Funny Feelings (54)

“Yeah yeah. We taking this selfie before or after my grooming appointment?”

“After. And really, though, what’s gotten into you?”

He shrugs once, a quick toss of his shoulders. “Maybe it is my blood sugar,” he frowns.

“You know what, maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m finally having an effect on you. Maybe I just make you feel younger.” I smile with all my teeth and mime tossing my hair.

He feigns a gag, but then replies, considering. “Maybe?” He cants his head to the side with a squint, leans a hip on the counter next to mine.

“I know you have some kind of influence on me and how I feel, that’s for sure. I don’t know if I’d describe it as younger, exactly. Maybe lighter. You make me feel a little less weary.”

Blood flees my head in centrifugal motion and I stand there, mouth suspended in a little “o”… Because isn’t that the dream? To have a heart that’s less burdened simply because of who you share it with?

“Anyway.” He propels himself off of the counter, clearly not suffering the same profound moment that I am. “Let’s get this cut done. You’ll save me from needing to use another babysitter night.”





This was a mistake of epic proportions. Cutting his hair has my fingers on it, in it, and on him. It’s wickedly intimate. It’s his eyes cataloging me as I circle him. It’s me bending, leaning forward into him to keep the lines straight. His breath ghosting against my wrists or my face.

“Meyer, do you ever think…” I can ask. I should ask. “Do you ever think about meeting someone? Do you try? I realize I’m kind of a selfish friend, that I never ask.”

He looks down, considerate again as he folds his arms across his broad chest. Jesus, he’s getting broader, somehow.

“I guess, sure. But I feel like I’m just now starting to get a hold of my life again and of myself. Like I’m just starting to break the surface, reaching calmer shores, sun breaking through the clouds, whatever kind of analogy you want to throw at it. So, I’m not putting pressure on it. I’m feeling…” he sighs “happy, with life. Anything else is an added bonus. And dating when you have any kind of fame is… complicated, believe it or not.”

“Of course. That makes sense.” That’s why he hasn’t dated, not because he harbors something for you.

“Thank you for this,” he gestures up to his hair as he takes off the sheet. “Want to watch Survivor? Maybe it’ll motivate me not to eat the entire tray.”

“Okay. Good idea.”

I end up falling asleep during the show, and don’t remember to take that picture.

When I remind him the next day, I get a photo message back of him leaning over and grinning toothily next to an open-mouthed and passed out me. The photo is from the couch, though I woke up in bed this morning with no memory of walking myself there.





23





NOW





“Ego is hilarious - especially the vanity of a comedian. As soon as you see one start worrying about how cool he is or about how many stadiums he can fill, he stops being funny.” - Ricky Gervais





MEYER


“Strip it down.” I say.

“Gladly, but Lance and Bob are, like, right around the corner,” she replies.

“Jesus,” I mutter under my breath when the mental image of her stripping is immediately conjured, abs going tight. Point, Fee. My eyes dart over to her satisfied expression as she leans back in her chair.

Backstage is quiet for the most part tonight, just the low sound of the television in the distance, from where Bob and Lance are sitting in the break room.

“I meant the set,” I clarify. “You’re trying to layer it too much. Take it apart and get it back to the basics.” I cross my arms and sit on the counter behind me, let it be obvious as I look down the length of her. The look aims to seduce, but lazily perusing her body ratchets up the tension in my gut, too. I cross a foot over the other to give my jeans some room.

In the week since San Francisco, we’ve fallen back into our tit for tat, but it’s graduated to teasing glances and touches, abrupt remarks to test how the other’s eyes dilate.

Now that we both know we want one another, it’s how we pass this waiting period. I’m not sure what we’re waiting for, exactly, because since we’ve officially given ourselves permission it’s all I seem to think about. Where we so often avoided contact before, it’s crossed over into being harder not to.

But, I’m still trying to focus on spending as much time as I can with Hazel before she goes to Ohio, and I know Fee needs both the room and support to work on her material.

Which is why we decided to try Lance’s and wing it tonight, without Kara or Shauna and that added pressure, just to see what happens. And our game is the thing that’s keeping her distracted, keeping her from stressing. We always do some form of this before a show to warm up. A game of wit and banter, challenging and rising, but tonight’s improv has rapidly turned downright heated. While it feels a bit like hydroplaning; rudderless and potentially dangerous, I can’t bring myself to tap on the breaks or steer out of it either.

She groans, and maybe I’m just imagining things now but it sounds a little like a moan. “I’m trying, but everything just feels… disingenuous.”