A soft knock came from the door. It was nearing 2:00A.M.I shuffled over, knowing it would be Dex even before I opened it and found him standing there in a black T-shirt and sweatpants. His face, his presence, landed like a rescue plane touching down in a desert. Salvation, or something close to it.
If he noticed hints of my shower meltdown, he didn’t show it. He pressed a palm to the doorframe, leaning on it, and said, “Do you want a drink?”
Tears pricked my eyes again.
“God, yes, please,” I replied. “But I don’t know if I can leave Phoebe?”
“Twenty minutes.” That Diet Coke feeling from earlier returned, taking over my gut as he persuaded me to spend time with him. “Put the Do Not Disturb sign up. She’ll be fine.”
I nodded. I knew she was out for the night, but I left a note anyway.
A few patrons sat around the hotel bar, none of them paying mind to the exhausted someones clad in pajamas. I bent forward to rest my head against the cool linoleum table as Dex got us drinks. I’d mumbled something about strawberry margaritas on the elevator ride down, the first drink I had on my twenty-firstbirthday made by my dad. It became a comfort drink, one I only turned to on really great days, or really lousy ones. When I turned my head and caught sight of Dex returning with two strawberry margaritas, I wondered which this night would turn out to be.
“Thank you,” I said, sitting up as he set the glasses down. He sat across from me, eyes snagging mine. “For the drink and… this.”
“Couldn’t sleep.” His fingers danced along the stem of his glass. “I figured you couldn’t, either.”
I reached for my margarita, squirming slightly. “Why?”
“You were weird at the bar.”
“Was I that obvious?”
“No.” His brow furrowed and he averted his gaze across the room. “I just noticed.”
A warmth rose up my neck and I tucked a damp strand of hair behind my ear. To be noticed by him seemed like an extraordinary thing, a rare sort of occurrence that shifted the world off its axis.
A bit breathless, I blurted, “Bree’s really nice. I like her a lot.”
“She’s something,” he said and took a long pull from his drink. “She liked you too. And Phoebe.”
“Phoebe adored her. She’s everything she wants to be.”
He looked at me, and I knew he understood.
“It’s nothing,” I said, waving off the shame and hurt feelings before he had the chance to offer wisdom or, worse, judgment. Because really, how awful was I for a stab of jealousy over my sister admiring someone else? Pathetic, selfish, cruel, small. Our mom bailed before Phoebe was out of premature onesies and our dad was dead; I should’ve welcomed any and all role models. “It got to me tonight. Whatever. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Dex nodded, running his finger along the rim of his glass. I watched it work its way around twice before crossing my legs and taking another sip of my drink.
“It’s supposed to rain tomorrow,” he said.
“What?”
“A storm.” His flippant tone didn’t sound ingenuine, but I knew him by now. “It’s supposed to be pretty bad, I guess. High wind advisory.”
“What is this? What are you doing?”
“Small talk. You like small talk.”
“You don’t.”
He shrugged. Like it was no skin off his back to take part in something he hated, for me.
“You never answered me, you know,” I said. His gaze grew more intense. “What do you consider us? Friends? Acquaintances? Am I the girl who fucked you over and you’re counting the days until you never have to see me again?”
He smirked. “I invited you out for a drink.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
