Day 12 Narragansett, RI （Day Off）
SAM
WHEN I WAKE UP, IT all comes flooding back.
I would think I had dreamed the whole thing, except I’m still lying across Max’s chest, his arm loosely cradling me. He’s naked except for his boxers, fast asleep on his back, irresistibly vulnerable, and I love him so much that I’m pretty sure I’m going to explode.
Carefully, I extricate myself from his embrace.
He groans, snuffling in his sleep as he rolls onto his side, curling into the warm space I left behind.
I want to kiss him, to slide back into his arms and put my mouth on his until he groans and rolls me underneath him.
But I don’t know how he’s going to feel when he wakes up, whether he’s going to have regrets, whether last night was just a one-time thing.
So I pull his sleeping bag up to his shoulder and I keep the rest to myself.
My cell phone is on the floor next to us, and I reach for it, flipping it open to check the time.
It’s just after 6 AM, weak sunshine filtering in through the small window above our heads.
I sigh, pulling on my jeans. As I scramble to my feet, I spot Max’s T-shirt from last night, and hey, that’s one thing I can take care of for him.
Before I leave the basement, I rifle through Max’s bag, finding a fresh shirt and placing it on the floor next to him, so that he’ll see it when he wakes up.
Upstairs, the living room is still full of sleepers, and I pad quietly on bare feet out to the kitchen. There’s instant coffee on the counter, and I put the kettle on. While I wait for it to boil, I wash Max’s shirt in cold water, adding a little bit of dish soap to work out the stains.
When the kettle is hot, I mix myself a cup of coffee, adding a bit of milk and sugar to make it palatable.
Then I pick up the mug and the shirt, taking both out the back door and spreading the shirt on the deck railing to dry.
There’s a small, scrubby yard behind the house, and I sit down on the wicker sofa, turning my face toward the morning sun.
I’m not sure why I’m being like this. Maybe I think if I do everything perfectly, if each small action clicks exactly into place, if I’m quiet and grateful and I don’t cause a scene, that Max will wake up and decide it wasn’t a mistake. That — that maybe he loves me back.
Stupid, I know.
“Sammy.”
I nearly spit out my coffee. When I turn, Max is standing just behind me, sleepy and rumpled in yesterday’s jeans and the shirt I laid out for him.
But he’s smiling, a thousand-watt grin that could power half the town, and when I give him my own shy smile, he crosses the deck and plunks down next to me.
“So, uh — how did you sleep?” he asks, and his lips are twitching.
“Oh, you know —” I wave my hand vaguely. “Surprisingly well, considering the accommodations. Had, uh — had this really weird dream, though.”
“Really?” Max replies. “Because I think I slept straight through. Not one single out of the ordinary thing happened at all.”
I glance over at him sharply, and for a minute his face is blank. But then he snorts, and I give his shoulder a shove. “Bastard —”
He takes the cup of coffee out of my hands surprisingly gently, putting it on the small table in front of us. But then he’s grabbing me by the waist, his fingers digging into my ribs as he drags me sideways across his lap, cradling me against his chest like a baby as he bends down to kiss me.
My hands are cupping his face in an instant, and it’s oblivion, everything I’ve ever been dreaming of, sweet and playful and scorchingly hot. But —
“We have to talk about this —” I gasp as I push him away.
“Do we really?” Max groans. I give him a look, and he sighs. “Okay, but you have to stay right here. No more running away from me.”
He wraps his arms firmly around me, and I nestle my head against his shoulder. “I guess I can live with that.”
We’re quiet for a moment, and I’m not sure where to begin. Finally, Max asks, “So — what do you want to know?”
I take a deep breath, and go right for the question that's been burning a hole in my brain. “Dude, what's going on with you? A week ago, you were straight.”
Max chuckles. “I dunno if I was ever straight.”
I look up at him. “You're going to have to explain, because I'm kinda lost.”
He takes his time answering, picking up my hand and carefully lacing our fingers together. Max has held my hand before, many times. But there's something fascinating about watching it happen in this context, when the memory of his touch on my body is so fresh in my mind.
“I don't know if I have the words to explain,” he sighs.
“I've been trying to get there all week.
It's like — I dunno, I used to think of my life a certain way.
I thought all the pieces went together like this.
But in the last couple of days, all of a sudden I realized that the parts I thought were the sky were actually the water and I've been looking at it all wrong. And I actually need to turn it all upside down to make it make sense.”
