. . . an amendment
Our journey is fourteen hours long. That’s far too long to dwell on the awkwardness of a shared bed. It had to be nipped in the bud as soon as humanly possible and the way Noah was acting, I had to be the one to do it.
I brushed it aside instantly, telling him that it was no bother, that we’ve been sharing rooms all trip – what’s one bed?
Then I sauntered into our tiny little cubby hole as if casually sharing beds with men I’ve almost screwed is a regular, everyday occurrence for me.
I even stripped down to a baggy T-shirt and my underwear for bed, just to prove that it really wasn’t a big deal.
Noah had no choice but to follow suit, stripping down to a T-shirt and boxers before he got comfortable.
Although, if I’m honest, the word ‘comfortable’ is an incredible overstatement.
There’s only so comfortable you can get in a tiny sleeper compartment with such little floor space that you have to stand side on when not in the bed.
It’s clear that they designed it for sleep and absolutely nothing else.
There’s nowhere to be but in bed, which would be absolutely fine if I were not sharing the bed with my good friend, Noah.
‘You still up?’ he asks groggily.
He rolls over onto his side, forcing our arms to brush against each other. I feel the hairs on mine rise to attention as my body grows hotter, and I clamp my eyes shut in an attempt to shake off the feeling.
‘Sort of.’ I mumble my reply between subtle deep breaths.
‘Trouble sleeping? Me, too. I thought the movement would make it easier, like being rocked to sleep, but I guess I was wrong.’
I can feel his smile without seeing it, but that doesn’t stop me from rolling onto my side to check. We come face to sleepy face, nothing but a few inches of empty bed between us.
‘Wanna watch something? I downloaded some movies on my phone,’ he says.
‘Nah, then I’ll be up all night.’
A movie would send me straight to sleep, but the last thing I need right now is a Netflix-and-chill situation.
‘Fair enough,’ he shrugs, rolling onto his back. ‘I guess we can just talk, then.’
‘Wow, you’re like obsessed with spending time with me.’ I watch him smirk through the darkness at my joke.
‘What can I say? You’re good company,’ he says, unabashed.
Thank God for the darkness, because Noah cannot see what that small sentence did to me. Especially while we’re stuck in a bed together.
‘Are you cold? I’m cold,’ he asks, none the wiser.
I lie again. ‘I could be warmer.’ I’m burning up right now if I’m being honest. This whole situation is making me uncomfortably hot.
I roll onto my back, eyes fixed on the ceiling as I focus on deep breaths in the hopes they’ll cool me down.
But my change in position seems to bring us closer, our arms firmly touching as we lie side by side.
‘That’s the problem with summer, isn’t it?’ he says. ‘Outside is too hot and then inside is too cold because every building, train and plane whacks the air con up to a hundred.’
‘I don’t think air cons go up to a hundred,’ I say. Pedantic, yes, but that’s what this moment calls for. If I concentrate on his words alone, then I won’t be able to notice the way his bicep is pressed so firmly against mine.
‘When did you become an expert on air cons?’ he asks, chuckling.
‘I did four years in air-con college. Did I not tell you?’ I say, deadpanning.
His small chuckle sends a ripple through his body and knocks our arms together, sending a shiver through my whole body.
‘You should use that joke on your next date,’ he says sarcastically.
‘Yes, I’m sure they’d love it. It was absolutely hilarious.’
‘If that’s the pinnacle of your flirting, it’s a wonder you’ve made it this far.’
I grab my pillow from behind my head and whack him lightly with it, using it as the perfect excuse to create some distance.
I shuffle to my left as subtly as I can without falling off the edge of the bed.
If I’m not mistaken, I think I catch his eyes drop to the new slither of space between us on the mattress.
‘I’ll have you know my flirting has improved significantly, thanks,’ I brag, brushing it off.
‘I wouldn’t know.’ He pouts.
‘Jealous?’
‘Yeah, a little bit,’ he says.
My breath stills, our light to-and-fro dampening as the room fills with something thicker and heavier.
‘Noah,’ I say warningly.
‘I’m not flirting,’ he says. ‘I just think it’s a little unfair. You’ve been out here living life, and meeting people, and going places, and I haven’t even got remotely close to anything fun.’
‘You’ve been on your fair share of dates,’ I say, confused.
Believe me, I’ve noticed. I’ve sat and painstakingly observed.
