Funny Feelings (10)

“Why would I when I have a hot twenty-something clinging to my side all the time?”

I scoff, repeatedly, lamely, scrounging to respond.

“Jesus, Jones. Listen to yourself. You can’t even handle when I pretend flirt with you. How are we supposed to date? You don’t think they’re going to expect us to be flirtatious, at least? Affectionate, even?”

Oh, God.

“I didn’t know you were testing me!”

“Well, if we’re doing this, you’re going to have to commit to the bit here, Jonesy. It’s already October, so my guess is that they’ll expect this little dog and pony show to begin as early as November if the tour is going to start in March.”

“Oh, I’ll commit to the bit so hard, don’t you fucking worry.” I feel my anger growing now, even though I can’t pinpoint why. I’ve conquered too much to get to this point, mastered too much doubt to make it here. Only a little left to go. The least I can do is pretend to date the man I’m probably in love with but keep at arms length because of the combination of my emotional stuntedness and my respect for our friendship.

“Good, you better, because so am I,” he shakes his head.

“So hard,” I confirm.

“Oh, you don’t even know how hard, Jones,” he says deeply, slowly, deliciously.

My mouth falls open as heat floods my face, and I turn to him. I can just make out his satisfied smile in the darkened car, the lights from the surrounding traffic and the city reflecting and throwing their colors on his face.

He catches my expression and starts to laugh. Actual rumbling, continuous laughter.

I’m momentarily suspended between shock and indignation before his laugh catches on and I start up, too.

When it dies down, he reaches across the console and grabs my hand. “We’re going to be fine, Fee. You deserve to be on that tour and for it to be big. We’ll be fine. Let’s just… be careful around Hazel, though. I don’t—I don’t want to get her hopes up or confuse her.”

The warmth from his hand travels up my arm, through my chest and the rest of me. This makes four times in one night now. And how pathetic is it that I am counting? That my heart feels like it’s one of those speed bags being rapidly pummeled just by glimpsing this flirty side.

There’s been a maybe, before. A few nights here and there where his guard was down and friendly remarks felt heated. One particular drunken night in Vegas that still makes its rounds in my dreams. I can’t— don’t— trust that it wasn’t just me reading into things, though. That it wasn’t just emotions amplified by drinks and a clumsy tumble that pressed us close… He’d been such a wreck that night. I shift mental gears away from the memories.

“I’d never, ever do anything to even risk hurting her in any way, Meyer. I promise. And if this gets to be…too much…we’ll stop it. Without question. Deal?”

“Deal.”

He takes his hand back, and it takes every ounce of self-preservation in my soul not to grab it back and remind him how committed I am to this bit.





He wakes me up when we pull into the garage at his house. “Jones. We’re home.”

“Hmm? G’Alright. Thnsfertheride,” I slur through a yawn.

“Guest bedroom is set. Marissa got you the bath stuff you like,” he grumbles.

“Nah, I’m fine. I’ll get home and out of your hair,” I reply, forcing the words out clearly and stretching my eyelids open.

“Don’t be weird about it, Fee.”

“Yeah, okay,” I concede.

We head in, as quietly as we can since Marissa, Myer’s all-encompassing, worth-every-penny help, is asleep in her designated room over in the same wing as Hazel. I head to the hallway on the opposite side of the house where the master and guest suite are found.

I’m hyper-aware of our steps being in time with each other, of the heat coming off his body as we walk side by side, until we approach the split and need to part ways.

“’Night, My.”

“Goodnight, Fee.”





38 MONTHS AGO





“My focus is to forget the pain of life. Forget the pain, mock the pain, reduce it. And laugh.” - Jim Carrey





MEYER


“You sure you’re up for a late night?” I ask a freshly dried and changed Hazel. She keeps staring at her hand, so I have to get her attention and ask a second time.

“And you’re sure you don’t mind going to this on your birthday?”

“Dad, stop asking. This will be fun.”





We get back to the club and I order Haze a Shirley Temple before we snag a table. As soon as we sit, Farley appears from the ether, visibly percolating with excitement.

“You weren’t full of shit!” she says (and signs), and I sigh tiredly as Hazel snickers.

“Not full of shit, no. Please, though, something tells me to ask you not to sign during your set?”

“No worries, not in my plan tonight. I do hope she’ll still have fun, though?” she asks, nodding down to Hazel.

“She’s great. She’ll be locked into a game on my phone in no time, I’m sure.”