I Do What I Do » John Taylor

XII

The next minutes are spent sitting in the stopped limo. The sky begins to darken. I stay in the same spot. John doesn't leave my side. He continues the slow, gentle movement of his hand going up and down my arm, allowing me to calm down and relax.

Once I'm calm enough to talk, I break the silence.

"You were right," I speak softly. "They're starting to clear out."

"See? I told you. You're okay," he replies with a warm smile.

"Thank you," I say, my arms still around him.

"Of course. Are you feeling better now?" he asks and I nod my head. "Here. Sit up." He removes his hand and brings his arm back around, allowing me to straighten myself in the seat. "I shouldn't have accepted your offer. If I knew then that this would happen, I wouldn't have."

"Hey," I start. "I'm glad we did this. It was fun. Even before," I gesture my hand around, "this."

"You sure?"

"Of course, I am," I answer. "I have to get used to it somehow."

"I guess you're right. But I am sorry about this."

I smile. "It's okay. It's not your fault."

The limo starts to move slowly through the lessening crowd. It finally makes its way to the back and the two of us are quickly able to slip back into the hotel. We take the elevator to our floor.

"Do you want to have a quick drink before you go back to your room?" he asks.

"Sure," I reply. "I think I need one."

He laughs and the two of us walk into his room. He opens up the minibar to find an array of expensive drinks. "What are you thinking?"

"Hmm," I contemplate. "That one." I point to a small, red bottle. It looks like some type of wine. "Can I try it?"

"Sure," he shrugs. "Why not?" He reaches in and grabs the bottle, handing it to me shortly after.

I pop open the bottle and bring it to my lips. "Bottoms up!" I take a small sip. "Oh, boy," I start, "strong."

"Really?" he asks, giggling.

"Yeah," I cough. "It's good, though!"

"Can I try it?"

I hand the glass to him. "Have at it."

He takes a swig and his eyes squint shut. "Oh, you're right! That's potent stuff."

I laugh. "Told you! Now give me my drink back."

"Okay, okay!" He hands it back to me and I take another sip. "I'll get my own."

He grabs a can and cracks it open, taking a sip. "Mm. Good."

"Anyways," I smile, sitting down on the chair in the corner of the room. "That was crazy."

"Yeah," he says as he sits on the edge of the bed. He looks down at his hands. "I'm sorry about that. Again. I didn't know you'd get so scared."

"Oh, please. It's not your fault. And like I said-- I'll have to get used to it somehow."

"True, but I felt horrible." He looks up. "I didn't really know what to do. How to help you."

"I can safely say that what you did absolutely helped," I admit, my voice becoming softer. I feel a pang of embarrassment as everything comes rushing back into my mind-- including the realization. My cheeks flush red.

"You alright?" he asks, brows furrowed.

"Oh! I'm fine," I lie.

"Alright," he replies. I can tell he knows I'm bending the truth. "And I'm glad I could help...although I must say that it sort of put us in a vulnerable position," he adds.