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Imagine that.
Actually, no. Think of puppies. Anything but that.
Alex is rummaging through boxes when she turns to me with a glass bottle full of clear liquid. She holds it up triumphantly with a giant grin on her face. “We have tequila. I hope you don’t mind, but it’s kind of my drink.”
“Tequila sounds amazing.” My mouth pulls into a smile that matches Alex’s as I move toward the pink couch in the middle of the room.
Now that I’m not lost in my own thoughts, I take a moment to look around her apartment. It’s much smaller than Noah’s place, and even though she’s just moved in, I can already tell it won’t be as clinical. Bright pops of color fill the space, peeping out of the boxes that surround us.
Looking a little lost, Alex returns to rummaging through more boxes. “We just need some glasses,” she utters, distracted.
She walks into another room. I assume the kitchen because although her apartment is smaller than Noah’s and not so open plan, the layout looks very similar.
Returning with two coffee mugs, Alex declares, “These will have to do. I’m not that picky about what holds my drink, just what that drink is.”
“Same, girl, same.”
Throwing herself on the couch next to me, Alex hands me one of the white ceramic mugs, gripping her own between her thighs as she unscrews the tequila bottle. When we both have a drink, she places the bottle on the floor between us before leaning back on the couch, completely at ease.
“Moving sucks, and I really hope this place will be it for me for a while.” There’s a comfortable pause as we both sip on our drinks.
Alex asks, “Tell me about yourself, Savannah. Where are you from?”
I relax back into the couch, weirdly comfortable around this woman I’ve only just met. “I was born and raised in Montgomery, Alabama. I’ve been in New York for nearly five years now. Have you always lived in New York?”
“Oh, wow, Montgomery is a really historic city for civil rights. I was born in New York but moved to Sacramento when I was five. How come you moved to the city?”
“I went to college and I’ve been sluggin’ away tryin’ to make it big on Broadway. It’s goin’ real well, as you can tell by my complete lack of stardom.” I turn to face Alex, kicking off my shoes and tucking a leg under myself. “When did you move back to New York?”
There’s definitely something about her energy that just puts me at ease.
Alex takes a sip of her tequila, her brows tugging together as she thinks over her answer. “Well, it’s got to be close to eight years now. I went to college in Chicago and then moved to New York right after. Do you love the city or wish you were back in Montgomery?”
I look down at the clear liquid in my mug, swirling it around as I think over her question. Alex doesn’t press me for an answer.
Finally, I reply, “It’s unbelievable how lonely this city can make you feel. I’m not entirely sure I haven’t gone a bit mad because I’ve started a little game with myself.”
Alex smiles, asking, “Yeah?”
“Don’t judge me, but when I wanna entertain myself a little, I like to test out some of my many accents. Sometimes I nail them, other times I don’t. Pretendin’ to be someone else is all part o’ bein’ a performer. You take on the persona of your character and I like to practice that even when I’m not on stage. Although, y’all do really love my true southern accent.”
Chuckling, Alex replies, “People in New York, for the most part, love different. I can just imagine what sort of reactions you must get if you lay your own accent on thick. It’s so cool that you can almost turn it on and off though.”
With a chuckle, I reply, “It’s taken a lot of practice, believe me.”
We chat for an hour or so, making our way through half the bottle of tequila before I glance at my watch and realize it’s two a.m. Thank goodness it’s Thursday tomorrow and I can at least sleep in until six. I’ll be half drunk and as dead on my feet as I normally am when I walk Miss. Dixie in the morning.
The lights are all off when I stumble my way through the apartment, using the wall for support. I drop my bag on my bedroom floor before I start slipping out of my clothes, throwing them around haphazardly. It’s only when I’m standing in my navy blue lace bra and matching G-string that I remember I need to brush my teeth.
Standing in the middle of my room, I hesitate for a moment. Do I put something on or take a risk and run to the bathroom as I am? Whatever I put on, I’ll only end up taking it off when I get into bed. I really doubt anyone is going to be up at this time of the morning. And Noah and Sutton have an ensuite anyway.
A quick look in the corridor tells me nobody is around and I decide to take the risk and dart across the hallway to the bathroom. Safely inside, I breathe a sigh of relief before I pee and then brush my teeth.
Maybe I can blame it on my alcohol and sleep-addled brain, but it doesn’t even cross my mind to check the hallway again before I head back to my room. If I had thought to, I wouldn’t have found myself face to face with a very broad and very bare chest in the moonlight at the end of the corridor.
Neither of us says a word.
We stare at each other like we’ve been caught in a compromising position. I guess in some ways we have. My head swims from the alcohol and the fire that’s sparking to life in my gut.
