Ship It(51)

He didn’t fight back.

When they finally pulled apart, Smokey thought Heart might make an excuse to leave, but instead Heart only said, “You got a room in town, stranger?”

Smokey bit his lip as his heart leapt. A huge, knee-jerk part of him wanted to run away from that implication, wanted to spit or crack another pool cue. But he bit back the fear. Instead, he said, “Yeah. Yeah, I do.” And he fished a motel room key out of his pocket.

Heart smiled and kissed him again, warmly this time, soft. “You gonna try to beat me up again if we go there?”

Smokey felt the heat hit his cheeks as the shame at what he’d done overcame him. He looked away, and Heart said, “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” and brought his hand up to Smokey’s cheek to guide his face back to his. Heart kissed him quickly, then pressed his hips forward to remind Smokey of the thrumming issue that requested his attention below.

Smokey got the hint. He wrapped his fingers in Heart’s, and they picked their way through the mess they left behind. When they pushed out the front door, hand in hand, the barman looked on in shock, but before he could comment, Heart dug a couple of twenties out of his pocket and pressed them into his hand. “Sorry ’bout the mess,” he said, and he and Smokey burst into laughter as they crossed the parking lot.

The first time Smokey fell in love, he was twenty-four. High from a fight, a little drunk from whiskey, and not entirely sure any of this was going to end okay. In the parking lot of that roadside place outside Denton, Smokey squeezed Heart’s hand, looked him in the eye, and decided, with a thumping shot of terror, that it was better to try than not try.


I CLOSE THE laptop.

Okay.

All right.

So that’s fanfiction.


WE MAKE IT back to our room, and I’m so busy worrying about what Tess is thinking that I don’t even remember that my freaking mother might be in our room when we get there. I open the door and say, “Mom?” but there’s no answer. She must still be out. Where does she even go all day?

The hotel Ms. Greenhill got for us is absurdly nice, and seeing it now, through Tess’s eyes, I’m a little embarrassed of it. A “suite” is, I guess, what it’s called.

“Nice room,” Tess says, impressed, putting her backpack down by one of the beds.

“Yeah, we don’t pay for it or anything,” I feel obligated to say so she doesn’t think I’m rich. “Our food is free, too. We can order room service if you want….”

“Do you know how lucky you are?” she asks, running her hand along the shiny countertops.

“I do,” I say.

“Not just the room. This whole trip. Meeting Forest and Rico. Getting to know them, being ridiculously lucky enough to be the one chosen for this out of everyone….”

I feel a pang of guilt because I’m here and a lot of other people wish they would’ve won instead of me. All I can do is try to represent the fans the best I can and use my brief position adjacent to Jamie to try to get him to see the show from our point of view.

“Because you’re super lucky,” Tess repeats. She must be warm because she takes her shawl off, and now she’s all bare wide arms.

“Let me give you the tour of the place,” I mumble and move away from her—all the way across the room—and open the curtains. “This is our amazing view… of that strip mall over there.”

She laughs and comes over to look out the windows, her shoulder nudging up against mine. Why is she undressing? Why is she touching me? Is she just warm? Or is it a secret signal? I’m not good with secret signals. I’m better with clear and direct communication. Surely she’s picked that up by now. I close the curtains and move back across the room to the kitchenette.

“This is the kitchenette. It’s mostly useless, but I use the coffeepot to make tea. Do you like tea? I have peppermint, chamomile, green, Earl Grey—it might be too late for Earl Grey, I guess, but I have it.” I’m rambling. I know I’m rambling, but I can’t stop myself. “Do you want some? I’ll make some. Is mint okay?”

I pick up the coffeepot and hold it up to show her. She’s still over by the windows, watching me with a funny look on her face. OH GOD, WHY AM I LIKE THIS? I DIDN’T ASK TO BE LIKE THIS.

“Claire…” she says slowly, “I don’t know what you’re thinking right now, but we don’t have to do…anything.”

I’m going to puke. What does she mean? Does that mean what I think it means? I’m going to faint. I’m gonna pukefaint.

“Are you okay?” she asks. Why, do I not look okay? She looks okay. She looks more than okay. She looks perfect.

“Claire?” she says again. I feel hot. I’m sweating. She’s not sweating. She’s glowing. She’s a glowworm. I’m just a regular worm. A regular gray worm that’s sweating so much it turns all the dirt around it into mud. A gross, sweaty, muddy worm.

“Okay,” she says. “It’s cool. This is obviously too much. I’ll just get my stuff….” She goes and grabs her backpack and starts for the door. “No problem, I’ll let myself out. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She says it like it’s no big deal.

Like she’s doing me a favor.

She’s not doing me a favor.