Sawyer
The tacos were gone.
Wrappers crushed and forgotten on the coffee table, and the last of the beer sat warm in the bottles between us. Addison was still curled up on my couch with her legs tucked under her like she had been there before.
She didn’t look like a guest. She looked like she fit, like she hadn’t just wandered into my space but had somehow landed there naturally.
The thought settled heavy in my chest, and I told myself not to follow it too far.
I told myself not to start imagining her here again and again, laughing that laugh that made me want to keep talking just to hear it.
I stood before my brain could get any worse ideas and started gathering the wrappers and bottles, using the task to keep myself steady.
“Whiskey now, pie in a little bit?” I asked her.
“Sounds great,” She said.
Addison accepted the glass I handed her. “You really know how to show a girl a good time.”
I shrugged while settling back down beside her on the couch. “Full-service hospitality,” I said with a small smirk. “One-woman operation.”
Addison laughed easily, the sound unguarded and bright, and it hit me fast and sharp, like a match struck too close to dry paper.
We drank without rushing it. I let the quiet stretch for a moment, curious whether she would get uncomfortable or reach for conversation the way most people did.
She didn’t.
Addison simply sipped her whiskey while her eyes drifted around the room, taking everything in like she was memorizing it. The way she looked at the place did something to me.
I stood again, restless in a way that felt good. “Want to see my favorite part of the place?” I asked her.
Addison raised her eyebrows with interest and pushed herself up from the couch. “Lead the way,” she said.
The spiral staircase creaked softly as I climbed, my hand sliding along the cool metal rail. I wondered if she was watching me. I wondered if she noticed the way I moved. I shut the thought down before it had time to grow teeth.
I pushed open the hatch and stepped out into the night air. The rooftop wasn’t much. There were a few string lights, one large cushion, and a railing that had seen better days. Still, it was mine. It was the place I came when I needed to think and I needed sky instead of walls.
Addison climbed up behind me with her glass still in hand, and something like nerves flickered low in my gut.
It wasn’t because of the rooftop itself.
I didn’t care what anyone thought of it.
The nerves came from the fact that this wasn’t small.
I was letting her see something real, not just tacos and beer, but the place I went when I needed to breathe.
Addison stepped out beside me and looked around slowly. “This is amazing,” she said, her voice soft with genuine surprise.
Relief loosened something in my shoulders. “I come up here to think,” I told her while leaning against the railing. “Or just sit. Depends on the night.”
We settled onto the cushion together, and our knees touched almost immediately. Neither of us moved away. The contact ran warm and steady through me.
I tipped my head back toward the sky. “Confession,” I said after a moment. “Sometimes I come up here and smoke a joint. I don’t smoke often, just when I really need to exhale.”
Addison laughed softly and shook her head. “I’ve never smoked pot in my life,” she admitted.
I turned toward her with a raised brow. “Not even once?”
“Nope,” Addison said with a small grin.
I snorted quietly. “You might be the goodest good girl I’ve ever met,” I teased.
Addison rolled her eyes, though a blush crept up her neck. Like she enjoyed being called a good girl. I filed that away for later.
“That’s a fair assessment,” she said. “But I don’t judge.”
“I know,” I replied with a slight smile. “That’s what’s weirdly hot about it.”
She lifted her whiskey glass to hide part of her face as the blush deepened, and I let myself look this time. I noticed the shape of her mouth, the line of her neck, and the way the city light softened the angles of her face.
Before I crossed a line I was sure she ready for yet, I looked away.
The city hummed quietly around us. I usually tuned it out, but tonight it felt like background music.
“You know the first time I realized I liked girls?” Addison asked after a moment, her voice quieter.
I turned toward her. “When?”
“I started wondering when I was around ten, but I really knew when I was fourteen. At summer camp.”
Her gaze drifted as she told me about a counselor with braids, a bonfire, and the feeling that had settled inside her like a secret she didn’t know how to carry.
Something shifted in my chest as I listened. It wasn’t attraction this time. It was the weight of her trust. She was handing me something fragile, and I knew how rare that was.
“Did anyone ever know about her?” I asked when she finished.
Addison met my eyes. “Not until you.”
My heart thudded harder than I wanted it to.
“I was twelve,” I told her. “Her name was Dana.”
* * *
We talked for hours after that. I brought the pie up to the rooftop, and we ate it straight from the tin with two forks and drank more whiskey.
Eventually, Addison checked her phone and sat up. “Oh my God, it’s almost 1 a.m. I should probably get home.”
We headed back inside, and she called an Uber. We had both had too much to drink to drive.
When her car arrived, I walked her downstairs and kissed her cheek.
“Night, Sunshine.”
She smiled softly. “Good night, Sawyer.”
I watched until the car disappeared before heading back upstairs.
After changing into pajamas and climbing into bed, my phone buzzed.
Addison: Tonight was perfect. Thank you.
I smiled and typed back.
Me: You don’t need to thank me. Let’s do it again soon.
Her reply came almost immediately.
Addison: Yes, please. Good night.
Me: Good night, Sunshine.
* * *