“Apparently,” he deadpanned, and I crossed my legs in the seat, invested in unpacking this further, the tears from earlier gone.
“So, what are you going to do, get a boat?” I was only half-joking. How was he supposed to travel internationally if he couldn’t get on a plane?
“I was choosing to ignore that part of the venture until necessary. But it will require some assistance in the form of muscle relaxants at a minimum. Or maybe this-” he gestured to where I continued to lazily stroke his arm, “could be an additional extra with the ticket.”
“I hate to say I told you so, but how good is aten for ten,” I laughed, causing him to flash me that electric smirk.
Gosh, he was handsome.
“What’s your colour today?” I asked, needing a distraction before my greedy little fingers moved up to his bicep.
He hummed along to the music as he considered the question. We were on our way to a cafe and the photos online did look gorgeous to say the least, so I was in good spirits, feeling the warmer end of the spectrum.
“Alien Armpit, you?” He grinned.
“Who named these crayons, honestly?” I chuckled, leaning forward as the song transitioned into another track, which I predictably skipped.
“So, you don’t like Celine or Avril now. I’m beginning to doubt your Canadian heritage at this point.”
“Oh, please,” I murmured, continuing to move through the songs. “Ha!” I grinned, satisfied when Justin Bieber began. “I never skip Justin,” I sighed almost dreamily.
“You’re aBelieber?” He sounded horrified, which could not be accurate. I would never be friends with someone who asked that with such shock.
“Did you just sayBelieber?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” he scowled in the most adorable way.
“Well, I am. And if we are being totally honest, I am also aTwihard. Is that a deal breaker?” I retorted with raised brows.
“Depends,” he paused, “team Edward or team Jacob?”
“Hmmm, depends on if it’s the book or the movie – but always team Carlisle.” I answered, my voice laced with appreciation.
His throaty laugh filled the space causing me to smile too. “What’s your colour?” He asked.
“Sunburnt Cyclops– but I think it could be the dusty desert out there,” I pointed to the haunted void of endless land, “and how relaxed I’m feeling. It feels good to be here.” I leant back against the headrest, the air-conditioning teasing my fringe. I’d thrown the rest of my hair up and with my white tank and beige linen pants, the holiday season had never felt so strange. I couldn’t believe it was Thanksgiving next week – not that it would be a traditional celebration this year. Being on opposite sides of the world was going to make a sibling lunch difficult, but we’d shared a faux celebration before I left.
By now, Blake would be top to toe covered in snow gear, well and truly into the winter chill while I was wearing less by the day as the heat continued to rise. Not that I was complaining given my pal next to me was also doing the same which meant I was seeing more of his skin as the days unfolded.
“I agree. It’s been over twenty-four hours since I checked a work email and that would usually cause me physical pain, but it hasn’t.” His hand turned almost involuntarily as if signifying his bafflement.
The sun was pouring through the window, his right arm cased in the mid-afternoon sunshine and his left my own fingerpainting scape. Reluctantly I removed myself from his skin and reached into the glove compartment, taking out the polaroid camera we purchased. I snapped a quick photo of his side profile, his eyes focused on the road, and another, my fingers ghosting his forearm which still lay enticingly between us. He didn’t react, other than a quick side-eye and slight raise of his brows and I returned the camera before fanning the photos to quicken their development.
“You do realise it’s unhealthy to live to work. You should be working to live. And that includes enjoying life.”
“I’m literally on holiday right now,” he protested sarcastically.
“And I still think you could be less scrunchy. What about if I drive to the next place?”
“You can definitely drive. How long are we thinking we will stay at this next spot?” He asked, giving me pause. This was his holiday too but thus far I was calling all of the shots, and he was simply along for the ride. The man who required organisation and structure hadn’t complained or pushed for anything concrete. The thought was both heartwarming and perplexing.
“You choose. I’m happy to go to places you select too,” I said exaggeratedly with a lengthy sweep of my arm.
“Oh, the power of this situation might prove too much,” he quipped, and I grinned.
“I’m sure you can handle it. I’m becoming accustomed to this passenger princess lifestyle,” I said, extending my feet up onto the dash where I admired my beaded anklet and toe ring.
My stomach grumbled, placing a dampener on the air of sophistication I was aiming for, and I glanced at the map illuminated on the dash signalling our arrival shortly.
