Page 69 of Dirty Chorus

“So you’re a perv...” She gathers up hair on her cheeks, peeling them off her skin.

“There’s nothing wrong with a guy having one. I can suction that thing to anything. You never know, I might have holes in my wall that I’ve had to patch up.”

She tilts her head back and laughs. “You’re stupid.”

“I think it’s still in the box, actually.” I scratch the back of my head. “We can go find it,” I point to the hallway with a thumb and wiggle my eyebrows.

“Oh my God, why are we talking about this?”

“It helped you stop crying, didn’t it?”

“Well, I don’t think you’re a huge red flag or a horrible person... I think... I think I have...” she says with a heavy breath, and she bites her bottom lip, shaking her head as if her brain is telling her to shove it back down her throat. You have what? Finish that statement, please.

“She might be worried if you don’t go home.” My mouth is dry as I take another sip of my tea and play with the tea bag.

“Do you want me to leave?” she asks, and that question is a trap. I know it.

“No, not if you don’t want to. You can take my bed, and I can sleep on the couch.”

“Would you sleep next to me?” she asks, and I’m not sure if I’m crossing a line if I agree to it. This is a trap either way, and I’m staring down the barrel of a gun with her on the other end. I’m going to be shot with more feelings I’m avoiding. I’m tired, and torn between wanting her, but also knowing her mother has a point.

“Sure...” I glance back down at my half-drunk tea, and now it’s lukewarm and all the honey has sunk to the bottom. I take another sip, and it’s colder on my lips than I expected. “I’m pretty beat, and I have to open the store in the morning.”

I place both hands on my knees, lifting myself up, and holding out a hand. She gathers her purse and takes my hand. I shut off the lights as we stroll down the hallway to my room. The door closes behind me, and she goes to my bed and drops down on the mattress, untying her shoes and placing them neatly next to my nightstand along with her purse.

I untie my joggers, letting them fall to my ankles, and I pull my shirt over my head. “I usually sleep hot, hope that’s okay with you.” I bundle up my clothes and place them in my hamper.

“That’s fine.” She says.

“Do you want to borrow a shirt?”

“No, these are my pajamas, actually.”

I plop back down on the mattress. “I like to be closer to the door when I sleep.”

Charlie scoots over, kicking the comforter and sheets before dipping her legs underneath. She fluffs and beats the spare pillow as I adjust myself.

I’m not sure how long we lay there. It’s dark in the room, but I can see each time she blinks, and every so often a car passes by and its headlights bleed through the room. Her hair spills all over the pillow. She scoots closer, and baby-soft fingers trace the outlines of my tattoos on my arms, her nails grazing my skin.

“I don’t think I can really sleep,” she says.

“Yeah... I feel the same way. We can chat if you want.”

“Okay...” she taps a finger to her lips. “Do you ever plan on cutting your hair?” she asks as she twirls a messy strand around her finger, her eyes following the motion. “It’s almost longer than mine.”

I prop myself up with an elbow, glancing down at how the moonlight makes her skin glow a radiant grey. “Would you still think I’m cute if I cut it?” I find a loose strand of her own hair falling over her face and tuck it behind an ear.

“I won’t have anything to pull,” she shrugs. Our knees and feet brush underneath the sheets.

“What do you think I’m gonna do? Get a buzz cut?” I run a hand down her smooth arms, and make my way down and grasp her thigh pulling her closer.

Charlie’s palm slides down my chest and rests against the erratic rhythm of my heartbeat. “Your heart’s pounding,” she says, and I’m mesmerized by the grey glint in her eyes.

“Yeah, I don’t usually have sleep-overs with girls I like.” I lean in, capturing her lips in a kiss. Her mouth parts open, and her tongue dances with mine. She tastes like heaven. It’s sweet and something uniquely her. If I'm actually doing any drugs, it’s her.

“Noah...” Her voice trembles with need. Her nails trail down my biceps as she kisses me with a hunger that matches my own. I groan into her mouth, my grip tightening against her waist. “Any girl out there would be lucky to have you.” My heart does somersaults, and her eyes are genuine and big, and pretty with those words. I’d be lucky to have you. But I can’t get those words out of my vocal box.

“I’m going to try to sleep,” I say between her lips, and trail a few kisses down her cheek to the crease of her neck.