Like it’s remarkable that someone would actually pay attention to me.
“We should probably head out,” my mom announces to the group. “We only have the bus until seven.”
Everyone starts gathering coats and bags. Rodriguez appears next to me, steadying me when I sway slightly getting up from the table. The room tilts just a fraction before settling.
“How many samples did you have?”
“I don’t know. Eight? Nine?”
“That’s like three and a half beers, JuJu.” His hand is on my elbow, solid and grounding. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. Just warm in here.”
He helps me into my coat, adjusting the blue scarf without even asking. His fingers brush the side of my neck and I try really hard not to react to the contact.
On the bus ride back, Rodriguez claims the window seat again and pulls me against his side before I can think about where to sit. I let myself lean into him because it’s easier than sitting up straight and also because he’s warm and I’m tired and the bus is moving in that steady rhythm that makes staying awake feel impossible.
His hand finds mine again. Fingers threading together like it’s something we do all the time, like it’s natural.
I should pull away and remember this is temporary and fake and definitely not real.
But my eyes are starting to droop. My head feels too heavy for my neck and his shoulder is right there, solid and convenient. The combination of his hand in mine and the bus vibration and the warmth of him is making everything else fade away, the conversations around us, Melissa and Garrett somewhere behind us, the fact that I should be maintaining some kind of boundary here.
I close my eyes and drift somewhere between awake and asleep while the bus carries us through the Toronto streets I used to know by heart.
“Hey,” he says quietly, his voice pulling me back. “We’re almost back.”
“Okay.” My voice is thick with sleep.
“You fell asleep on me.”
“Did not.” But I definitely did. I can feel the imprint of his shoulder on my cheek.
“You definitely did. You were drooling.”
I sit up fast, my hand going to my mouth. “Iwas not?—”
He’s grinning. “Got you.”
“You’re terrible.”
“You love it.”
The bus pulls up to the hotel and everyone files off slowly, buzzed and content. My legs are unsteady and Rodriguez keeps a hand on my elbow until we’re inside, guiding me through the lobby like I might tip over without the support.
Back in the room,I kick off my boots and head straight for the bathroom. My makeup needs touching up and my hair is a complete mess from the wind and from falling asleep on Rodriguez’s shoulder.
Rodriguez is on his phone when I come back out, sprawled on the bed.
“So, uh, Owen got my number and just texted me,” he says. “Olivia wants to go out tonight. Some club downtown. She wants to know if we’re coming.”
“Tonight? We just spent all afternoon drinking.”
“I’m very aware. But apparently Owen’s friends are only here for a few days and they want to make the most of it.” He’s scrolling through messages. “Garrett and Melissa are going too.”
Of course they are.
“I’m exhausted,” I say, sitting on the small couch.
