all right, I think. James is really, really nice,’ I said, smiling at the thought of Alex with his black hair all ruffled on the pillow, my head resting against his chest as he fell asleep, his fingers curled around my wrist. ‘You sound sleepy. Are you OK?’
‘I guess I was asleep,’ he yawned again. ‘And just how nice is this James? Should I be worried?’
‘No,’ I slipped into bed and set my alarm for eight a.m. ‘I think you’ll be OK. Especially since I…’
‘Since you?’
‘Since I just babbled like an idiot. I’m sure he thinks I’m the worst interviewer he’s ever met.’ I decided not to share the shoe puking until I got back to New York. It felt more like an ‘in-person’ story. ‘You should go back to bed. I don’t want to be the reason the world has to go without a new Stills album this year.’
‘You’re the reason there’s going to be another album at all,’ Alex said softly. I curled up against the pillows and smiled. No six-foot sex god could compete with that. ‘So, about that phone sex we talked about?’
I was sure what he really meant to say was ‘I love you and I can’t live with you.’ But he didn’t.
‘Goodnight, Alex. Get some sleep.’
‘What are you wearing?’
‘Goodnight, Alex.’ I hung up and flicked off the lights.
Boys.
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