Isn’t that a stupid question?
So…you’re awake then?
No. I sleep text. It’s a bad habit.
Like thinking out loud?
Yes, just like that.
I love when you think out loud.
Well, someone has to.
There’s a long gap where the texting stops and I’m not sure if it’s my fault for being too blunt or if he’s fallen asleep. I lay the phone down on my chest and close my eyes. The buzz thrums through my chest like a purr.
Jules?
Yeah?
You really should try to sleep.
You keep texting me.
You want me tostop?
No.
Good. I don’t want to stop either.
Shouldn’t you worry about disturbing Sylvie?
Why? I doubt she can hear us. There is a staircase and at least three walls between us and her room.
She has the room at the other end?
Yeah, opposite Tom’s.
Oh.
Why? Where did you think she was?
Doesn’t matter.
You thought she was in here?
Damn him for always knowing what I’m thinking. Still, she wasn’t with him.I just assumed he sent her to his room. Does this mean she isn’t his girlfriend?It does, right?Why does that make me so happy? I hadn’t really got a good look at the girl yet. Between having my head between my knees the other day at the hospital, and arriving in the dark tonight, all I can tell is that she’s pretty. I assume she is around my age, though she could be younger given the way she behaves. She also has a serious disregard for personal boundaries, but none of that means she’s romantically involved with Dax.Thank goodness.
Jules?
What do I reply to that? If I say I suspected she was with him, would that make me appear jealous? If I say I didn’t then he’ll probably be able to tell I’m lying.
Why aren’t you responding?
Because I don’t want to look like an idiot, Dax.But I don’t reply with that. I don’t reply at all. Instead, I place the phone on the side and think about us in the car.Remember flexibility,he’d said. He wants me to be flexible. Does he mean flexibility when it comes to Sylvie? Perhaps what he really means is patient?
“But if he isn’t with Sylvie, does that mean the heat in the car was exactly what I think it was?”
“Well, that depends on what you thought it was, Jules.” Dax stands at the end of the bed. I hadn’t noticed him come in, but he emerges from the darkness of the room as though his voice materialised him. He’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of grey cotton sleep pants. I shoot up to the headboard, forgetting to drag the blankets with me. My knees hit my chest before I notice they’re bare. I slam them down again and yank his t-shirt, stretching it awkwardly to cover myself. And why can’t I tear my eyes away from his chest? His smooth chest. His build is what I think they call athletic. Defined but not built. His skin is warm-toned and creamy soft…would it feel like silk? Why isn’t he wearing a shirt? And why do his pyjama pants match the tee I’m wearing? O…oh.
