Meg didn’t know if she believed him, not entirely; still, she nodded in reply. “Good,” she said, stretching out beside him and resting her cheek against his shoulder. “It feels worth it to me, too.”
Colby reached over and turned off the lamp on the nightstand, leaving the others blazing. The sound of his heartbeat was the last thing she heard before she fell asleep.
Nineteen
Colby
Colby woke up with a gasp from a nightmare—fisting his hands in the sheets for a moment, not entirely sure where he was. Then he blinked and looked around the hotel room—the lights still on, the dawn dripping up outside the open window, the girl sacked out beside him with her T-shirt rucked up just enough to expose the dimples on either side of her backbone—and remembered.
Meg was sleeping so deeply it felt like a shame to wake her up, but he didn’t want her to think he’d bailed without saying goodbye. “Hey,” he said, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I gotta go let the dog out before work.”
Meg blinked awake, her eyes huge and dark and deep as caverns. “Oh,” she said, a moment of her own confusion before she blinked again, sitting up. “Okay.” He could see that she was wanting to ask if she was going to see him again. He wanted to ask it, too, and didn’t.
Instead, he took a deep breath, reaching out and tucking her hair behind her ear. “Can I kiss you goodbye?” he asked.
“Colby . . .” Meg wrinkled her nose. “I’ve got morning breath.”
Colby smiled; he couldn’t help it. “I don’t care about your morning breath.”
“Well, I do.” Meg gamboled upright and darted into the bathroom, returning a minute later smelling like Colgate Total and face wash. He could see where she’d tried to rub the smudges of mascara from under her eyes. She wasn’t the prettiest girl he’d ever met—he thought Jo was probably prettier, if you put them side by side—but there was something about Meg that made him feel like his heart was on fire when he looked at her. There was something about her that made him feel like he could build a staircase to the sky.
She scooped his hoodie off the floor and held it out in his direction, but Colby shook his head. “Keep it,” he said, aware that he wanted her to have something of his and embarrassed about it in equal amounts.
Meg smiled. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, I don’t know. Come here.”
Colby put both hands on her face and kissed her, tasting toothpaste and something like hope. She fisted her hands in his T-shirt, her short nails zipping against the cotton. “Bye,” she muttered into his mouth.
“Bye.”
He kissed her one more time before he went, the lock clicking softly shut behind him. He spent his whole shift trying not to smile.
She called that night as he was getting ready for bed. “What are you doing?” she wanted to know.
Colby stuck his toothbrush in the holder and wandered down the hall to his room, Tris bumping against his shins before trotting off toward the kitchen. “Just heading to bed.”
“Oh yeah?” she asked, a lilt in her voice he’d never heard before. “How about that; me too.”
“Oh,” he said dumbly, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. They’d talked on the phone when they were both in bed plenty of times, but it felt different now that they’d actually been in a bed together, even if nothing had technically happened. Especially since nothing technically had. He sat back against the pillows, then scooted down until he was on his back, holding the phone with one hand and resting the other on his stomach. “How was your day?” he finally asked.
“It was okay,” she said. “I mean, I spent most of it driving.”
“Oh.” He nodded. “That makes sense, yeah.”
Neither of them said anything for a moment. It felt awkward, suddenly, like it hadn’t on the phone before she’d come to visit; then they both spoke at once. “So I was listening to this podcast,” Meg started at the same time Colby blurted, “I texted Keith today.”
It was true, though he hadn’t exactly planned on mentioning it to her. “I told him I’d meet with that guy he wanted to set me up with, the construction dude.”
“You did?” Meg’s voice was eager. “Colby, that’s amazing!”
“Relax,” he said. “It’s just a breakfast.”
“Yeah,” Meg said, “but still. Look at you, going after what you want. I’m very pleased with myself over here, I’m not going to lie to you. Next thing you know I’ll have you knocking on doors for Annie Hernandez.”
Colby made a face. “This is all your doing, huh?”
“I’m taking partial credit.”
“Uh-huh. You can Venmo me for part of my breakfast, then.”
“I will,” Meg said immediately. “Seriously, though, I’m proud of you.”
“Okay, okay, enough.” It made him squirm a little, and not in a good way. He didn’t know why she cared so much. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“Like what?”
Colby considered that for a moment, picturing her back at home in Philadelphia. He wanted to know what her bedroom looked like, but it felt creepy to ask. “What are you wearing?” he blurted instead.
“Seriously?” Meg laughed, and Colby felt like an idiot, only then she actually answered. “A T-shirt.”
“With a feminist slogan on it?”
“Shut up,” Meg replied. “No. Just plain gray.”
“What else?”
Meg didn’t answer for a moment. “I mean, underwear,” she said finally. “But that’s it.”
Colby swallowed hard. “That’s it, huh?”
“That is it,” Meg echoed, a hint of a tease in her voice. “What are you wearing?”
“Just basketball shorts.”
“Is that always how you sleep?”
“When I’m not in hotel rooms with random girls, pretty much, yeah.”
“Rude,” Meg said. Then, more quietly: “I’m not random.”
“No,” Colby agreed, then cleared his throat a little. He thought of how soft her body was, how warm and smooth the skin of her rib cage had been, and moved his hand off his stomach so he didn’t get any ideas. “You’re not random at all.”
He wanted to tell her other stuff: that he was afraid of how he felt about her, that nothing about this seemed easy or smart. That there was a tiny part of him that hadn’t wanted to text her at all today, that had wanted to end things right now so that last night in the hotel room could be hermetically sealed, un-fuck-uppable. Nobody can pull the rug out from under you if you decide there isn’t a rug to begin with.
But that was ridiculous.
Right?
“I should go to sleep,” she said finally, yawning into the receiver; Colby thought of her wet, pink tongue before he could help himself, and balled his free hand into a fist.
“Okay,” he managed, and to his credit his voice was only the slightest bit strangled. “Have a good sleep.”
“Night, Colby.”
Colby hit end and set his phone on the nightstand, then rolled over and groaned once into the pillows before he turned out the light.