Sugar

Chapter 12: Bristol

The door to the storm shelter is on the first floor, but it's nestled in a little corner that I definitely would not have found on my own. Jared tells me to go down the stairs first and he'll be right behind me.

"Did I not install lights here?" he wonders aloud as he closes the door behind us. He turns his phone flashlight on, and I do the same. I still have to be really careful not to trip on the steps, though, especially because my brain is still practically asleep. He woke me up in the middle of a random dream I had, where everyone turned into bees. Who knows what the deeper meaning of that was.

"Be careful," Jared tells me.

"I am being careful," I say. Jared gives a half-laugh.

When I get to the bottom of the staircase, I see that the light is already on in the shelter. Gwen is sitting on one of the cots, looking anxious, and she jumps up when she sees Jared and me. "Oh, thank God you made it," she says with a sigh of relief.

"What, you thought I would have gotten lost in my own building?" says Jared.

"I wouldn't put it past you," Gwen breathes through her teeth.

I look around the small room, which has unpainted walls and eight cots in the middle with blankets and pillows. Down here, I can't feel the ground shaking anymore. Gwen and Jared sit on one of the cots, and I sit across from them, so close my knees are almost touching Jared's.

For a while, we just sit there in silence. This is definitely on my list of top ten most uncomfortable situations. How am I supposed to sleep in the same room as my 40-year-old bosses who have probably known each other for years? Not to mention they probably have a friends with benefits thing going on, and Jared kind of has a thing for me as well. At least sexually. And the last thing I want to do is cause drama between my bosses.

I shiver a little, being so close to them. We're all wearing super casual clothes, and we all look like we just rolled out of bed. I can still practically feel Jared hovering over my bed, tapping his calloused fingers on my shoulder. The warmth that spread over my body when I smelled his cologne, and how raspy but gentle his voice was. I realize, in my tired haze, that I want him. But it's a general kind of craving, I think. If it were any other attractive older man in his place, I would probably want him, too. It's just how my fucking brain is wired. I've never liked guys my age since, well, forever.

But right now, I'm probably being overdramatic. This is no different from having to sleep at the airport during a layover. Not that I've ever had to do that, because I've always flown business class and had access to lounges, but still. It's the principle of it. Not to mention there are people in third world countries who have it way worse than me. Even in New York City—at least we have a storm shelter. Am I really this shallow? Did my parents really spoil me this much? Do I have no empathy for others?

I'm zoning out, staring at a spot on the wall beyond Jared's shoulder, while thinking all this. But he's not looking at the wall, and neither is Gwen. They're looking at me. And then Gwen starts to look at the way Jared is looking at me.

Jared turns away and lies down on the cot he and Gwen are sitting on, with an exaggerated yawn. "Oh, for heaven's sake," says Gwen, and she scoots off the cot, grabbing her own one to sleep on, away from me and Jared.

I lie down under the covers of the cot next to Jared's, but it's hard to sleep with all the fluorescent lights overhead. So I sit up and hug my knees to my chest. It's dead silent except for the sounds of Jared's and Gwen's heavy breathing, meaning I'm the only one awake. Jared is sleeping on his back with his hands folded over his broad chest.

I rest my cheek in my arms, trying to fall asleep in this position, but I never quite get there, only hovering in the space between sleep and alertness. I don't know how much time has passed when I open my eyes again—maybe an hour? I can't be bothered to check my phone. But what I see is that Gwen is still asleep but Jared is awake now, staring at the ceiling. And he must have noticed me opening my eyes, because he turns his head toward me. "You okay?" he says, his voice low and gravelly.