Page 36 of Run To You
I let it sit on my notifications a whole five minutes before answering because that’s how long it takes me to shake off the thrill of seeing her message. I’m a sucker for that woman, damn!
You
Ditto. Next time, the loser buys post-race milkshakes.
The read receipt pops up instantly, followed by three dancing dots. I imagine her sitting on her bed, legs dangling off the end, only half-paying attention to whatever reality TV she’s put on as a way to decompress.
Sloane
You realize you’ll be the loser, right? I’m in training.
You
We’ll see, Bishop.
Sloane
Prepare to eat your words, Sawyer.
It goes on like that until we’re both out of banter and the day catches up on us both. I eat leftovers, scrolling through photos from the event. Bright smiles, chins shiny with rainbow frosting, close-ups of our sneakers in a circle taken from above.
I print one out of the pictures of Sloane with confetti tangled in her hair and a smile that’s damn near nuclear. I stick it on my corkboard above my desk.
I spend the rest of the night working on paintings for the London show. After years of hating deadlines, I find myself suddenly ahead of schedule.
Maybe I owe Sloane royalties on my productivity. The brushstrokes feel different lately…looser, louder, more honest. Part of me wants to tell her about it. Most of me wants to just keep painting until the sun comes up.
When I finally crash, it’s the early hours of the morning. I replay the day in my head like a movie. The morning’s cold air, Sloane’s voice in my ear offering to pace me, the weirdly moving moment when Bella and Becca crossed the finish line holding hands and singing “We Are the Champions.” I fall asleep grinning.
My pleasant dreams are interrupted by Bella and Becca shagging. It’s not the first time, and frankly, it doesn’t bother me. There are times, however, when I wish they weren’t morning sex people, because I’ve had about three hours of sleep and need a few more before I get back to painting.
Rolling over, I find the nearest heavy object and launch it at the wall joining mine and Bella’s wall.
“Quiet sex!” I shout.
There’s some giggling before I get a muffled “sorry” in reply.
It’s no use, though. I’m awake now and can hear every squeak of Bella’s bed.
“For fuck’s sake,” I grumble, slithering out of bed and to the floor. I sit there leaning against my bedframe for a few minutes to allow my brain enough time to get my body to function.
I think of Sloane in her apartment, void of noisy roommates. Then I think of her making the noises I can hear through the wall, and my face heats.
“I need to get laid,” I mumble as I haul myself to my feet and head to the kitchen.
Caffeine is my friend today.
12
Sloane
Iwake up to blood pumping in my ears and the dazzling blue of the morning light shining on the wall beside my bed. I should close the blinds, but they look expensive and difficult to use. I do not want to tell my mom I damaged them within a week of being home.
It’s early…too early, if you ask anyone but the morning birds and my dad, who hasn’t slept past six since I was a baby. I turn over and swipe my phone off the bedside table so I can look at the time. Ugh, it’s 6:18 a.m. A whole hour before my alarm.
The bed is damp with sweat, and my thighs are sticking together uncomfortably. It takes a full sixty seconds to realize I’ve had another dream. Not the falling kind, or the “show up to class naked” brand of nightmare my brain likes to offer up several times a month. No, this was the other kind. The Eden kind.
I try to lie still, but my muscles are tensing as I reconstruct the dream sequence before it evaporates. It was vivid as hell in color and sensation. I recall Eden’s mouth parted in a crooked smile as she looked down at me. Her tongue licking the corner like she always does when she’s about to say something inappropriate.