‘Yeah, but . . .’ He pauses, chewing on his lip. ‘There’s only so much kissing a person can take.’
I break into a giggle, but he stares back confused and, if I’m not mistaken, somewhat offended. I shut it off, swallowing the rest of my laugh.
‘Sorry, I didn’t realise you were serious,’ I say, eyebrow raised.
I twist towards him to meet his eyes through the dark and find them already staring my way.
They sparkle, even in the low light of our carriage, the intensity making my stomach twist into knots.
‘I just personally think that two months without sex isn’t worth moping about. ’
This time he laughs, the noise echoing its way across the tinny walls of our small train cabin.
‘It’s been far more than two months.’ He drops his eyes.
‘But you said . . . the casual dating . . .’
His eyes flick up to meet mine.
‘A lot of that is just that . . . I pick them up, we go out and then we go back to our separate homes. Or we kiss in a club and never see each other again, or we’ll message for a couple of days, then it will die in the DMs.’
He seems defeated as he speaks. I take a closer look at him, watching as he slowly closes in on himself.
‘I’m sorry, I had just assumed . . .’ I trail off.
‘That I was a manwhore? Yeah, I figured,’ he says jokingly.
A joke is good. A joke means that I haven’t made him spiral so much that he’s lost his ability to find humour in it.
‘The term I’ve been using is “fuckboy”.’ I keep the levity going.
His lips stretch wide across his face, eyes squinting into next to nothing. I match it, tooth for tooth, and feel the warmth between us grow again. My heart flutters, faster and bolder each second. I wonder if he can feel it, given how close he is to me.
He drops his eyes, recoiling as far back as he can in our bed. It’s an inch at best, but incredibly noticeable.
‘I do have game, don’t get me wrong.’ He’s mumbling, intent on clarifying.
‘I just don’t want to push things too far before we’re both ready.
If it feels right, I obviously go for it .
. . I’m not exactly a saint. But the point is that it’s been more than a while for me since it’s gotten remotely close. ’
I scoff. ‘That’s not entirely true.’
He looks up to meet me with deep, questioning eyes and my heart sinks. He can’t have forgotten.
‘That night in Brussels? The first night that we met? I mean, we got pretty damn close . . .’
I know it was only me who felt things, but, even so, he must remember that it actually happened.
I haven’t been able to forget no matter how hard I’ve tried, and I’ve tried incredibly so.
The thought of that night being so insignificant to him makes my stomach lurch.
I roll onto my back, eyes fixed on the ceiling and firmly away from him, but then I hear his voice, warm and teasing.
‘Amorie Grant, did you forget rule number eight?’
My stomach quells instantly as I emit a significantly shaky laugh. ‘Yeah, we can’t talk about it, but that doesn’t mean we forget it happened.’
He chuckles darkly. ‘Oh, trust me.’ The bed rustles as he stretches. ‘That is not something I’ll ever forget.’
Even lying here, on my back in the dark, I can hear the smile in his voice. His words echo through me as my brain starts to sing them. I am not something he’ll ever forget.
Could it be possible that, while I’ve been trying to downplay it – convince myself that it’s all been one-sided, he’s been dreaming of it too? He’s been having the same flashbacks? He’s been haunted by the unshakeable memory of my nails sunk into his skin?
There’s something about this dark cabin, this moment between him and me, that feels so full of possibility.
There are no obstacles, no pretence, just the two of us laid bare against the hard mattress of this double bed.
I can feel his skin, smell his neck, see each curl of his hair without having to reach too far ahead of myself.
Everything is so close and so real, so vulnerable in the dark.
The world doesn’t exist right now outside of us and this cabin.
I roll back over to my side to find him waiting for me, teeth flashing in the dark, and I feel emboldened in a way I’ve not felt since Brussels.
‘I think we should make an amendment to rule number six,’ I say.
His eyebrow shoots up, interest piqued. He shuffles to get a clearer look at me. ‘Go on,’ he says slowly.
A group of fireworks sets off inside me. I take a big gulp before continuing, eyes dropping to the mattress.
‘I know we said you should only sleep with someone if there were feelings involved and you have been doing so well, but you’re only human.
I just think there’s no harm in . . .’ My mouth goes dry.
I swallow once again to try to revive it.
‘You should be allowed one no-strings, casual hook-up. As long as you know that the person you’re hooking up with is on the same page as you. ’