Reverie [Bruno Mars - Editing]

Chapter twenty-six

Chapter twenty-six

“I think we should change first,” Bruno said, looking down at his clothes. The desert was clinging to us. “I even think I have some of the shit in my mouth.”

The boxes were in the backseat. I turned to grab one and sat it between us. He rummaged for a yellow shirt and dark jeans while I got a red one and another pair of shorts. My stomach flipped when I realized we were going to change in here. Bruno already had his shirt off, his body thinner than before, but nicely chiseled. I wanted to reach, run my fingers down his chest. “When you watch me,” he began, pulling on the shirt. “I wonder what you're thinking.” After a moment he added, “Unless you were just staring because my body is so damn amazing.”

“Is that what they call unappealing these days?” I smiled.

He chuckled, his fingers circling his zipper. I turned away, not sure where to look. I changed, not quickly or slowly. I could hear Bruno's breathing, soft and rhythmic; with the scuffling sound of my clothes as I changed. I felt his eyes flicker towards me from time to time. 

I was instantly hit with memories when we stepped inside of the brightly lit diner; neon red and green lighting lined the walls, giving it the customary 80's ambiance. Elvis played in the background. We passed the bar, the booths, and went to a table by the window. Sitting here with him, it kind of felt like a first date. And a last. “This place,” Bruno looked around. “is amazing.”

“The food is too.”

“You've been here?”

“A couple times.” I shrugged. “Before my friend moved away, we used to hang out here. We were going through this greasy food phase.”

“God I pretty much love anything greasy,” he said as a waitress came, dressed in a white apron. Her brown hair was big and curly, the effects of a lot of hairspray, and her lips a bloody red. She was carrying a white sheet, which she laid flat on our table. She rolled some crayons our way. I grabbed one. “Welcome to Danny's Diner, can I get you your drinks first? They're complimentary,” she added when she noticed Bruno staring at the crayons.

“Coffee,” we said at the same time.

She smiled. “Cute.” She eyed Bruno, then, tapping her pen against the mini notebook she held. “You look familiar.”

“Is it the ‘fro?” Bruno touched his hair. 

“People say he looks like a young MJ,” I told her.

“Maybe.” She looked unimpressed. “Ready to order?”

“Just your most famous burger with a side of fries please,” I answered, we would share, and Bruno winked. When she walked away I leaned forward a little, my elbows on the table. “I forgot you were Bruno Mars. A celebrity.”

“Really?” He had a slight smirk on his face. “I thought you were star struck when you first saw me.”

“I was,” I chewed on my lower lip. “but then things happened. . .” I let my sentence go unfinished. His eyes lingered on mine, then went behind my shoulders. His eyebrows rose. “A jukebox.”

“Old school.” Our waitress returned with our cups of coffee, steam rising from them, then bounded away. “I love the music they have on there. The Police, Sam Cooke. . .”

He looked surprised. His hand was around the cup, his fingers sliding against the white porcelain. “You know Sam Cooke?” I nodded, sliding the crayon across the fabric. “You're good, Dri,” he murmured, smiling a little, and it was like he was talking about something else, another meaning running under his sentence like a current. “Real good.”