Page 59 of The Comedown

“Okay… Souside sounds like Southside, but you dropped off a few letters like you did with slippy.” I nod, making her smile widen. “Chipped ham is…sliced ham?”

“Close. It’s shaved smaller, like in pieces.”

“Right. For hoagies?”

“Yeah.”

“Not subs?”

“No, not fucking subs. Hoagies. You can also get jumbo on them instead of ham.”

“I don’t think I want to know what that is, it doesn’t sound very appetizing. Sheetz I’ve actually been to myself. It’s a convenience store chain, but I didn’t think it was exclusive to Pittsburgh.”

“It’s not, but we claim it as ours.”

Thankfully she doesn’t even bring up the word pop, otherwise I’d need to have a full-on debate here and now with her because it is called pop, not soda, and never, ever soda-pop. The fuck.

“What’s a buggy?”

“A shopping cart.”

“Why would you put me in a shopping cart?”

“So you don’t have to walk while we’re food shopping.”

She throws her head back on the kind of laugh I’d record if it wasn’t so fucking loud in here so I could put it on one of my tracks. It’s purer than uncut cocaine. Probably even more potent, too, because instead of feeling numb like I normally do after doing coke, I feel all of my body, every single inch of it, down to the tiny hairs on my wrists standing straight up.

“You should come with your own dictionary. I seriously don’t know what the hell you’re talking about right now.”

I look her face over, then lower my voice to say, “But I like telling you myself.”

I’d take Collette to my hometown in a heartbeat. I’d show her everything, teach her all about the place I grew up and the reason why I talk the way I do. I’d introduce her to…me.

“Speaking of definitions, now that you know about my nickname for you—”

I flinch back from the reminder. I thought I wanted to know, but I didn’t. Not really. I could’ve gone my entire life without learning my nickname’s origin story. I was just starting to like her calling me little lamb, too.

Shit, I still do. She’s the sadist, while I’m a motherfucking masochist through and through. Nobody can hurt me like me, but I’d let Collette try her best.

“—will you tell me why you call me Poohbear?”

“Probably.” Just not right now.

Our drinks are dropped off and I freeze with mine almost to my mouth to watch Collette’s reaction to hers. She takes a sip and hums, then sets it down. A second later, she picks it back up to take another drink, this one bigger. Grinning to myself, I drain half my own glass. She likes it. Of course she likes the combination of sweet and spice. Woman’s got both in fucking spades.

“So…about tonight.”

“Tonight was a shit-show. You can’t do that again.”

“Do what? We had fun together.” Better than fun. It was fucking amazing performing with Collette. Before her, I didn’t think that was even possible—legitimately enjoying this gig.

“Did you forget the part where you sabotaged our song?”

Not exactly. I just can’t remember every second of it. I do remember Collette though. I blinked and she was there, right fucking there, sitting on my lap…until she wasn’t and all I wanted was her body on mine again. I would’ve crawled through flames to get her back, too. And the confession that followed, the one about not having anything to come back to, felt like I had. I’ve never said that shit out loud before. I’ve thought it plenty, and I’ve written hundreds of lyrics about feeling that way, but I’ve never shared anything that honest before, not with anyone.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her because I am. Not to anyone except Collette because I know how much she puts into this whole thing.

“Wow. Was that so hard?”