We talk about first times. His, with Daniel, and later on with women. Mine with girls at my school, fumbling and exploring and realizing how to make other people feel good with touch.
It’s already nearly sunrise when Logan asks me about how I got into painting, and by the time I’ve gone on long enough about oil paints versus watercolors, I look over and see him drifting off on the couch, right as purple-blue light starts to emerge from the horizon outside.
I lay down beside him, tucking my head near his shoulder on the couch.
I feel like I could never sleep.
Like I’m wired, and I’ll be laying there watching the sunrise, wondering how I got lucky enough to know him.
But I do fall asleep.
With his warmth radiating onto me and breathing in his scent.
And I don’t know I’ve slept too long until it’s too late.
I wake up as a cloud passes through the sky and a bright pillar of sunlight hits my eyes directly.
I’m on the couch alone.
I blink as I look at the coffee table and see a note from Logan:
Had to get to set by 9am. Decided to let you sleep.
You are perfect, by the way. And this is *my* note, so you can’t argue with me on it.
Perfect.
In every way.
Dinner later?
Xx
L
The note makes me feel like I’m wrapped up in him all over again. Clouds pass over the sun again, draping the suite in the dim, grey light it must have been in all morning.
I pick up my phone for the first time since my shift last night, and the most recent notification catches my eye first.
And my stomach drops when I check the time.
“Holy fuck,” I say out loud.
I slept until two o’clock in the afternoon.
I can’t even remember the last time I did that. It had to have been long before I quit drinking.
And then a spike hits my chest as I remember what I had planned this morning.
There are three messages from Xander, spanning the course of the last two hours.
Xander Rousseau
Still going to come to our studio today?
Chase?
No need to bother. Thank you.
