Page 53 of Drawn Together
“I would never.”
“You would never,” I agree, and slump into the leather chair near me. “Malcom never told me.”
“Who?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I think I know what will help out.”
“Valium?”
He snorts and reaches a hand down for me to grab, but I just stare at it.
“Come on. They’ll probably be a while, and it’s nice up there.”
“Up where?”
The moment Fletcher swings the door open I stop short.
On the roof of the apartment, string lights zigzag above us—glowing amber and soft—swaying gently in the crisp mid-autumn breeze, creating a warm halo over everything—the lounge chairs draped in wool blankets, the low wooden table with a few mismatched mugs left behind that I am ninety-percent sure Lennon had something to do with. Even the fake grass walkway is lit up in the golden cast. Behind the table, two hot tubs sit side by side, rimmed with faint mist around the covers. Not a soul in sight. Above the traffic, above the noise of honking cars and my fellow residents waiting for clearance to their homes, we sit in total silence. It’s like this rooftop is wrapped in its own little cocoon.
Fletcher walks past me, meanwhile I am just a doorstop stuck in place at the view.
It’s not a massive building—only a few floors higher than ours—but, it does have a the perfect view of the city skyline—lightsand buildings as far as my eye can see, and thousands of little lives out there in my view.
Fletcher lifts the cover on one of the tubs—the one furthest away—and the steam rises instantly, curling in the cold air like it’s exhaling. I don’t even realize how tense my body’s been until that heat wafts over and touches my face—my shoulders ache, my back pulls. Every part of me begs for that burning feeling of sliding into a hot tub with your skin all red and blood pressure questionably low.
The air smells like rain that never came, mingled with the faintest hint of cinnamon from someone’s apartment below. The city lights glitter in the distance, just over the ledge, but up here it feels like a fall retreat, tucked away in some storybook version of New York I didn’t think existed.
I wrap my arms around myself, not entirely from the chill.
“You want to get in?” I look up, and Fletcher is staring from me to the hot tub and back.
“I don’t have a swimsuit.”
He glances around like one is going to appear out of thin air. Honestly, in a paradise like this, it just might. “Uhhh…” He reaches behind him and pulls the dark navy quarter zip over his head, leaving him in a white tee that he also yanks off. “Just wear my shirt.”
“What will you wear?”
“It’s a hot tub, Flora.”
“So?”
“So, I probably just won’t wear a shirt.”
Oh, right. Yes.
“Um, okay. But can you just go ahead and get in first.”
“To make sure it’s not poisonous?”
More like I don’t want to make eye contact with your pecs under the moonlight.
“Exactly.”
He smiles, a little boyish and shy, as I turn around and let him get in.
Did I think that not looking directly at his naked torso would save me in this moment? Because I was sorely mistaken. There are wet, dripping sounds mixed with his hissing and groaning at the heat of the water.
