Page 68 of Rum Sips and Salty Lips

“Yeah, I don’t think I can make it down those stairs.” It sounds like a lie. I’m sure he does this often—says one thing but thinks another.

He puts on his boxers while I retrieve a clean men’s shirt from my pile of samples. “That’s a rare shirt. I didn’t like the color so only a few exist.”

He puts it on anyway. “I would judge you if you did sell this,” he says. “It’s poop brown.”

“It’s chocolate. But yes. That was why we went with a different shade.”

He settles into my bed like he belongs, using the spare phone charger I dug up for him. I wash my face and prepare for bed like this is normal, this is fine. Like I’m having a sleepover with a friend. He’ll stay on his side. I’ll stay on mine, and that’s all it is.

I climb into bed under his watchful eye and brace for a comment about my pajamas, but nothing comes. So I turn off the lights and cherish the fantasy that this could last.

twenty-five

ORION

I wakeup in the morning to the sound of an alarm that isn’t mine. It takes a second for me to register I’m not in my bed. I’m in Carina’s. And I never want to leave. Partially because she’s with me, and partially because her sheets are softer than mine.

Would it be creepy if I buy a similar set? She’s so sure she won’t be visiting my bed again. She’d never know.

I check my watch and see it’s five a.m. “Why are you up this early?” I ask after she silences the alarm.

“I have six a.m. yoga.” She sounds as tired as I feel.

I roll over, bracing for pain in my back, but I feel fine. I wrap my arm around her stomach, expecting her to push me away. To tell me this is a friend sleepover, and friends don’t spoon. I don’t care. I’m risking it anyway. I thought I was dreaming when she asked me to stay. I don’t know what’s happening between us, but I’ll take every moment I get with her.

“You’re not teaching today,” I say.

She leans into me as she looks at her phone. It’s too early for morning wood, but I love her body against mine and the scent of orange blossoms that follows her everywhere.

“No, but I still practice at the studio. You don’t have to get up. You can go back to sleep if you want,” she says.

I kiss her shoulder. “You trust me to be alone in your house while you’re gone?”

“You won’t find anything interesting, except my vibrator.”

This woman has secrets on secrets. The fact she thinks I won’t find anything means she’s hiding from herself. “You could stay in bed. I could find it now.”

She locks her phone and falls back on her pillow. “You’re a bad influence on me.”

“I know. You like it.”

“I do. But it’s Monday, and I need an early start.”

She’s already checked her email. I’d assumed she wouldn’t do that until after her morning routine. Wasn’t that a thing mindful people did—no phones in the bedroom? I don’t comment and risk triggering her defensiveness. I don’t want that, not when she’s so soft in my arms.

“When do you have to be in the office?” she asks.

“Soon enough. I’m not sailing today, but I need to work on payroll,” I answer. “Maybe after my doctor’s appointment we can take the boat out.”

“I’d like that.” She smiles. “How is your back?”

“Much better. Thank you.”

“Of course. That’s what friends are for.”

“Friends sleep in the same bed as their friends?” My hand rests on the inside of her leg in a way that feels very not-friendly.

“Friends help friends deal with their problems. Like back pain and stress.”

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