Eat My Dust
Enveloped in the darkness of the house, I navigated its quiet, almost somnolent, long corridors, wondering where everyone was.
I walked past Jo’s room, curious if she was asleep but, knowing her, she would probably show up at my door first thing tomorrow morning to find out all about the date. Boy, would she be disappointed.
The moonlight slowly filled the hall and I found myself quickening my pace, skipping over every other tile as if I were five years old again, playing a game I couldn’t lose.
As I reached the library, I suddenly stopped, remembering another time I’d run down this hallway.
I was ten, trying to escape my annoying little sister, when my mother abruptly opened the door.
The pain shot through my head and the bump on my forehead was so large that I was terrified kids at school would call me a unicorn.
Well, Cassey did. Once. Right before I pulled her hair.
I still couldn’t figure out why we even became best friends.
The light in my father’s study was on so I headed there, whispering a tentative, “Hey?”
“Oh, Florence, it’s you.” His lips twitched at the corners, forming a hesitant smile.
“What are you doing here? Alone.” I sauntered towards him, glancing around the room.
The tall shelves stood still and heavy with books, old covers seeming to whisper, beckoning me to take one.
Then my gaze stopped at the two empty glasses on his desk.
A bottle of Monkey 47 stood right beside him.
“You’re drinking gin?” I asked, surprised. “Neat?”
“I wasn’t alone.” My dad leaned back against his chair, raising an eyebrow. “You want some?” he asked, but his gaze held another question he didn’t voice.
“Hmm,” I mused, considering, but my curiosity took over. “Sure.” I took a seat in front of him.
My father opened the bottle, glancing around then back at the desk, hand aiming for the pour. “You wouldn’t mind your boyfriend’s glass, would you?”
“Miles was here?!”
“So, he is your boyfriend?”
I frowned, toying with an idea before quickly shaking it off, my cheeks flushing. “What?!”
A hesitant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he gestured for me to take my drink, clearing his throat. “Look, Florence, I might come from a completely different generation, where, let’s just say, romance wasn’t as…enthusiastic—” He nearly winced at the word. “—as it is in this century—”
“Oh my God! Dad!” I retorted. “You aren’t seriously thinking I’m, um, socially active with two men at once?”
“You’re not?” He looked surprised, then immediately relieved as he sighed. “Oh, thank God you’re not.”
“No!” I exclaimed.
“Well, that’s certainly a load off my mind, I must say,” he breathed, taking a large sip of gin.
“Trust me,” I mumbled, “one is enough to handle.”
“So?” He glanced at me expectantly, his forehead creased with an uncomfortable frown. “The date?”
“Ugh, I went out with Blake only because Jo made me do it,” I muttered, finally reaching for my glass. “We’re not together.” I paused, glancing at him. “Why was Miles here anyway?”
My father shifted in his seat, crossing his arms defensively. “Um, I found the poor boy drinking on his own near the pool, so I simply offered him company.”
I looked at him suspiciously, my eyebrow raised. “Dad?”
“Alright, alright,” my father sighed, “and to find out what his intentions were.”
“Dad?!” I retorted. “I swear, you and mum…a match made in heaven.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.
I pushed back into my chair. “Nothing,” I breathed, raising the cool glass to my lips. The scent of fresh pine and black forest washed by the rain hit my nose. The first sip was a burst of tangy citrus, followed by a dance of juniper and sweet floral notes on my tongue. “Mmm.”
“Aren’t you curious?” My father interrupted my quite delectable encounter with my drink, staring at me.
I returned his gaze, trying to look and sound indifferent. “Um…maybe.”
“So, was that a yes or a no?” he teased me.
“That might have been a yes,” I mumbled quietly, swirling the crystal-clear liquid in my hand.
A self-satisfied grin plastered across his face. “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that?”
“Ugh! Fine! Yes, I want to know what he said. Happy now?”
***
“Jealous? Jealous my ass,” I huffed with a frustrated sigh, feeling my cheeks heat up after three shots of gin.
“He was the one literally instructing Blake what to do on our date. He couldn’t!
How could he? Right? It’s absurd!” Taking the second left, I was soon nearing my bedroom.
“Your father doesn’t know what he is talking about,” I muttered to myself. Could he have actually been jealous?
And even so, it didn’t matter. We couldn’t.
“I mean…that’s just what my mother wanted,” I grunted.
“You know, Florence, after the wedding you won’t even remember him.
” I snorted a short laugh. “Exactly! You don’t know him well enough.
Duh!” My eyes rolled at this insanity. This was ridiculous, wasn’t it?
Well, talking to myself in the middle of the night was, too, a new level of crazy.
