American Sweethearts

44

I squint my eyes, wincing at the sunlight pouring in through the window. I dive back into the sheets, using them as a shield. But then I realise... something is off. It doesn't smell like my bed. It smells like... Tyler.

I look back up, giving my eyes a moment to adjust to the brightness. This isn't my room. It's Tyler's.

But Tyler isn't here.

His phone is. It's laying on the nightstand beside me, playing The Shins. Tyler's bottle of Jim Beam is sitting there, as well, along with a filthy ashtray and a dirty bong.

I replay last nights events over in my mind. Him carrying me into the kitchen, making me a milkshake, trying to be romantic. He wanted me to stay with him, but I'm not sure what that means just yet.

Did he just want company, or did he actually want to be with me specifically? I don't understand him at all. But right now, I'm happy.

I sit up in bed, trying to wake myself up. Tyler doesn't have a clock in his room, so I grab his phone. It's 11 AM, two hours past my preferred wake-up time. His phone is flooded with text and missed calls, but I don't recognise any of the names. Some of them aren't even named, they're just numbers.

I move to put it back on the nightstand, but before I can, the door opens. Tyler's walks into the room, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. His hair is wet, and there are little droplets of water running over his chest. For once, he doesn't smell like cigarettes. He smells like wood and coconuts.

"You're up," he says.

"Yeah, I just woke up."

"Did you... uhm, sleep well?"

"Yeah," I nod. Surprisingly well. In fact, I don't think I've slept that well in a long time.

He walks over to his chest of drawers. He pulls out a pair of sweatpants and a tee, but he doesn't put them on. He tosses them on the bed, keeping his eyes glued to me.

I wish he would put them on. Seeing him like this, smelling as fresh as he does.... My stomach tingles.

"Do you remember what happened last night?" I ask him.

"I do."

"You were pretty... out of it."

"Weed calms me down, Sarah. It doesn't make me forget."

"Right," I purse my lips. "I just assumed... well, because of alcohol, you know?"

"Alcohol and weed are nothing alike," he tells me.

"I know that," I scoff.

"You do?"

"I've seen it with you."

"You have?"

"When you're stoned, you're playful," I say. "But when you're drunk, you're angry."

He chuckles, glancing between me and the bottle on the nightstand. He absentmindedly scratches his balls, making me smile slightly, a blush rising to my cheeks.

"You've been watching me, have you?" he smirks.

"A little," I admit. "It's hard not to."

"Well, I've been watching you too."

"You have?"

"Isn't it obvious?" he scoffs. "I made you a strawberry milkshake, for fuck's sake!"

"But everyone knows I like them."

"You never told me."

"I never had the chance to."

"And who's fault is that? Mine."