All Damn Day | Post Malone

Chapter 9

Austin

He's equal parts relieved and surprised when he opens his door to see her standing in the same spot. He'd half expected her to be long gone, only her perfume lingering in the room as proof she'd been here at all, and he doesn't realize just how disappointed he'd be with that scenario until a nearly concerning amount of relief swims through him at the sight of her.

She looks different for some reason, though he can't quite pinpoint why, and he has to consciously keep himself from studying her too long to figure it out. Instead he gives her a smile that he hopes comes off as reassuring and not predatory, because she's kind of standing like a rabbit that's wandered into a lion's den and he's suddenly very aware that she could hop away at any moment. He wouldn't force her to stay, of course, if hopping away is exactly what she wants to do at some point, but that doesn't mean that he's not going to try his best to keep her feeling comfortable anyway.

It's the least he can do, really.

She smiles back at him, hesitant though the action is, and though it's too tight-lipped and quick to be anything but nervous, he still thinks it's sweet of her to try, too.

She continues standing just inside the room while he quietly closes the door behind him, his arms full of the drinks he'd brought up for them. It might seem tricky to maneuver for anyone else, but he's had many years of practice handing out rounds of drinks to the people he's partying or clubbing with, and so holding two bottles and two cans is child's play, honestly.

She's still standing there as he strides over to the bed, and the structure seems oddly implicating now, like it's a symbol for what's about to happen between them. He's not that nervous about it—it's a little awkward, of course, but that's never stopped him before—but he can tell she is, and he thinks he might be absorbing it through osmosis or some other term from his high school biology class that has somehow managed to stay in his brain for this long.

He hesitates by the side of the bed once he reaches it, and not for the first time around her, he doesn't quite know what to do. He's used to confident girls, to take-what-you-want-when-you-want-it girls, and he tries to remember if he's ever even been with another kind. He doesn't think so, and that realization kind of makes his palms inexplicably sweat.

"I, uh, I brought up a beer for you, too, if you wanted one," he says, holding up the blue cans in his hand like he's showing her proof, like she can't see them in his hands already. Idiot.

"Oh, um, I'm not much of a drinker," she says softly, a very polite rebuke to his offer. "But thank you."

He internally slaps himself because of course she doesn't drink. Why would she? She didn't seem like she had to numb anything and no one drank alcohol for the taste. He smiles at her again, nodding his understanding before he places the bottles and cans on the nightstand.

The cold drinks are already starting to sweat in the heat, and he once again curses the owners of this house for not disclosing that little tidbit beforehand. He sweats in here every goddamn night, too used to the privilege of central air conditioning, and he once again reminds himself to ask Dre to sort out a discount with the owners. It's not that he can't afford it, but it's still way too fucking much for a house that doesn't have central air in the master bedroom. He's not sure who is exactly responsible for finding these houses they stay in in the first place, but he usually yells at Dre to fix shit and he hasn't let him down yet.

He tried to switch rooms with Tyla, but the little fuck wouldn't budge, and everyone else he asked had followed suit. He supposed he could technically pull rank and demand that someone switch with him, but that seems like kind of an asshole move and he's been feeling too much like a tool lately already. Besides, he doesn't really care enough to make it a hassle.