I tilt my head to the side, and close my eyes.

The next thing I know, I’m wide awake, and it’s three a.m. The lights and TV are still on, my blinds are still wide open, and my mouth tastes vile.

I must’ve been so out of it they gave up on delivering the food. I get out of bed, and go over to the window. This place must have some seriously amazing heating, since the city outside looks rainy and miserable, but I feel toasty. I watch a droplet streak down the window, then pull the blinds shut, then turn the TV and lights off. I’m not that tired, but I can at least try to sleep. I’ll pay for it later if I don’t.

My phone lights up from where I left it on my bedside table. I flop down onto my bed and check it.

It’s a Snapchat message from Ruben.

RUBEN

Can you sleep?

I turn on my front camera, and take a selfie. I know I’m shirtless, but Ruben doesn’t see me like that. After his experiences, he’s the last person who’d let himself go and get feelings for a guy he already knows is straight.

My heart starts thudding at the idea of him seeing me differently, though. Like as just a guy, not his friend. What would he think of me if he didn’t know me, and know I’m straight? Would he think I’m hot, then? And why am I even thinking this?

After editing the photo, I caption it: haha nope. I just woke up.

I send it.

Ruben sees it, and starts typing. Then the bubble disappears. I’ve noticed Ruben does this a lot. It’s like he never trusts his first thought.

A picture comes in. It’s of Ruben in bed, with his eyes crossed and his nose scrunched up.