Page 414 of Rock Me All Night
"You too."
* * *
For the next few days, Tom and I text about nothing and everything. Those little details that make up the day. Running out of eggs in the middle of making breakfast. My attempts at trimming my bangs. A picture of a particularly decadent iced coffee/chocolate cupcake combination. He sends pictures from his morning runs. Play by plays of his mom and Pete's commentary as they watch trashy reality TV. Requests for movie picks that will please his mom.
Then it's the concert, and Tom is barely here.
The next few days, our texts about nothing spread thinner. Thinner.
The next concert, I don't even get a chance to say hello.
I try to give Tom space to deal with whatever it is that's keeping him away. It's good for me to focus on my work. When I'm not assisting Hazel on one of her passion projects, I'm researching opening a boudoir studio. I'm still too shy to ask a model to pose for me but I'm not willing to wait any longer to practice.
So I take self-portraits.
Completely mortifying self-portraits I'm never going to show anyone.
Except that I want to show Tom. I resist for days. I throw myself into work. Until I'm alone in my hotel room, well past midnight, unable to sleep because my thoughts are stuck on him.
I have to call.
"Hey, kid," he answers. "You ring me up this time of night, I'm going to think it's a booty call."
I laugh. Everything feels easier with his voice in my ears. I've missed him. "How have you been?"
"Two flights every four days. Living the dream." His voice drops. "You haven't asked why I've been away."
"Last time I asked, you said you'd tell me later."
"You trust me?"
"Yeah." I really do. "Whenever you decide you want to talk about it, I'm here to listen."
"Do I get tolisten?" he asks.
Oh. Yes please. "You don't have to bribe me with emotional confessions. I... I liked doing that with you." My cheeks flush. "We're in a hotel today. I'm alone."
"Fuck yes." He lets out a sigh of pleasure. "We should talk first. I'll be incoherent after."
"How are you so comfortable with yourself?" I ask. "I don't think I could ever say anything like that."
"Practice. Try it."
"What specifically?"
"Tell me how you'll feel after you come."
God, I'm burning up. "Um..."
"Anything. Even a single word."
"Good."
His laugh is sweet. "Anything else?"
"Like I wish you were here."
The sound that comes out of the speakers is a lot less sweet. It's a heavy, needy sigh.
