Page 79 of Break the Ice

I look up. ‘Jesus, Phoebe!’ I say as she emerges through the door. Naked. Absolutely properly naked. I’ve seen her naked before but talk about distracting. I try to look away to be polite.

She reaches over and grabs a towel from the bed to cover herself. ‘Calm your boots. It’s not like you’ve not seen it all before.’

‘Yeah but last time I saw it…’ Those nipples were in my mouth. Don’t go there. Don’t think back to that. You’ll make it weird.

‘We’re roomies. Get over yourself. Plus, I’m far too fragile for any sort of tomfoolery like that.’

I look over at her cautiously. Her towel is now wrapped around her and she rifles through her bags looking for clothes. She pulls some panties up her legs and then puts a large t-shirt over her head and drops her towel to the floor. I study the way the t-shirt skims her thighs. It’s a Phoebe I’m familiar with. No make-up on her face, her hair is scraped back into a messy bun. I always like this version of her, it’s built for comfort. She goes to sit on the bed, pouting a little, a hand rubbing her belly.

‘Still feeling a little sick?’ I ask.

She nods. ‘I’m sorry. My stomach now feels a little raw. Tomorrow, permission to pace my eating.’

‘I’ll try,’ I say. She collapses into the bed, her knees curled into her body. ‘You sure you’re OK?’ I go over to her. ‘Come on, let’s get you into bed properly.’ I urge her to wriggle over, get under the comforter at least and rest her head up against some pillows. She snuggles in. ‘You warm enough?’ I hand her the hot-water bottle and she cuddles it, holding it against her stomach. I go to a drawer under the bed and get some blankets out, then fold them neatly at the end of the bed. ‘If you get too cold. But maybe you should think about pants when you sleep. Pyjama pants.’

‘I didn’t pack those. You’ll have to lend me some,’ she says. My mom has provided us with extra pillows, so she props herself up and points to the water on the side. I hand it to her and she takes short sips. She hands me back the glass and curls herself around a pillow, looking up at me. ‘I’m sorry I’ve ruined our plans for the evening,’ she mumbles, still burping under her breath.

‘Don’t apologise. There were no plans,’ I tell her.

‘But we’re in the city that never sleeps. The Big Apple,’ she says, yawning.

‘Well, the city never sleeps but the people do, they must to survive. I was actually up for a hot chocolate and an early night,’ I tell her.

‘Grandpa,’ she says.

I laugh. ‘Do you want me to get a bucket?’ I ask, trying to remain practical.

‘I think I’ll be OK. My body was overexcited by all the calories.’ She curls up her body again and her big blue eyes look up at me.

‘I’m sorry I saw you naked. I don’t want you to think I’m some sort of pervert.’

‘Babe, we’ve done things. I knew that already.’

I open my mouth in shock and shake my head.

‘I don’t care, Joshua,’ she says. ‘We’re all naked underneath really. If you’re wondering why I have such a great rack, it’s all from my mother.’

‘Yes, I did sit here and wonder about the hereditary aspects of your breasts,’ I tell her.

She cackles in response but winces, as the movement obviously causes her a bit of discomfort. ‘Thank you for tucking me in and letting me stay here. I like your little room, it’s cosy.’

‘You are welcome,’ I tell her. Instinctively, I put a hand to the top of her head and stroke her hair for a moment, surprising myself by how quietly intimate the gesture feels. ‘Just checking for fever. I think you’re fine.’

‘That’s good to know, Dr Josh. Now can I have a story before you turn off the lights? Please?’ she says jokingly.

‘Do you want a story about a dog called Steve?’ I ask her. ‘Or a story about a little girl called Phoebe who ate too much and nearly puked outside the Flatiron Building?’

She sticks her tongue out at me. ‘I don’t know how you can make fun when I’m poorly and so far from home,’ she says, tracing a finger down her cheek to mimic a tear. She curls up again, making sad eyes at me.

‘Then the story of Steve it is. Steve the Wonder Dog who galloped through the snow to catch stars, save Christmas and⁠—’

‘Took an epic shit next to Stonehenge,’ she adds.

‘This is a children’s book,’ I tell her.

‘Then sorry, “poop”.’

I laugh, heartily. ‘God, you’re mad as a mad thing but I’m so glad you’re here.’ I bend over, grab the sides of her head and give her a kiss on the forehead.