Funny Feelings (42)

But he looks down at his phone and winces apologetically, so I speak again before he can. “No, no, never mind. Of course. Honestly, I’m so full of nachos at this point anyway, my reflux is going to be a bitch later.”

The car pulls up, and we ride back to the hotel in that weird, strained, smothering silence that we’ve managed to avoid lately.

We get back too soon, and before I know it I’m looking up at him on the sidewalk in front of the hotel. At the muscles in his jaw as they work, flaring out. His hands slide into his pockets.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to stay even for a bit? I could just catch the later flight. There’s one more first thing in the morning.”

Years of manners have me speaking on auto reply again. “No, really. I don’t want to keep you from Hazel anymore than I already am. It’s all good.” There was my chance, and I blew it. Again.

He nods, then turns around and walks through the revolving doors, but stops short when we step into the lobby. I run into him with a little oof, ass to abdomen, before he turns back to me.

“Should we have a… a check-in conversation? On this?” He gestures back and forth between us. “I’m not—” His sigh is so frustrated it blows a lock of hair off my face. “—I’m not overstepping, am I? I realize that I told you I’d be more comfortable if you took the reins on the affection stuff, and then I’ve kind of… Well, maybe I’m getting too comfortable. You’ve gotta let me know Fee. Please.”

He sounds tortured, and I hate it. I hate that it’s become so difficult to say exactly what I’m feeling and what I want, to put thoughts to words. That it’s seeping into everything, now, even into my work. Despite never sharing my more repressed feelings with him, everything else was so easy before.

“My…” I’ve had the chance before to lay it out there, with alcohol as an excuse, and even then I chickened out.

You can’t keep doing the same things and hoping for different results, though. So, I won’t let my friend feel this exposed or vulnerable, not when it’s the last thing he deserves and he’s all that I want.

I reach out for his hand, push my thumb along his palm and drag it, a place for my eyes to focus. “Meyer, I—I like it. I’m… I’m enjoying this. More than I should, I think. To the point of distraction. I think we just do what comes naturally and what feels good, now, yeah?”

I allow myself one more blink, a little pause when my lids close, before I hazard looking up at him again, hoping to see relief. But his face is held tighter, if that’s possible.

“Can I kiss you again?” he asks, and I can’t help the smile that pulls on my lips.

“Yes.” And he does. And I know there are people around with their phones, but I somehow know this is for me and because he wanted to. Could just be lust-based, but I know it’s not for show this time.

He holds himself with restraint, for which I’m thankful, because I don’t trust myself not to do something embarrassing like try to burrow beneath his shirt just to feel his skin on me at this point, lobby or not.

His lips smile against mine and our tongues lightly bump into one another. A little happy sound pops out of me, a throaty chuckle in response from him. It’s brief, but everything.

When he breaks away, he’s trying and failing to repress a smile. The Uber honks from outside. “Go,” I say, smiling back. Because I’m somehow calmer now, reassured. That edge taken off just enough, even as joy surges through my body, pushing beneath my skin and ready to break free.

“Alright. I’ll call you later.”

“Call me when you land?” Okay, that was ridiculous, but he smiles bigger at it.

He trips a little, walking backwards to the doors, but catches himself and laughs. “Okay.”





17





18 MONTHS AGO





“A day without sunshine is like, you know, night.” - Steve Martin





MEYER


I love drunk Fee. She’s even more unhinged than normal. The man that still exists somewhere buried deep within me can’t help but preen a bit at how her eyes linger a little more when she’s this way, biting her lip occasionally. I let myself think that the drunk her is into me, only because I know I’ll never do anything about it.

The rest of me rolls my eyes at myself, and is mildly disgusted at that pervert, though.

Being drunk together may have not been a wise choice, I’m realizing, but numbing my brain felt like the only choice tonight. After I couldn’t even come through for her, after I embarrassed myself on stage.

I look down at the three-foot-long, neon, plastic drink cup in my hand with the matching swirly straw. The thing blurs in and out of focus as I slurp loudly.

Ah. Bummer. Empty again.

I set it on top of a slot machine and blow a raspberry at it before I wander after Fee. Even in my state, she’s easy to track with the balloon animal hat bobbing around. My hand flaps around my own head to make sure I still have mine.

Fee gasps, then, pointing to the 24-hour restaurant sign. “I require a BURGER. Tallyho!”

I nod my agreement silently and follow behind, throwing glares at the dudes whose eyes peruse her too comfortably, or for too long.

Oh yeah, man. I’m sure you’re menacing as fuck in the balloon hat.