by Daisy Allen
"Can I have these?" Brad holds up a pair of the hotel slippers. He drops them on the floor and slides his feet into them before I can answer. Emily rolls her eyes and gives me a wink. I smile back at her, and how obviously in love with him she is. Lucky bastard.
I look around the room. They're all paired off. Cadey and Seb. Emily and Brad. Even Marius... is with my little sister, Anca.
We're still us, I guess. But I'd be lying if I didn't admit that they're happier than I've ever seen them. And I've been with them pretty much every day since we were thirteen years old.
Fifteen years later, the happiest I've ever seen them is now, when they're in love with women who understand them.
She understands you.
She helped you when no one else could.
She got you to make a fucking fist, when you thought it was the hardest thing to do in the world.
I sit up, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.
She's leaving, she wrote it twice just to make sure I knew.
Why did she send me that song, WHY? Why did she write it for me?
It’s time to make a choice, the same choice that always comes up in life.
Fight or flight.
Fight or flight?
“Come on!” I say out loud, not caring that they all turn to me, staring. “Fight or flight, fucker?”
Fight.
Always fight.
I slide out of bed and ignore everyone shouting at me as I run down the hall way to her room. I pull the door open and she's standing there, looking at the window, her hand up around her neck.
I walk straight to her, as she spins around and looks at me, her eyes wide, waiting for me to say something.
“It’s time to make a choice,” I say.
“What are you talking about?”
“Me or him, Noémie.” Fight or flight? She stares at me, her mouth falling open. So I say it one last time. “Make the choice. Me or him.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Noémie
"Me or him," he repeats.
Like he needs to, as if it's a choice.
Him. Of course him. But it's not as easy as that, I open my mouth to tell him.
But it's too late.
"What's going on?" Chris is at the door, another gawdy bunch of flowers in his hand.
Jez walks toward him before I can stop him.
"I'm sorry, man. I don't mean to do this but... this is between me and Noémie." He turns back to me, his eyes bright, but he's smiling. He knows it's him. Of course it's him.
"Chris,” I say, looking past Jez. One thing at a time. I need to do this properly.
"What's going on Noémie?" He moves to me, and I have to remind myself who he is, and to be kind.
"I'm sorry, Chris."
"Sorry for what? Come on, let's get you ready to go."
"Me or him, Noémie," Jez repeats.
"What is this dickhead on about?"
"I'm asking her to choose, man,” Jez cuts in. “You or me."
“Jez. No.” I shake my head.
Chris look to me, then Jez then back again. A look of incredulousness on his face. "Wait. You're not seriously saying that you're going to choose him."
"I'm really sorry, Chris,” I say.
"This is total horse shit. You’re my girlfriend! Mine!” He says it like he owns me. And not for the first time I can’t figure out how I could have ever been with him. I guess that’s for past Noémie to know.
“Is she? She doesn’t even remember who you are, does she?” Jez asks him
“Does she remember who you are?” Chris spits back at him, his face slipping into an ugly mask.
Jez shakes his head and shrugs. “No, it appears she doesn’t. So, then it seems to me you and I are in the same boat. And she’s the only one who can choose. Noémie, who are you going to choose?” He grins, and I want to pinch him for being so cocky. And right.
“Chris, look, I’m sorry.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” He looks me up and down, contempt in his eyes. I feel dirty just standing near him.
“No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I hurt you.” I force myself to reach out to him. To know I never meant it to turn out like this.
“You little bitch.” He spits at me. “I know who he is. You’re just being a little gold digger. First freeloading off Paige, and now this loser.”
I’ve barely processed what he’s said when I feel Jez move, rushing towards him, his hand in a fist pulling back as if to punch him.
“Jez, no!” I pull back on his arm, holding as tight as I can.
He stops, but his face is red, his eyes hard, angry. Chris just looks right back at him, his eyes unreadable, slippery, grey.
“Fuck it. You’re not worth it.” Jez spins around to face me. “Let’s go, Noémie.”
“Go?” I repeat, and I can’t think of anything more I want than to leave with him.
“Right now. Let’s go, grab your things and come with me right now.” He looks even more alive than when he finally could hold a pen that day in PT.
“You’re not fucking serious,” Chris hisses. I’d almost forgotten he was there.
“What do you care?” Jez says, not bothering to look at him.
Chris snickers, “I don’t. Good luck to you. She’s going to make you regret it,” he says as he throws the flowers onto the bed and storms out of the room, taking his noxious aftershave with him. I can’t think about him now. Hopefully I never will again.
“You ready?” Jez asks me, and all I can do is nod and grim. He grabs my hand and moves toward the door.
“Wait.” He stops and let’s go of my hand. And my heart sinks.
He’s changed his mind, already. I’m too much work. I watch as he walks over to my bed and picks up my ukulele and tucks it under his arm as he takes my hand in his again.
“Can’t leave that.”
I grin at him so big I must look like an absolute fool.
He grins right back, just as foolishly, making me throw my head back and laugh. I’m so happy I can barely contain it.
“Let’s go.” I’m the one to say it, this time.
He nods. “Let’s go.”
