Page 46 of Cherry Beats

“You and him close?”

“Very.” I nodded softly.

“He kisses you a lot. I’ve seen him.”

“It’s platonic. He’s like a big brother. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“You sure about that?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Why? You jealous?”

Presley laughed softly, never taking his eyes off of mine, but I saw the small scowl of confusion he wore before he shook his head, changed course, and continued to tell me how he would have loved to have been alive during the 60s. All I could do was listen and try not to fall in front of him and pray.

We played Guess the Intro to almost every song in my Spotify collection, and Presley entertained me through my odd loves and fascinations. He was annoyingly perfect at everything, including knowing the songs I thought would definitely get the better of him in the first few bars of the intro. The loser of each round had to down a half a shot of whiskey, and I was on the verge of passing out from both the alcohol and the exhaustion of the night. My body was tired, my mind even more so, but my heart was begging me to stay awake just that little bit longer.

The sun was coming up, illuminating Presley’s apartment with a seductive orange glow. The fire had gone out. Empty bottles, bowls, and shot glasses were scattered everywhere, and the two of us lay on his couch. My head rested against his chest, and my back was pressed against the sofa, completely cocooned in by the main man himself.

Presley’s eyes were closed as he trailed his palm down my arm lazily. My finger was drawing lazy patterns in between his firm pecs, because the more I touched him, the more he felt real to me.

No longer a dream—a wish upon a star.

“Are you scared?” I asked him quietly.

“Of what?” he asked, eyes closed.

“What’s coming next. The journey you’re about to go on.”

“Excited, mainly.”

“I’d be scared.”

“You can’t stop doing what you want to do because you’re scared. You’d never do anything.” He paused, a low moan rumbling in the back of his throat. “And that good fear isn’t real fear. It’s adrenaline.”

“It’s still scary, though.”

“Dreams are scary to chase, Cherry. That’s what makes it so much more satisfying when you finally catch them.”

“Quite the deep little thinker, rock star.”

“Nah. I just say whatever comes to my head. I don’t have time for filters and all that crap.”

“That’s why you hate people wearing masks so much?”

“Exactly.” He pressed a tender kiss to my head, and I closed my eyes, digging my fingers into his chest. “You okay?”

“Yep,” I croaked, quickly clearing my throat. “It’s getting late.”I looked outside at the rising sun while my heart began to sink, slipping away like the moon. “Or early. I should probably think about leaving.”

Presley’s fingers froze, his chest, too, as he held his breath.

“Now?” he finally exhaled.

I looked up at him. “We’ve had our night, right?”

His nostrils flared as he looked at me, and I saw vulnerability in the formidable Presley West that I’d never seen before. “Right. Sure. Yeah. Whatever you think is best.”

There wasn’t a part of me that wanted to leave, but I knew if I stayed any longer, the break would only hurt that much more.

His arm dropped as I released it and tried to climb over him. Now the sun had risen, and daylight was bringing a certain daunting clarity with it, I felt sober and shy. The spare blanket lay on the floor, so I picked it up quickly and wrapped it around my chest, tucking it under my arms before I pushed my hair behind my ears and looked down at Presley.

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