Wish You Were Here

Chapter 9

Now that he's back in New York, and you have the opportunity to see each other more often, you implement a rule with yourself: that you will never spend consecutive nights in his hotel. You are conscious you don't think you should be seeing him too often, not wanting to burn the candle at both ends. You're both working, too, and you know it's easier to stay focused if you're not seeing each other.

The Sunday morning after he arrives, you linger long enough to drink coffee but worry you'll overstay your welcome. You get dressed in your street clothes, but he sticks to his usual sweatpants and t-shirt, black socks. No intention of going anywhere. He hooks his fingers through the belt loops of your jeans, pulls you to stand a little closer. "When do I get to see you again?"

"Soon," you promise.

"When's soon?"

You lean into the crook of his neck and he wraps his arms around your waist. Together you twist back and forth a little in the hug, preserving the feeling of being so close to him, noting the smell of his skin. You can already feel him getting hard through his sweats. "I have to go," you say, "but I will see you soon."

"You better." He lets you out of the hug, but you feel kind of bad he's so reluctant for you to leave. You finish your coffee and say your goodbyes, assure him you'll be in touch to arrange another sleepover for later in the week. When you step into the hallway, he grabs you by your jacket and pulls you back for one last kiss before you go.

He switches his phone off while he's in the theater for rehearsal, knowing how easily it is to be distracted even when it's on silent. You try to use the time to write, to run errands and reorganize your own life. You spend your free afternoon sorting through your drawers and getting rid of some older items that have seen better days, then shopping to replenish what you've thrown out. When you see him Tuesday night, you stop making out to show off your new underwear proudly when he takes off your jeans. "Are these new?" he asks, sits up to reach you and snaps the elastic band. "They look so cute."

"Thanks." You stand up and do a spin so he sees from all angles. "I bet they'd look better on the floor over there."

"I like that theory." He leans behind him, resting his weight on his hands. "Take them off."

So you do, step out of them delicately and kick them away. "Better?"

"So much better." You climb back onto the bed, tackle him so he falls backwards and you pick up where you left off. You're still amazed at the chemistry you have in bed, the way your bodies match up in all the right places even with the height difference, that most of the time all you need to do is find the right angle for you both to have a good time. And you have all the time in the world to practice finding the right angle. You'd fuck for hours at a time if you had the energy.

Afterwards, when you're getting ready for bed, you pat your way down the outside of your bag and grimace. "Forgot my phone charger. Do you mind if I use yours?"

"I'll do you one better. Hang on a sec." He goes over to the phone, rings the hotel reception, and asks if they have any spare chargers. A staff member brings one up for you within minutes. "Tricks of the trade," he says, handing it over. "People are always forgetting shit in their hotels. Now you can just leave it here for when you visit."

You twist the cord between your fingers. "Thank you." It's purple, too – your favorite color. You like that you've got something to keep in his room, to remind him of you when you're not there.

Now that your situation is more concrete, that you're traveling early enough to be comfortable taking the subway by yourself instead of Ubering, you're conscious it would be easy to let your guard down. But you try to stick to your rule and, whenever you make plans to meet, you always tell him you'll visit his hotel room. "Or I could come to yours?" he asks when you're getting ready to leave on Wednesday morning.