I can’t help laughing, shaking my head. “The fuck does that mean?”
“Yeah, okay, I heard it too. It’s been like this for days now.” He squeezes his eyes shut, then opens them again. “Okay. You know when you looked at me at the diner?”
“Yeah?” My heart is pounding, and I can barely breathe.
“Well — I thought we were just messing around. But then I looked at you and I felt —” Max gestures with his free hand, as if grasping for something, his cheeks beet red.
“— Turned on. And ever since, every time I’ve been alone with you, I’ve had this desperate urge to kiss you, but you kept running away from me —”
“I thought I was imagining things,” I blurt out. “Like — that I was projecting. And I didn’t want to cross a line and make you uncomfortable —”
Max blinks. “I thought I wasn’t your type.”
I squeeze his hand, and my palms are sweaty. “You’re my type. You have no idea.”
He makes an odd little noise, then reaches for my face, tilting my chin up. “Can I please kiss you now? I think that’s all the feelings talk I can do in one sitting.”
“Wait.” Max lets go of me as if I’d burned him, and I scramble up onto my knees on the wicker sofa. I hesitate for a moment, but then I swing one leg across him, straddling his hips and settling down, facing him. “Um, hey.”
“Hey,” he breathes.
I lift both hands carefully, placing my fingertips along his hairline, as gently as if he were made of spun glass.
Then I slide them into his hair, tenderly parting the strands as I drag my fingers along his scalp, combing back the shaggy locks just as I’ve always longed to do.
When I reach the ends, I cup his cheeks, lifting his face and bringing our mouths together.
It’s like a seal, a blessing — and something cracks open in my chest that I’m pretty sure will never knit together again. His hands are on my thighs, sliding up to grasp my waist, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy and so terrified at the same time.
No matter what I’ve been feeling, I have to let this be new for Max. I can’t overwhelm him with everything all at once.
When we part, Max hums softly, keeping his eyes closed as he rests our foreheads together. “God, Roxie is never going to let me live this down.”
I pull back just a little to study his face. “What? Why?”
He opens his eyes, grinning up at me. “Oh, she really dragged me over the coals the other day. Told me I was a moron for not realizing I had feelings for you and you were a moron for thinking I was straight.”
I consider this, drawing a little circle on his shoulder with my finger. “We could postpone the inevitable, maybe? It might be nice to keep this whole thing just between us for a few days, while we get used to it.”
Max brightens. “Yeah, let’s do that — we can see how horny we can act around her without tipping her off.”
“Brilliant plan,” I chuckle. “What could go wrong?”
And Max is laughing too, dragging me down into another kiss, and even as I’m wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I can’t help wondering — if I have everything I’ve ever wanted, why am I still so scared?
ROXIE
“So, it looks like those two got over whatever was bothering them,” Blake observes mildly.
I look out over the beach, watching Sam and Max frolicking down by the shoreline, and I snort. “Thank fuck. Drama over until next time, I guess.”
We don’t have a show booked for today, so we sort of threw a dart at the map and ended up in this tiny beach town in Rhode Island.
It’s bougie as fuck, but I guess that’s okay.
I’m tired as hell and I need a break. Blake and I look like two crows sitting here on the deck of this beachy restaurant in our raggedy black T-shirts when everybody around us is in polo shirts and docksiders.
But I don’t mind. If people have a problem with me, they can go fuck themselves.
Sam and Max spent the whole drive here from New Haven giggling in the backseat of the van, and nobody played any sad bastard music, so maybe we’re going to make it to the end of this tour without any more stupid shit.
My eyes are still tracking the boys down on the beach. Sam’s hair is like a neon sign in the late afternoon light. “Hey, maybe we should try stirring up some drama. You know, to pay them back.”
Blake plunks his elbows on the table, leaning over at me. “Impossible. We don’t have drama.”
“Oh yeah?” I cock an eyebrow at him. “And why is that?”
“Because you’re perfect.”
“Excuse me.” I rest my own elbows on the table, mirroring Blake as I lean forward. He has his eyes on my face, and I can feel my skin warming up. “Are you trying to get in my pants? Because it’s working.”
He reaches out to take my hand, running his fingers gently along the inside of my wrist. “Those two look pretty happy down there. And there’s nobody in our hotel room.”
I watch, mesmerized, as he lifts my hand to his mouth, kissing my palm. “You know, I’ve always said the ocean is overrated.”
Blake is trying to keep a straight face. “Washed up, even.”