Page 18

* * *

I slip out of bed and stare. He might be something but, for now, I have to go. I dress in the living room. I’m so fucking tired. It’s going to be an all-day Starbucks kind of day. I call down to the desk, get some info, and place an order. I take out my purple pen and write him a note on the hotel stationery.

10

Alex

I wake up alone. It’s how I usually wake up, but today it’s lonely. I throw on my sweats and hope she’s in the living room writing. I don’t know what time her flight is, but there’s a knock at the door. I’m shocked to discover it’s 11:30. I don’t usually sleep that late. Could be the multiple times I came over the last twelve hours. She’s freaking incredible. My flight’s in three hours. I need to get moving. I answer the door, she’s nowhere, and the room service guy wheels in a table. There’s a daisy on it. I hope she did that on purpose in exchange for the keychain.

I reach to sign the bill. “Ms. McGuire paid. Good tip too! Call down when you’re done.”

I scan the room for any sign of what has happened to Ms. McGuire. And then I see it blazing in purple Flair ink.

Dearest Mr. Alex Bishop,

I thought you needed to sleep. Please excuse my note. Enjoy the hell out of the next five weeks and six days. I won’t be listening. It’s a unique thing you’re in the middle of, and I’m envious you’re in the thick of things. I love an engrossing project. I’m obsessive too. Shelve the idea of us for a minute. Deep dive into what you love.

Tonight wasn’t what I expected. It was so much more. I look forward to talking to you. My breasts will miss you.

We’ll speak on the other side of midterms.

215-255-9779

However, if you change your mind about me, about us, then I’ll understand.

But know I’ll always hope to cross paths with you again.

Someday.

Thanks for the orgasms.

Sincerely,

Ms. Tess McGuire

P.S. Late check out is 1p.m. Your valet claim number—245684,

I ordered brunch. Eat a veg or two in the next six weeks. And there’s lots of fruit, you need vitamin B—have the mango. You’ll need to keep your strength up. No fries without me.

And now I want to keep her again, but she’s gone. I don’t know if I’ve ever encountered a woman who spoke my language before. It’s as if our minds and bodies are on the exact same frequency. They’ve always existed there, but we didn’t discover it until we met. Or if I want to get sappy mystical about it, that picture of her from the Post yesterday, Christ, was that just yesterday, the photo called to me.

She captivated me before I even heard her beautiful words. Before the crackle of energy between us at the bar. I’ve no brain space to devote to Tess. Work. That’s all there is. I’ll dive into work. That’s the key here. I have got a shit ton to do, but first, a large salad to eat. And mango.

II

First Day

11

Tess

I can barely keep my eyes open, but I make it through the first appearance—a quick radio thing at a local college. I lie down for a nap, and I still smell him on my skin. I don’t have his phone number. I could DM him on social, but it seems to cheapen our idea and our plan. It’s a good plan, and I’m going to say it would be a solid working plan with anyone else. I’ve never felt so comfortable in my own skin as I did in his orbit. I don’t have any time or days to devote to him, but if I did, I have a scary hunch I might try to figure out how to devote them all. I’ve slept in his arms exactly 114 minutes, and yet, when I look over at the other pillow, it feels like he’s missing. I don’t know how to be infatuated. I’m not good at it. Those who can’t do teach or, in my case, write. I should be writing. Joan will be pissed when the pages she needs don’t appear next Monday, but I’m so tired. I inhale my arm. For now, Alex’s scent lives on my skin.

* * *

Unfortunately, I wake up at three in the morning. My nap bled into dinner, which bled into bedtime. I change into pajamas and eat from the minibar. My phone is dead. I plug it in while I change. Then I grab Oreos, nuts, salami, and cheese from the minibar. And a bottle of Chardonnay. I spark up my laptop and wait for my phone to turn on. I peruse some social media and respond to some fans. Then my phone finally sparks to life. I dive across the bed, spilling the nuts all over it, as it begins to signal I have texts.

JOAN: Where the fuck are you? I know you were at the thing. Answer my email, dammit.