Page 3 of Ripe & Ready
No. It’s the bed itself.
Singular.
I stand there blinking at it, like maybe if I stare hard enough, it’ll split in half. Or a cot will magically fall from the ceiling. Or God will strike me down for the sin of thinking thoughts about my best friend in a jungle love nest.
Derek clocks it instantly. Of course he does.
He’s completely unbothered. “Don’t try to steal all the covers, okay?”
My whole body locks up. My brain short-circuits. I can’t do this. I cannot sleep next to him. I cannot lie in that bed, breathe the same air, feel the heat radiating off his perfect jungle-god body, and not combust. That’s not sleeping. That’s emotional waterboarding.
“Yeah,” I say, voice cracking. “Totally. No cover stealing. Got it.”
I’m definitely gonna die here. Not from malaria. Not from a gorilla attack. From proximity.
“I’m glad you came with me,” Derek says from behind me, snapping me out of my downward spiral about bed-sharing and mosquito net-based proximity crimes. His voice is softer now, quieter. “I know this isn’t really your thing.”
For you it is, I think, but I don’t say it.
Instead, I shrug. “We’re best friends.” Like that explains everything. Like that’s not a loaded, landmine-filled term I’ve been hiding behind for years.
“Yeah,” he says, walking past me. “But you’re here. Showing up is not just a best friend thing. Most people don’t do that. Hell, outside of you and my parents, no one really shows up for me.”
He takes a running leap and belly-flops onto the bed. Arms and legs spread wide, he immediately starts making blanket angels, giggling like an idiot, the mosquito net billowing slightly from the gust of his landing.
I stand there, watching him roll around in the covers like he’s trying to imprint on the duvet, and wonder how does he do that? How does he drop something so heavy and then laugh like his heart isn’t cracked right down the middle?
“That’s not true,” I say, too fast. Too defensive.
He finally stops rolling and props himself up on one elbow. “It is. But it’s fine. I don’t ask for much, so... whatever. I dated Steven for like four years and he would’ve never come out here with me.”
Steven. The walking red flag. Derek’s emotionally vacant, passive-aggressive ex who once told me my music taste was “intellectually lazy.” Steven, who always acted like Derek was too much and not enough all at once. Steven, who, let’s be honest, never deserved him.
I bite my tongue. Because the list of things I want to say about Steven is long, petty, and starts with ‘you shouldn’t have had to ask.’
I want to tell him how I feel. About Steven. About him. About us. I really do. And if I were a stronger man, this trip would be the moment. But I can’t do that. Not yet.
So I sit right on the edge of the bed staring at the mosquito net as though it’s the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen, trying so hard not to imagine what it would feel like if he showed up for me the way I always show up for him. Like what if he looked at me one day and just got it?
Nope. Nope. Shut it down.
I lock it all up. Every feeling, every maybe, every dumb, aching daydream that has no business existing in this jungle hut or in my brain at all, and I turn back to Derek. He’s lying on his stomach. Legs kicking behind him, chin in his hands, hair all tousled and sun-kissed and obnoxiously perfect. And his eyes? Fully on me.
Dangerously cute behavior.
I’m not, like… hot. Not in the way Derek is. All golden and athletic. I’m more... soft edges and unfortunate timing. Brown hair that does whatever it wants, a jawline that only shows up in good lighting, eyes that don't know whether they're brown or green, and a face people mostly describe as “approachable,” which feels like the polite way of saying “not threatening.”
I dress like someone who always packs an extra hoodie just in case, and I’ve never quite figured out what to do with my hands in photos. But my smile’s decent, when it’s real. And my eyes do this crinkle thing when I’m laughing which Derek says is his favorite. So... maybe I’m not a total lost cause.
But Derek… Derek is hot-hot. Like, CW hot. Like someone-who-should-be-shirtless-in-every-scene hot. It’s unacceptable. Arrestable, honestly
“How early do we have to be up?” I ask, mostly to remind myself that I’m here to see gorillas. Not crash out at the sight of him stretched out on that hotel bed.
“Dawn!” he says, eyes going wide as though that’s some fun fact and not a direct threat to my well-being.
“Dawn?!?” I groan, already mourning my sleep.
“IT’S WORTH IT!” he shouts, immediately bouncing to his knees. “We’re gonna see gorillas, Andy! Gorillas! In a habitat basically untouched by humans. Barely anybody comes here. This is real, wild nature shit. Isn’t that cool?! Please say it’s cool.”