Our hands entwined, we run to the elevator and the doors open immediately. We climb on and as the doors close behind us, I see a crowd running towards us from Jez’s room. He just waves to their confused faces and I burst out laughing again, my heart brimming with joy.
We turn to face each other and the smiles on our faces soften.
And fade.
The look in his eyes now burning hot.
It makes me burn for him in return.
“Noémie,” he whispers. His voice full of lust. And my body lunges forward, to be with him.
He catches me, and we kiss.
We kiss like we’ve longed to kiss.
Like there’s nothing and nobody else in the world.
His mouth is hot, almost searing against mine, and I feel something between my legs start to pulse.
“God,” I moan, scratching my nails down his back.
“You are going to be the death of me, girl,” he growls. “But I’ll go willingly if I can keep kissing you.”
“Shut up and just do it,” I say, and he does.
It takes someone clearing their throat before we realize the elevator has reached the lobby and that people are waiting to get on. Jez takes my hand and we run out, out past the front desk, out of our prison and through the front entrance.
He flags down a cab and climbs in after me.
“Where to?” he asks me.
“I don’t know!” I laugh.
‘Anywhere in the world, I mean it. Anywhere.”
“Seriously?”
“Never more so.”
And I know exactly where I want to go.
***
Four hours later, I’m standing in front of the Eiffel Tower.
Not that real one, of course. But the closest thing to it.
By the time our cab had reached LAX, Jez
had a private plane waiting for us. For me. Oh my god.
He'd asked me one more time, where I wanted to go, and the answer was the same.
Paris.
It's always been Paris. I didn't expect to be taken there, of course. We didn't have anything with us. Just the clothes on our back and an old ukulele. And each other.
But when I climbed those stairs up to the plane, the wind in my hair, Jez's hand on my back, an open sky in front of me, I really thought we could just about go anywhere in the world.
So we did, we went to Paris.
Well, the closest thing to it.
When we landed, right there on the tarmac in Las Vegas was a limo. Again, for us, for me.
And it whisked us away, to a penthouse suite at the Bellagio across from the Paris Las Vegas Hotel.
And now I’m looking at the Eiffel Tower.
She's lit up like the world’s most beautiful Christmas tree. Sparkling lights towering up into the sky, lording over the famous dancing fountains of the Bellagio hotel.
Standing behind me, his chest against my back, his face tucked against my neck, his lips brushing on my cheek, is Jez.
And I'm in bliss.
"I hope this is okay, it's the best I could do on such short notice," he says.
I think I’m being cool about everything but apparently not, because Jez whispers into my ear "why the big sigh?"
I giggle and spin around, still encased in his embrace, and wrap my arms around his neck.
He smiles down at me, and it's brighter than the Eiffel tower.
"Thank you," I sigh happily.
"What for?"
"For everything. For being you. For rescuing me."
"Thank you for choosing me."
"I really didn't have any choice."
"You always have a choice, Emmie."
I smile at the nickname. I've always hated nicknames, but I like it coming from him. Like I exist to him in a different form than I do to the rest of the world.
I sigh again. "I'm so happy," I tell him. And the smile grows wider.
"Me too. I didn't think I could be this happy."
"We're a couple of happy mush-heads."
"Well, you're a happy mush-head, I'm a smoldering pile of happy muscle and manliness."
I poke him gently in the chest and he lets out a little yelp.
"Ow!"
"Oh, yes, very manly."
"You have strong fingers! Those uke strumming fingers. I used to have fingers like that."
I grin and reach for his hand and drop a soft kiss to the fingertips. "They'll be strong again. I'll be sure to give them lots of practice."
His smile changes to a look of want and he lowers his head to mine, kissing me, gently at first, and then it builds, and builds and builds, his hands are in my hair, mine around his neck. I want him. My body feels like it needs to be devoured by him, taken, possessed.
I nibble on his lip and he lets out a low growl, his mouth moving to trace along my neck. I throw my head back, exposing his tongue to more skin and he dips it into the valley between my breasts.
And then he stops.
Dropping small gentle kisses back up my décolleté to my mouth, he then pulls away, kissing the top of my head.
I wonder what made him stop, but I don’t ask.
I face the window again, the sight of the tower overwhelming me. I don't know if I'll ever get used to seeing it.
We stare out into the strip for a few minutes, the music from the fountain drifting up to us, like orphaned notes scattering in the desert winds, the fountains shooting a canon of water droplets high up into the air with only some returning to the pool, the rest catching on a whoosh of air and disappearing into the night, cooling on the upturned faces of the spectators.
Then it's over, the crowd dissipates, and it's just us once more.
"So, what do you want to do now?"
Have you fuck me. My mind answers. But my mouth keeps it between us.
I thought he'd want to.
I've given him every sign that I want to. That I want him.
"Um, what do you want to do?" I ask him, my voice suddenly shy and quiet.
"Well, you can't come to Vegas and not gain 10 pounds. I'm pretty sure that's illegal. Shall we hit the buffet? The Bellagio's is one of my favorites. Or we could go to Wicked Spoon or one of the newer ones. But if you like desserts, which I know you do, we're just a few hundred steps away."
