I blink awake the next morning, a little worse for wear—and roll over towards my bedside table praying to the Lord on high that drunk me (understatement) had the good sense to leave sober me (overstatement) a glass of water.
She did, bless her.
I don’t remember how I got home, actually. I want it to have been BJ, but it wasn’t because he’s not here in my bed. I haven’t woken up without him being next to me for a while now. We’re having sleep overs too often if I’m waking up feeling strange that he’s not here.
But I’ve never really liked it when he’s not here—we were together too long, loved each other in such an intertwined way that his absence makes me feel uneasy. And he can’t be alone, so I know if he’s not with me then he’s with someone else and that’s too heavy a thought for the morning time.
I can’t help but wonder if he went home with Taura? Probably he did. That’s what we do. Spend all our time together, get too close, get too scared. He’ll fuck around, I’ll get a boyfriend again soon. He’ll hate him, probably so will I, and BJ and I will be back to normal.
Normal is relative, I know. Normal for two broken hearts who can’t fit their pieces with anyone but each other.
My bedroom door swings open and Marsaili marches in, carrying a tray table full of breakfast and a pot of tea. She clatters it down on my bedside table extremely loudly and extremely on purpose on account of my hangover. I glare over at her and she gives me an amused smile.
“One’s head must hurt this morning,” she tells me.
I sweep my hair over my shoulders and pour my own tea like a normal person; I like it better when Louisa brings me breakfast. She actually serves it.
“Yes, well—” I give her a delicate look. “We can’t all stand sullenly in the corner of our employer’s fragrance launch, can we?”
She rolls her eyes, and then gives me a look. “Velvet Seduction?”
I put up my hand to silence her. “Please stop.”
Marsaili does an involuntary shiver. And then my bedroom door swings open again. In walks BJ with a Chanel gift bag.
Black and white, zodiac map shirt from Valentino, the black and very torn wash-blowout, slim-leg jeans from Purple Brand and the black and marshmallow earth Old Skool Vans.
“Listen, Parks. Are we—” BJ starts then stops when he sees Marsaili. Gives her a big grin. “Mars.”
“BJ.” She rolls her eyes. “You didn’t stay over?”
He grins at her brilliantly. “Thought I’d give you a night off; we don’t want those frown lines setting in…”
I give him an exasperated look. She rolls her eyes again so far back I’m just positive she must have gotten an ocular headache, and then she saunters away.
“I think she’s warming to me,” he says, watching after her.
(“She’s not,” Mars calls back without turning around.)
“So.” He gives me a look. “Last night was fun…”
“Last night and in the day time?” I ask, eyebrows up. “Busy boy.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Beej sighs, shoving his hands through his hair.
It’s strange, actually. He has so much sex, so much—and he’ll bring it up whenever he pleases if it’ll get a rise out of me, but he doesn’t like it when I talk about it.
“I hate fighting with you, Parks,” he tells me.
“Then don’t do it.” I shrug, wondering when he’ll just hand me that bloody gift bag.
“Can’t help it,” he tells me and my eyes snag on his mouth.
Beej clears his throat, and I flick my eyes back up to his eyes, my cheeks flushing ever so slightly.
“You’re just a massive pain in the arse,” he tells me, his cheeks a bit pink too.
I wonder whether we’re going to kiss. I always wonder whether we’re going to kiss. We never do. Nor should we. Our eyes hold like our hands won’t.
I love you, he blinks.
Prove it, I sigh.
I feel glad that I’m wearing the Noelle Martine lace-trimmed, satin pyjamas from Morgan Lane + LoveShackFancy co-lab because it’s very short and it shows my midriff which is terribly toned right now and I hope he thinks about me without my clothes and I think he must because he presses his hand into his mouth and swallows.
“Alright, Parks.” He gives me a measured look. “Scale of one to ten, how mad are we talking?”
I eye him. “Ten! Very ten! Now give me the Chanel bag.”
He chuckles as he tosses it down on the bed.
“Which one is it!” I grab for it, excited.
He smiles, eyes watching me in a way that one could argue might be too familiar and too comfortable for exes, but I don’t want to argue that. “The one you wanted.”
“Pink lambskin, gold-tone metal with the jewels?”
He nods as he sits down on my bed, laying back on it.
I clasp my bag to my chest and lie down next to him. “Thank you.”
Beej nods again, his eyes tracing the cornice on my ceiling like he always does when his mind and his mouth can’t quite connect.
“I’m sorry,” he says eventually, glancing at me. “—About Taura. I know she makes you sad.”
I pull back, swallow a bit nervous. I don’t know why. “You never say sorry to me for that kind of thing.”
He looks a bit raw; his eyes go back up to the ceiling. “Yeah but—I don’t like making you sad.”
I copy him, staring up. “I don’t like making you sad either.” I wish we could stop. I don’t know why we can’t seem to.
I look over at him. “Take me shopping?”
He smiles and nods. “I get to watch you shower though.”
“Deal.” I nod.
He sits up, cannot believe his luck. “Really?”
“Nope!” I sing as I skip away.
He calls after me, “I’m taking this bag back.”
