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With that, I broke away from his hold in order to peel my hoodie over my head, and put on some real clothes. I felt his eyes on me, traveling down my bare back as I stepped over to my duffel. Finally, I sensed him shift away to start getting ready himself, hearing the tap water running in the bathroom.
“Hey,” I called, after pulling put a pair of camouflage-patterned cargo pants, I spotted the outfit I wore to Elliot’s party. “You feel like going clubbing or something tonight? I heard there’s some cool places around here. Good music.”
“Uh,” Pierre said between the bristles of his toothbrush. “Actually, I was thinking we could head in early tonight. Maybe tomorrow?”
“But tomorrow night I’m leaving,” I pointed out, turning my neck to look at him. “Why not tonight?”
“No reason,” he replied quickly. “Just thought we’d be a little exhausted. Plus I’d rather us be able to wake up early enough to do something fun before you have to leave.”
Nodding, I turned back to my bag. “Fair enough.”
Suddenly, I remembered something. The text message— Durham Library, 4th floor study room, 10 PM.
Sure, maybe we’d be a little exhausted. But maybe it was a good thing to go sleep early—and maybe it’d give me the chance to do something.
The chance to see what that text was all about.
“How about you give me a tour of the campus?” I said, standing up to stretch the pants over my legs. “We could go before we head into the city, since there’s a tube entrance there.”
“Sure,” Pierre replied, the tone of his voice lightening up. “Good idea.”
Deciding to skip the bra, I pulled on an undershirt and replaced the hoodie back over my shoulders. Looking out the window, I could tell it was going to be a chilly day, so when I couldn’t find any hats or gloves in my own duffel I plucked them out of Pierre’s closet. He wouldn’t mind. Just as I was about to wrap a scarf around my neck, I heard my phone vibrate, and reached for it from the table to see that it was Elliot.
“I need your expert opinion,” Pierre said, walking back into the main room holding two bottles. Hair dye. “Which color should it be?”
Quickly, I declined Elliot’s call. “For who? Me?”
“Me,” Pierre said proudly, and looked down at the bottles. “Am I more, Verdant Green or Lustful Verbena?
“Oh God,” I laughed. “You’re making that shit up.”
Glancing back at my screen, I saw that Elliot had left a voicemail. I’d listen to it later, in the safety and privacy of a public restroom somewhere. Slipping my phone into my back pocket, I walked over to Pierre and took the bottles from him to read their labels. Then, I reached up to run my fingers through his messy bangs as if I were his hairstylist.
“First of all, you can’t be either one until we bleach your hair. You’re too dark for these colors.”
“I assumed so,” he replied, shrugging. Without warning, he dipped his head down to mine and planted a kiss on my forehead before stepping past me. “We can stop at a store along the way. Let’s go.”
“Yeah,” I said, feeling the guilt start to seep into me as my phone vibrated again in my pocket. “Let’s go.”