“But—” I took a deep breath. “—sometimes I feel like I do know him…more than enough.” Maybe I should just busy myself for the next couple of days and avoid him.
“You’ll see, Florence, it’ll pass. Yeah.
Exactly. Just avoid him.” I took another reassuring inhale, when suddenly…
“Miles?” I muttered. “What are you doing here?”
Miles stood next to my bedroom door, shoulders pressed against the wooden surface, hand motioning something as he spoke to himself—well, to me, really, probably thinking I was inside the room. His words were slurred. God, how much had he drunk?
“Miles?” I stepped closer.
“Florence?” He squinted his eyes at me and an instant grin spread across his face. It was a goofy but beautiful smile.
“What’s that?” I asked, glancing at his t-shirt, surprised to see him wearing one for once. “Eat my dust,” I read the print, laughing. “Seriously?”
“So,” he drawled, “how was your date?”
“I’ll be the one asking the questions, Miles. How much did you drink?”
“Who, me?” He leaned closer, his voice a husky whisper. “We’re not…who are we?”
“What?”
“You,” he said, his gaze locking onto mine as he pushed off the door, his arms gently encircling my waist.
“Oh God,” I breathed, my nose wrinkling in confusion. “Let’s just get inside before someone sees us.”
“Yeah,” he snorted with a laugh, “because we are…one…big secret.”
“Miles!” I muttered, opening the door. “Get inside!”
“Fuck,” he growled, looking at me.
“Now!” I insisted.
“Sure, bossy pants.” He ran his hand through my hair. “I’ll comply with whatever you say.”
“Oh, man,” I sighed with a soft chuckle.
Helping him get inside my room, the familiar intoxicating gin breath made my nose twitch. Brr! I shuddered. He surely had a lot, thanks, Dad .
Miles cupped my face, his eyes searching for focus until they finally locked onto mine. “Did he kiss you?” he asked, his voice slurring slightly. “Like I told him to?”
“Miles.” I rolled my eyes heavenward. Jesus, he needed some sleep, or a cold spray, or both.
“No, wait. Did you return the kiss?”
“Why? You jealous?” I blurted.
“Please!” he snorted. “Like he ever stood a chance.”
I shot him an amused glance. “Is that so?”
“Pfft!” He smirked, an idiot-like smile that made my lips quiver in response.
“So it’s not the reason you’re drunk tonight?”
“I’m drunk because I wanted to be.”
“Ah. Okay.” My gaze darted to the bathroom door, picturing a few scenarios where Miles could fall asleep in a tub or, worse, both of us soaking wet as I tried my best to help him into the shower. “Um, you know what? Let’s get you to bed.”
Miles grinned, mumbling his words. “Oh! That, I like. I couldn’t stop thinking about it all day.”
“What’s that?” I asked, gently guiding him to lie down.
“Your perfect tits.” He smirked, his hands finding their way down my waist, then lower. “And that ass of yours.”
“Jesus Christ!” I breathed out a chuckle. God, who was this man?
I helped him onto the bed, careful not to stumble as Miles leaned heavily against me. I removed his shoes and attempted to wrestle his t-shirt off, but his drunken limbs were uncooperative. “Forget it,” I muttered, giving up on that part.
“Florence,” Miles slurred, patting the space beside him, “come here. I need some cuddling.”
“No,” I said firmly.
“Why not?” He tried to get out of bed but his body refused to move.
“No one is going anywhere with you,” I whispered.
Already half-asleep, he muttered into the pillow as he rolled onto his chest. “You’re just pretending to be hard to get, I know it.”
“Sure.” Experience had taught me that a drunk, horny man was never a good combination. It was definitely best for him to sleep it off.
The next couple of minutes, Miles murmured something to himself and then, finally, drifted off.
As he did, I stayed in my chair, reading a book for a little longer before I was ready to join him in dreamland.
As I felt drowsy, I nestled onto the opposite side of the sheet then snuggled closer, his head finding its way onto my shoulder.
I closed my eyes, inhaling the familiar scent of his faded aftershave, tinged with the warmth of gin.
My father was right; he was jealous. And I think I liked that he was.
My fingers traced their way into his hair, gently stroking the soft strands as I listened to the steady rhythm of his breathing.
I kissed the side of his temple and soon I, too, drifted off to sleep.
***
I woke up to the light hum of a running shower.
It couldn’t have been morning, or maybe it was a very early one because the room was still enveloped in darkness.
Was that a drizzle? Or just a dream? My eyes refused to open and, as I rolled over onto my back with a stretch, I pulled my sheet overhead to cover myself and quickly drifted off again.