Page 48 of Infinite as They Come
It was an offer. Another one. Someone who had seen my website, saw my career profile online—I really needed to delete my account on that stupid website—and thought I’d be a great fit for whatever journalism role that had opened up. I should have been thrilled that a place as prestigious as Universal Magazine was offering me a role, but all I could think about was that grey, colorless vision of me stuck at my desk, bored out of my mind. What would I even be writing about? Who would I even be talking to? Some boring businessman? Some actor who had just won another award? The thought almost made me wince. I couldn’t really imagine doing any of that and feeling fulfilled. What was all that interesting about a millionaire? About some successful actor? I had heard about their stories so many times I lost track. But Diana? She called herself a failed actress, but her life had been nothing but streaks of color and brightness.
With a shake of my head, I wrote out a response. Cordial, sincere, but straight to the point:I appreciate the offer, but I’m not really looking for that sort of role right now.With that out of the way, I went back to the article I had been working on. I was hoping to have it up on my blog by the end of the week. When I had bought Sawyer’s website just before graduation, I had bought one for me as well. It was just a spot for me to store all my writing, all in one easy place for me to display and access. It had mostly been a placefor all my older pieces from college: all the articles I wrote for the Columbia paper were displayed, along with a few other pieces I had written over the years, but now I got to publish my new stuff there too.
There was some noise to my side, and my eyes flickered over to the right to see Sawyer stepping out of the bathroom. Towel hung low on his hips, I couldn’t help but stare a little. His hair looked a little darker since it was wet, some of the droplets falling down to his broad shoulders. His forearms looked all thick and sturdy as he grabbed his bag, placing it on the edge of the bed. My head tilted for a second as I took all of him in. Those veins on his forearms, those big hands, those long, calloused fingers that were too skilled. Every part of him was strong, sculpted. All those years of working on cars had given him that form, and I was lucky to feel it on top of me, underneath me, up against me as he held me tight. My eyes lowered some more, to the edge of the towel where it sat against his hips, all that pale skin I was suddenly a little too eager to touch.
“Don’t be a pervert,” Sawyer said bluntly.
My eyes lifted up to his to see a little amused grin on his face. Cheeks all hot, I fidgeted in my seat. “I wasn’t looking.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You’re blushing over there.” He hooked a thumb into the material lazily where it was wrapped around him. “Want me to take it off? Is that what you’re after?”
I rolled my eyes with a laugh. “Just hurry up and get ready so we can watch the movie, please.”
The movie being one of Diana’s—The Lost Librarian, a film from 1977, where Diana’s character quite literally gets lost in a library. With a serial killer. Spooky, and too intriguing for me to miss. She had given me the VHS when she picked up the painting Sawyer had made of her, and we were lucky enough that the motel had yet to update its technology, because our room came with a very handy VHS player.
“Seems like you wanna see something,” he drawled, his other thumb dangerously close to the edge of thetowel.
Fake scowl on my face, I crossed over to him by the bed. He was right, but I wasn’t ready to give in just yet. “Get ready, please,” I said, nodding towards the bedside table that was topped up with a takeaway bag with the food Sawyer had picked up along the way. “The soup’s gonna get cold.” My hand moved to his bag, just about to pull out one of his T-shirts when his eyes suddenly widened.
“I can do it, baby,” he said, snatching the bag off the bed. “I was just messing around. I’ll get ready.”
Raising an eyebrow at him, I took a seat on the bed. “Uh, okay.”
He dumped his bag on the other side of the room and got changed before slipping the VHS tape into the player. It was a colder night and I was thankful for Sawyer grabbing some warm soup on his way back. I was even more thankful for his strong arm wrapped around my shoulder, guiding me to lay against his chest. I nuzzled against him, the room suddenly filled up with a dramatic fanfare that let us know the movie was starting. I managed to keep the bowl of soup secure on my lap, me and Sawyer sharing a spoon as we waited for Diana to come to life on screen.
We cheered when she made her first appearance, and I got a little freaked out when that masked maniac chased her through the rows and rows of books, and then we cheered again when she stabbed him in the neck with a letter opener.
“Fuckin’ legend,” Sawyer said next to me.
I felt so warm. So at home. It never failed to amaze me how Sawyer could make me feel so safe and protected and loved all at once. He was the only person on the planet who could do that, and when we were done eating and put the empty containers on the bedside table, I felt myself melting against him. Head on his chest, his heartbeat in my ears. It sounded fast, that tiny bit rushed, and I wondered if he was feeling what I was.
For a second, I let my eyes flutter closed, and the visions hit me one after another. Us, in bed, watching old movies. Us, intertwined, bodies pressed together, because being apart was just far too hard. Us, so in love, destined for our forevers to be spent together. The fairytale. All I had ever wanted. Just him.
* **
I was pretty sure I could stay in a town like Round Rock forever. It was the kind of quiet I had been craving my whole life. Life in Dallas could get busy fast, and there always felt like there was something to do. Some fancy luncheon at the club. A too long, too strict dinner at one of my dad’s business friends’ homes where their annoying sons would try and flirt with me in their crisp polo shirts. Some garden party where I had to smile politely and drink cucumber water.
But this? What was in front of me, around me? The small town with the small town people who didn’t care about fake smiles and laughter? We had been here for nearly a month now, and to me, it was perfection.
The morning had been nice and slow. I woke up wrapped in Sawyer’s arms, my head on his chest like neither of us had moved an inch throughout the night. We stayed like that for a good hour, and I kept falling in and out of sleep as he pressed the softest of kisses to my forehead, his fingers tracing gentle patterns to my bare arm. I had missed that. All those moments where we just melted together and took things slowly.It had been hard to take things slowly lately. Not just because Sawyer and his mom had found each other again, but because Sawyer had been acting kind of strange. There had been a lot of quiet days in the motel where it was just me and my laptop, with me not seeing Sawyer until the sun started to set and he finally got back from wherever he had been. He needed space and time. I got that. I just hated that he thought he had to do it all on his own.
I forced myself back into the moment as we sat in one of the booths at the diner that Clara worked at. My hands wrapped around the warm mug of hot chocolate she had made me a little earlier, bringing it up to my lips to take a slow sip.
Sawyer was going in the opposite direction. He was sitting across from me, fork and knife clinking against the plate, shoveling his pancakes into his mouth like his life depended on it.
“Please don’t choke over there…” I said.
His eyes met mine. “Hm?”
“Why are you in such a hurry?”
Something flashed behind his eyes before he cleared his throat, swallowing hard. “I’m not. Just a little hungry.”
Laughing a little bit at the sight, I took another sip. “Wanna go for a drive around town? I’m sure we can find something to do.”
