Birds of California(63)

As soon as they’re both finally naked Sam pushes himself as deep as he can and then just stays there—bracing his elbows on either side of her shoulders, brushing the hair off her forehead. They stare at each other for a moment, both of them silent. Sam bites his tongue before he says something he can’t take back.

“Sam,” she whispers finally, her eyes dark with pleasure; she’s rocking underneath him now, restless, hands clutching at his biceps and hair. “Sam.”

Sam blinks at her dazedly. “Hm?”

Fiona grins. “Nobody’s ever keyed your car out there before?” she asks, lifting one hand and miming a little scraping motion. “Really? Not even a little bit?”

Sam growls and flips her onto her stomach, wrapping an arm around her waist and finding her clit with two fingers; she’s still laughing right up until the moment she finally comes apart against his hand.

They do it again in the shower a while later, then one more time in his bed, her wet hair soaking into the pillow and their skin warm and damp from the spray. “You ever been to Palm Springs?” he asks when they’re finished, propping himself up on one elbow.

“No, actually.” Fiona raises her eyebrows. “Isn’t it all influencers and, like, the occasional cactus?”

“Maybe,” Sam says with a shrug. “You wanna find out?”

He’s expecting her to say no like a reflex but instead she thinks about it for a moment before nodding, her eyes like a cat’s in the dark. “Sure,” she says. “Let’s go.”

“Okay,” he says, and lets himself believe that she means it. “Let’s.”

He falls into a sweaty, sated sleep almost as soon as his eyes close, only to jerk awake in the dark what feels like a few seconds later, disoriented. Sam blinks for a moment, then looks over at Fiona, who’s tossing violently in bed beside him, muttering something he doesn’t understand. The clock on the nightstand says it’s just after two.

Sam sits up. “Fiona,” he says quietly, not sure what to do. His instinct is to touch her, but for some reason he doesn’t think it’s a good idea. “Fiona.”

“Wha—?” She startles awake all at once then, dazed, shaking her head and looking around like she doesn’t know where she is. Her eyes narrow, like she’s never seen him before. “What the fuck?” she demands, drawing sharply back.

“It’s me,” he says, holding his hands up. Then, just in case: “It’s Sam. I think you were having a nightmare.”

Fiona blinks at him for a moment in the darkness, then sags. “Oh,” she says, scrubbing a hand over her face. Her hair is one big tangle. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” He almost asks her what she was dreaming about, but that seems like a bad idea, too, on top of which there’s a tiny part of him that doesn’t actually want to know. Instead he smiles, smoothing a hand down her arm. Fiona smiles back—at least, he thinks she does; it’s hard to tell in the dark—and lies down beside him.

He doesn’t mean to, but he must fall asleep again, because the next time he wakes up she’s gone, the mattress cool beside him. He gets out of bed and shuffles into the living room, where he finds her curled up in a ball on the couch watching something called Evil Lives Here on cable. “Hey,” he says sleepily, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “What are you doing?”

Fiona doesn’t look at him. “I mean.” She shrugs, gesturing at the TV. “That’s pretty obvious, no?”

Sam frowns. “Are you okay?”

“Yep.”

“Okay.” He’s used to her giving him a hard time about things, but she sounds really and truly annoyed, and he’s not sure why. “Do you want to talk to me?”

“What?” Fiona stares at him blankly. “There’s nothing to talk about. I’m fine.”

“You . . . don’t look fine,” Sam says carefully. She doesn’t, either: there are dark rings under her eyes; her hair is a little bit matted. He wonders how long she was tossing and turning before she gave up and came out here.

Fiona laughs hollowly. “Thanks a lot.”

“No, I didn’t mean—” Sam breaks off. Her jaw is set, her shoulders somewhere up in the neighborhood of her ears. He can see her closing up shop, sure as the lights blinking out in the strip malls back home. “Do you want to come back to bed?”

She shakes her head. “You go,” she says, nodding in the direction of the bedroom. “I’m going to watch this.”

Instead he crosses the living room and lies down at the other end of the couch. Their feet brush, but she pulls hers away, curling her knees up and keeping her eyes on the television. “Fee,” Sam says, gazing at her in the half dark. Then, even though he has a pretty good idea of how it’s going to go: “Do you get nightmares a lot?”

Sure enough: “Sam,” she snaps, reliable as winter in Wisconsin. “Leave it, okay? I can go home, if I’m keeping you up.”

“What?” Sam startles. “No, hey, that’s not what I want.”

“Okay.” Fiona shrugs. “Well then. Let me watch this, okay?”

“Okay.”

He doesn’t sleep for a long time, and he can tell she doesn’t, either. Instead they lie there in uneasy silence, the light from the TV flickering across the rug.