Whatever was still intact of my heart breaks beautifully. I can barely get the words out when I gruffly reply, “I’m… beyond flattered. Thank you, love.”
For several minutes, I pet Sage in long strokes, feeling her body gradually relax against me. One of her hands twitches, accompanied by a cute little snort sound, and I realize she’s actually drifted off lying on top of me. I wait a few more minutes to make sure she’s fully asleep, then edge onto my side,depositing her on the bed and stretching to pull the duvet diagonally over her as far as it’ll reach.
I sit up and shut off the lamp, then roll Sage’s way, watching her face in the light from the balcony doors, which are still open. Hopefully the neighbors didn’t gettoomuch of a theatrical soundtrack, but to be honest, I’m beyond caring. Looking at this lovely creature, serene and unglamorously real in sleep, is everything I could want.
I move a curl of hair off her face and lean in to kiss her right eyebrow. “I fuckin’ love you, Salvi,” I say just above a whisper to her unconscious self.
As I’m reaching for my pillow, I’m stunned when she replies in a drowsy mumble, “I love you too.”
I freeze, propped on an elbow, one hand clutching the pillow, and watch her. Did she say it in her sleep? I can’t tell. And if so, does that make it invalid? Or does it mean she’s revealed something of her secret, guarded heart?
Sinking onto the pillow, I decide that whichever it is… I’ll still take it.
“Oh, fuck. We probably reallydidwreck this woman’s bed,” Sage says, laughing.
I struggle up from an unexpectedly deep sleep to find Sage on her knees, scowling down at the sheets in the wan pre-sunrise light. She stands on the futon and hops down, then heads across the room in full, gloriously naked view of the windows and ducks into the small bathroom. I hear her habitual sequence: shower water, screech, laugh.
I get up and pull on my boxers, then follow her in. The little room is outfitted in retro décor, right down to the walls tiled in 1970s mirror squares marbled in gold. My bladder is insistent, but I’m gripped by a wave of self-consciousness and lean on the counter, waiting.
Sage soaps herself in the most bewitching way, and the only thing preventing me from joining her in the glass shower cubicle is the fact that I have to piss rather miserably. I think she senses it, because she waves a hand at the loo. “Are you, uh… Should I turn around so you can pee? You look nervous.”
I didn’t expect to be uneasy about such a simple thing, but as it comes to it, I’ve never had a degree of familiarity with any woman that extends to this issue. “It’s ridiculous, I know.”
She smiles indulgently before turning away and continuing her enthusiastic lathering. “Guess it’s on-brand for you though. You’re not uptight about sex—thank God—but, like… I noticed you don’t have social media, aside from the blog itself. You seem private about some things.”
“The blog is still inactive.” I shuck my boxers and step up to relieve myself. “I wanted to talk with you about that, in fact. I’d love to do an article on you, a complimentary one, to make up for… well, all the complete shite I posted before.”
“Huh. Maybe?” She sidesteps into the shower spray, and I’m touched at the way she’s giving me privacy rather than mocking me as I half expected. “But I dunno, Sand. I think I like just being, uh, whatever this is with us. More than being ‘interviewer and subject’ or whatever. I always feel kinda guarded with journalists. I don’t want to be like that with you.”
My heart does a small skip at her reveal—that she specificallywants to nurture trust with me. I do my best to keep a casual tone when I say, “That’s fair.” I push down the flush handle and it apparently depletes the cold water instantly, based on Sage’s shriek. “Oh bugger, I’m sorry,” I tell her, stepping into the shower with her. “Here, misery loves company. I’ll take it.” I duck into the scorching spray, and Sage passes the soap to me. As I work up handfuls of suds, the water returns to a bearable temperature. We swap places, and I wash while Sage rinses off.
“So yeah, why don’t you have any accounts?” she asks. “Or do you, but they’re all secret?”
I can’t help my smile. “You checked?”
“Yeah, obviously. I wanted to see, like, your normal life. Friends and stuff. Do you have pics?” A flicker of alarm passes her face. “Wait, do you havefriends?”
I chuckle. “I do. And plenty of photos on my mobile. But I don’t post them anywhere.” We switch places again. “This may sound dramatic, but I was kidnapped briefly as a child, and I’ve been leery of social media since. The type that announces where you are, what you’re doing, and with whom. I don’t—”
“Whoa whoawhoa,” Sage interrupts with a laugh, holding up one hand. “You can’t just drop an ‘I got kidnapped once.’ What the fuck? How old were you?”
I wet my hair, then examine the shampoo options. “Nine years old. We were traveling—my family. It was surprisinglyuntraumatic. It was obvious my parents had money, I was wandering unsupervised, three men herded me into a van, my parents were informed, money was exchanged. I was back before supper, entirely unharmed.” I squeeze a dollop ofsomething coconut-scented into my palm and wash my hair. “I wasn’t even frightened after the first five minutes. They gave me candy and a stack of comic books to pass the time. But I’m cautious now about pointlessly announcing my whereabouts or publicly volunteering who my friends are.”
“Wow. That’s… not what I expected. I figured you don’t have social media so you can avoid women you’ve fucked.”
I rinse my hair and wipe the sudsy water from my eyes, then give Sage a wink. “Just a fringe benefit, pet.”
“Oh my God, you suck,” she says with a laugh, stepping out of the shower and grabbing a towel. “CanIlook at pics of your friends? Do you have, like, a bestie?”
“Of course. Badrick Jones is my best mate, since forever. And yes, you can look. My mobile’s on the kitchen counter.”
The instant I say it, I wish I hadn’t. What if CJ has sent a message badgering me again about “getting dirt”? But if I call out to Sage now, retracting my offer, it sends up an obvious flag.
I scramble to finish rinsing myself and shut the water off, listening for any word from Sage that might indicate a problem. Snatching a towel off the rack, I whip it around my hips and exit the bathroom, nearly colliding with Sage as she wanders back in.
She looks up from the mobile’s screen and turns it around. “This guy? That’s Bardrick?”
“Badrick, yes.” I watch as Sage swipes through pics from a party at Bad’s new digs, when he moved in with Laurent. I’m glad it wasn’t one where I took a date.
