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“Got it,” I said, trying to sound normal. “Thanks.”
I bought two packages, because we still had weeks left in this tour and maybe she’d run out again. The cashier gave me a double take, because no matter what year it is, people are still weird about men buying this shit. Then I walked back to the hotel, the wordsyour girlstill ringing through my head.
In my room, I changed into sweatpants and a soft white tee. Then, bag in hand, I knocked on Brit’s door.
She opened it wearing her bathrobe, which she was clutching closed over her chest. Her hair was damp from the shower.
I held up the drugstore bag, raising an eyebrow. “Lady supplies?”
She made a sound in her throat and grabbed the bag from me, turning to go into the bathroom.
She was in there for so long that I had time to peruse the room service menu and order some food. Then, thinking of the woman’s advice, I grabbed the room’s laundry bag, dumped most of Brit’s clothes into it from her suitcase, and called to have the bag picked up, with rush service to have everything clean by morning. I had just put the bag outside the door when she came out of the bathroom again.
The TV remote had fallen to the floor, so I bent to pick it up. Brit murmured something under her breath that sounded like “sweatpants of Satan.”
“What?” I asked, standing up again.
“Nothing.”
I turned to face her. “Is everything all right?”
Our gazes locked. “I might be embarrassed,” Brit said. “I haven’t decided.”
We let that simmer between us for a minute. This was weirdly intimate for two people who had agreed to be friends. Then again, I’d seen her naked a few days ago—gloriously, consensually, fantastically, orgasmically naked. And, well, I’d had to wipe my come off her skin, so there was that. We were in no-man’s land.
I gestured to the bed. “Sit down. There’s food coming in a minute. We’ll watch TV.”
That seemed to fluster her. We had traveled all day, and we had the night off before the show tomorrow. “We don’t have to stay in. Don’t you have plans?”
Was that a real question? We’d been doing this for weeks. “Sure, I have plans,” I said. “I was gonna go clubbing. You know, my usual. Get fucked up, get laid. I’ve always hated coke, but I think tonight I’ll do enough to change my mind.”
“Knock it off,” she said, a little sharply. “I’m in a horrible mood.”
“You’re hangry,” I said.
“I amnothangry. That isn’t a word. I’m tired, and you’re…” She trailed off, waving her hands up and down in my direction. “What is this?”
I glanced down at myself. “What is what?”
“I can’ttakethis,” she complained. “You’re all sexy and amazing, and I have the apocalypse happening inside my body right now.”
Fuck it. I stepped forward, put my fingers to her jaw, and kissed her. Nicely, for once. No tongue. Just sweet and soft, because maybe she wasn’t my girl, but right now, for tonight, in this moment, she was.
“Better?” I asked when I broke the kiss. She didn’t have time to answer, because there was a knock on the door. The room service was here.
Despite her claim not to be hangry, Brit ate most of her dinner and all of her chocolate dessert. An hour later we were sitting on the bed together, deciding what to watch. I let her pick, and she chose a true crime documentary about gruesome murder.
“This is what you like watching?” I asked.
“At this time of month, always,” was the reply.
“It’s disturbing.”
“That’s why I like it.”
She leaned back into the pillows, her bathrobe wrapped around her like a cocoon. She wore sleep shorts and a cotton camisole under it. Layers of armor. The food, the chocolate, and the murder show were relaxing her and making her sleepy.
She caught me looking at her. “What?” she asked.
