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“Can I ask you something?”
He glanced up and gave a single nod. “Sure.”
“My creativity is purple. I don’t know what that means, but what do I feel like?” I skimmed my fingers over his forearm.
“You mean what does it taste like when you touch me?” He eyed my lingering fingers and wore this tiny, coy smile. It drove me crazy.
“Yes.” I trailed my fingers further up his arm to skim the line of his sleeve around his bicep.
He snatched my wrist again. “Like a sunrise. It’s purple and sweet. Warm and bright, like taking a bite of a fresh peach.”
“A peach.”
“A purple one.” He nodded, holding my gaze so I knew he wasn’t kidding. “Don’t ask. I can’t explain it more than that.”
I laughed. “No wonder you don’t talk about it more. I want to ask what a purple peach tastes like, but I’m sure that’s like asking what a regular peach tastes like. Without tasting one, how can you even explain it?”
He nodded along with my words, pushing his plate back. “I struggle sometimes. But I would always try for you.”
I smiled. “Just for me?”
“Don’t pretend like you don’t know how very little patience I have for anyone else.” He wiped his mouth and tossed his napkin on his plate.
“What do I feel like when you touch me?”
“Fresh air. Like I can breathe. Happiness. More purple.” He closed his eyes and slid his hand around the back of my neck. “Captured in flower-filled fields.
Captivated by joined hearts.
Created, made for one another.”
My heart felt like it would explode. “Where is that from?”
“I made it up.” He opened his eyes and returned to his breakfast like it was nothing.
“Do you write music?”I asked. How much did I not know about him?
Royal lifted his shoulders. “No. I write down what I feel sometimes. How music tastes or the colors. How things make me feel. They aren’t lyrics.”
“I like when you share them with me.”
He nodded like it made him uncomfortable. “What are we doing today since it’s the weekend and we don’t have group?”
“Maybe we should explore the island. The concierge chick said there were lots of activities. We could start treating this like a real vacation.”
“I’d like that. I mean, I’d like to fuck you all day more, but it’s probably healthy to touch some grass.”
“Who said you can’t fuck me on our excursion?”
TWENTY-TWO
Royal
I’d never had anyone so curious about how my synesthesia worked. It made me warm in the chest. I’d always had strong feelings for Aspen, that much was clear even to myself by how much I’d always protected him, but the tides had shifted. Or maybe I was allowing myself to feel those things I’d kept under the surface.
“What activity are you interested in?” I asked, unsure how to be a normal person at this point in my career. We did a lot of skateboarding when we could on tour, and we played soccer on our down time, but both felt stolen and not really feasible most of the time because of our schedule and Aspen’s new level of fame.
I wanted to get Aspen out. So he felt normal and wasn’t wildly swinging between horny and intrusive thoughts. I knew I deserved it, and I didn’t know how to make it better. I thought fucking him this morning would help, but he still appeared all over the place.