He takes my hand and spin me around and for a moment, just a moment, I let the magic of the moment consume me. I twirl, my dress ballooning around me, and I laugh as the lights of the Eiffel Tower reflect in his eyes.
And I want to be nowhere else but right here.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Jez
She's quiet through dinner. Not totally, but she's not the usual effervescent and chatty woman I'm used to. I can't help wondering if she's regretting her decision, and realizing she's doesn’t want to be here, to be with me.
I ask her if she wants a coffee and she gives me a small smile and shakes her head.
Maybe she's tired, and doesn't want to tell me?
You idiot, she's been in the hospital for... well, I'm not sure how long, but for some time. She's recovering from a brain injury at least, and you don't even give her time to rest. Thoughtless prick.
"Are you finished?" I ask as she puts down the fork she's been using to pick at the cheesecake on her plate. She didn't eat much. Even more of an indication that she's probably pretty tired. I've seen this woman put away a plate of Emily's lasagna even before I could get a forkful.
She nods and takes a sip of her water, patting at her lips with the napkin. It's quite late now and the buffet dining room is pretty empty. I'd managed to get a booth in the smaller room and there aren't many people to see us.
The last thing I want is to be ambushed while we're here. Without bodyguards and the entourage and the other guys in the band, I'm not really sure how I would handle it.
I get up and give her my hand. She shakes her head and pulls herself out of the booth.
"I don't want to hurt your hand," she explains as she stands up and then takes it and pats it gently before letting go.
Her thoughtfulness is touching and my heart lurches in my chest. While I'm pushing her to fatigue, she's still thinking of me. I take her hand and lead her out of the restaurant. The chaotic noise of the casino instantly bombards us and she flinches.
I pull her closer, sliding an arm around her waist.
Stay with me, I think. I'll keep you safe.
She rests her head on my shoulder as we walk towards the elevators.
"Tired?"
"A little, I guess," she says quietly, and I can barely hear her over the beep-beeps of the poker machines and yells from winners and losers at the game tables.
"Let me get you up to bed and you can go to sleep," I say, kissing the top of her head.
She stops.
Her hand dropping from mine.
"What's wrong? Did you need to go to the restroom?" I ask, pointing to the row of doors behind her.
"Argh!" She yells, "What is wrong with you? Or is it me?"
"What?" I ask; she’s angry, and I have no idea why.
"No, you need to tell me. Is there, like horns growing out of my head?” She makes little fingers movement on either side of her temples. “Or do I smell like funky cheese, or do you only like really tall women, or really short women or something?"
"Um." She's glaring at me, and her chest is heaving with deep, heavy breaths. I'm assuming I've done something wrong but I can't figure out what it is.
"Why... ugh, never mind!" She storms off without finishing her sentence.
I run after her, catching her hand and spinning her around.
"Whoa, whoa, Emmie, baby! What's going on? Did I do something?"
"No!" She snaps, avoiding eye contact.
"So I didn't do something?"
"Humph, exactly!” She throws her hands up in the air.
/> I’m no more informed than I was a minute ago. She just stands there, fuming, but refusing to look at me. I touch the side of her cheek, hoping it’ll make her look up at me.
"Hey… Emmie, what's going on?"
"Do you... do you not find me attractive?" She fidgets with the hem of her dress, her voice soft and quiet.
My brain goes from confusion to completely blank. Like it can't even process her words.
"What in the world?"
"Well, do you?" She finally lifts her eyes and meets mine.
"Of course, I do!!"
"Then why don't you want to have sex with me?"
My mouth drops open and for a moment I think I’m hallucinating. Did she just say what i think she says?
"Say that again."
"Why. Don't. You. Want. To. FUCK. Me??!" She repeats, with a slight change in words for emphasis, the anger returning to her voice.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I choke.
Her eyes narrow and her hands brace on her hips. She looks so angry and strong and sexy and feminine and I'd fuck her right now if I wasn't trying to figure out what is going on in her brain.
"Why in the world would you think that?"
"Because... you haven't!"
"Oh my god." I let out a guffaw. She IS crazy. "You are one crazy woman,” I splutter, still unable to really understand where this is all coming from.
Her eyes narrow even more. Guess that comment didn't help.
I notice a crowd starting to form around us but I don’t fucking care.
I grab her by the shoulders so she can’t look away, and she looks just as pissed off as she did before.
"Why, on God's holy earth, would you think that I'm not attracted to you?" I shake my head, the words coming out of my mouth sounding so ridiculous even as I'm saying them.
"I thought you would've wanted to… have sex with me by now,” she says, with a small shrug.
"Oh my god. Noémie, sweet, sexy, drive me fucking crazy Noémie," I pull her in against me, so close she has to tip her head almost all the way back to look up at me. "I want you so much I feel like my veins are filled permanently with cement, my whole body hard, stiff... for you. I want you so bad, I can't even look at you most of the time, in case I can't control myself and have to have you right there and then, wherever it is, at PT, on the plane, in a cab on the fucking L.A. freeway, in the middle of a crowded casino...”
