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“I thought there were clothes in there.”
“Nah. Those would be in the closet.” He removed two-cylinder glasses from a rack and then looked back at me.
“What’s your poison?”
“Whatever you give me.”
“Fair enough.” He mixed two drinks and then carried them over, a bottle of water wedged between them.
“This is for you.”
“Thanks,” I accepted both my drink and the water, placing them on the nearest nightstand.
He got himself situated beside me, placing the pizza box between us. We agreed on some Netflix series called Rectify and ate in silence for the first twenty minutes of it.
“Mickey didn’t bother you too much last night, did he?”
I shook my head, wiping at my mouth with a napkin. “Mickey never bothers anyone. Why? Are you friends?”
He laughed softly, but there wasn’t any humor in it. “I’m not friends with any of my–for lack of a better term, ‘clients’.”
Clients? “Oh,” I nodded when I caught on. “Weed.”
“It started with weed. He’s a pill-head, baby-girl.”
“What? No way. Mickey’s…”
“A recreational pill popper.”
“But…he’s an athlete.”
“He’s all the things you and everyone else know him to be,” he replied flippantly. “No one’s ever who they say are. We’re all liars in some way or another, covering our ugly truths with pretty lies.”
An unspoken, even you lingered between us. I traded my napkin for my drink, nearly sighing when the taste of gin hit my tongue.
“Sooo, you’re a drug dealer?” Was it screwed up that this didn’t bother me even a little bit? It was as simple to me as him announcing the sky was blue.
“I’m a lot of things, but the only one that matters for right now is that I’m yours, and you’re safe.”
The last part through me, but I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t too sure how to respond.
We eventually became engrossed in the show he’d put on, and apart from me discovering my ex needed an intervention, I dared say I had my first normal evening in what felt like ages.
The conversation came naturally, staying in the safe zone, casual and not too deeply personal, but still revealing enough to learn small things about one another. Things were relaxed, so much so that after episode ten of our series I fell asleep.
I swore the ringing of a phone was what roused me. When I finally peeled opened my eyes, it was dark outside, and Rhett wasn’t in the room. I’d been covered with the throw from his loveseat, and the pizza box and dishes were gone.
Using the palm of my hand I rubbed my eyes and pushed myself up into a sitting position. I was nothing less than shocked that I’d fallen asleep here.
I ran my fingers over my lips to make sure there was no drool. That’d of been a great way to add to my mortification. I searched the surrounding area for my cell, spotting it on the nightstand.
I grabbed it and checked the few notifications I had. A few emails, a couple text. Two from the girls, another from someone I wasn’t ready to deal with, and Mickey, which was unexpected.
I replied to three of four, noted the time was eight-o-clock, and climbed out of bed, reluctantly leaving my warm spot. Finding the bathroom was a gamble. Both doors on the other side of the room were side by side. The last thing I wanted was Rhett to come back and it look like I was snooping.
Luckily, I picked correctly. The space was huge, the biggest jacuzzi tub I’d seen thus far centered in the room with a shower a few feet away.
I ignored both and went to the double sink, checking my reflection. I smoothed down my hair, and then rinsed my mouth with water and a small bit of mouthwash sitting on the vanity.
We got back at the same time. Me coming from the restroom and him the hallway—half dressed. I froze, my feet stopped moving, hand still on the light-switch I’d just turned to off.
“Sleeping Beauty awakes,” he teased, pulling his bedroom door shut.
I couldn’t reply, to busy staring at the wonderful work of art that was him. The lamp on his nightstand cast a light glow in the room, making him look even better.
His entire torso was a valley of shaded peaks and dents. I’d thought Mickey had the best bod ever, but he didn’t have an eight-pack. Or a large tattoo of the Hindu goddess Kali, complete with fangs and a lolling tongue dominating his entire front.
Above it, creeping onto the center of his throat was a pale-pinkish lotus flower. Arms covered in various images that ran together, I’d have been there all the night studying his flesh paintings if not for him calling my name.
“Come here Nova,” he commanded like he had earlier. Softly, but with a firm undertone.
I went to him, stopping a hairs breadth away. He took hold of my hands and placed them on his chest. “Better?”
