Chapter Twenty-Nine

Maeve

"When I asked you where you wanted to go to get away from it all, this is not what I had in mind," I say before popping another Cheeto in my mouth.

"Oh, what did you expect?" Loncey replies, a little breathless as they pull down on the metal bar in their hands again. They grunt out a number I don't quite catch. I don't know how long they've been pulling down weights on this machine that probably has a more sophisticated name than "this machine" but I couldn't give a flying fuck what it is.

I shrug. "I don't know. Maybe another walk down the Strip. Or maybe we could have escaped and left the city." I pause before continuing but after a quick mental fuck it, I pipe up again. "Isn't there a planetarium a little north of here?"

Loncey raises their arms quickly and the weights slam back in place with a loud metallic clunk.

"The Dale Etheridge Planetarium? How do you know about that?"

"I was being nosey on Google Maps," I say, and it's not a complete lie, if not the whole truth. "Have you ever been?"

They shake their head and then turn to look at me. I'm lying on what Loncey told me is a mat used for warming up or cooling down, although I am doing neither. I'm using their rolled-up hoodie as a cushion under my head and I've found a barbell I could barely move quite handy as a footrest. The bag of Cheetos that lies on my stomach is the only reason I'm here at all as Loncey promised me whatever I wanted from a vending machine down the corridor after they asked if they could just sweat out some of their stress in the gym.

And from the looks of it, that's exactly what they're doing. Perspiration glosses their forehead and until we'd started talking I'd become a little too invested in watching the beads of sweat that were snaking down the back of their neck, which is exposed thanks to them pulling their locs up in a high ponytail.

Normally I don't like people sweating in front of me. I don't like the smell and I find it arguably the top of many reasons why I choose not to do any exercise other than ballet, and walking to my nails, hair or brows appointments. And I definitely don't normally become fascinated with the journey of a single bead of perspiration on another person's body. I must be so jetlagged I've become delerious.

I yawn as if to confirm this for myself.

"You're tired," they say, helpfully offering further affirmation. "You should go back to your room."

I shake my head. "I said I'd keep you company, and I wasn't complaining about your chosen activity. Just a bit surprised. Aren't there deserts near here where you can see all the stars from too?"

Loncey pulls a face at me. "You can't see all the stars from anywhere."

"Right. Okay. Silly me." I poke my tongue out at them.

They swivel on the bench they're straddling so both legs are on one side and they're facing me.

"You can't see any stars right now, actually. Apart from the sun," they say. "It's not dark yet."

"True. But it will be soon."

They get up and walk to another machine that also probably has a special name but oh, look, there goes another flying fuck I didn't give about what it's called. This time they sit in a high-backed chair and start pushing handles forward, again grunting out numbers and becoming a little breathless.

"You should probably go and get some rest," they say, and I stare at them for a moment trying to determine if they want to get rid of me. Maybe they want to be alone. Maybe having an audience in the gym is undoing any possible stress relief. I would certainly hate it if I was ever foolish enough to start working out.

It would be a reasonable request – to want to work out alone – but the problem is, I don't want to leave.

I want to stay in Loncey's company. Not because I want to watch more sweat slide down their body, even if it surprisingly doesn't make me want to vomit. But because I want to be as normal as possible with them. I want to be normal now with them because last night I was anything but normal.

And they helped me. They really helped me.

I want to do the same for them, especially knowing that their sister is in hospital.

"Are you trying to get rid of me?" I kick up one of my eyebrows. Of course I'm going to make my not wanting to leave about them, not me.

Their face falls. "No, not at all, I just… this can't be much fun for you."

I run a hand through the air next to my body. "I'm currently lying flat on my arse eating crisps. This is pretty much the perfect way to spend a day."

"Especially after you nailed your keynote speech," they say as they stand off the machine. After wiping it down they approach me. "I haven't said that to you yet. I should have. You fucking nailed it, Maeve."

"It wasn't too dull? Too uninteresting? Too… asexual?"

They give me an admonishing look. "What is dull about being asexual? And your speech was anything but uninteresting. You had a whole room of sex workers re-thinking their relationship with sex. That's not an easy or simple thing to do."

"But is it helpful? Was I not rocking the boat, being a bit, you know, confronting?"

"By making people realise that compulsory sexuality is a thing? A thing that holds most of us back in one way or another?" Loncey steps even closer but I'm very aware of how they stop before they're close enough to touch me. I'm also very aware of how they stay standing, tall above me as I look up at them. "You're doing them a favour."

Loncey's words land somewhere deep inside me and I want to spend time chewing on them, processing them, but I don't want to do it now while Loncey is standing over me, an expectant look on their face. I don't know why but I suddenly want to talk about the thing I've spent the last hour deliberately not talking about.

"So, last night," I begin.

Loncey's eyes land on mine. "Yeah. Last night."

"Was that… was that weird for you?"

Loncey's head-shake is immediate and resolute. "Not at all."

"Okay."

"Was it weird for you?"

"Yeah, of course it fucking was." I move the bag of Cheetos off my stomach and move to sit up. "I've never done anything like that with anyone else before."

"Not even… ex-partners? Ex-lovers?"

"Jesus," I roll my eyes, "I wouldn't call any of the hopeless eejits I've dated in the past partners or lovers."

I expect Loncey to laugh at that but their face looks anything but amused. "I'm sorry to hear that," they say. "That's a real shame."

"Well, I'm pretty sure I was a disappointment to them too."

"Maeve." Loncey's voice has an edge to it that I don't really want to hear.

"I'm just stating a fact," I explain. "Anyway, I wanted to er, well, thank you for last night. I'm not sure if it should or shouldn't have but doing… that with you last night, it made me feel more normal."

"Sex shouldn't make you feel normal," Loncey says and his voice is all softness now.

"I know. I mean, I think I know that. Logically, but still, being told something else for most of your life, it still leaves me kind of confused about it all."

Loncey nods. "I get that. It's the same for me and gender. I still find myself feeling like I should be a proud Black man, like I'm letting that side down by not being a proud Black man."

"But you know you're not, right? You know you can't be something you're not just because the world tells you that's what you should be?"

"Logically, yes." Loncey levels a look on me that is very telling. Borderline patronising in fact. I throw a Cheeto at them.

"You think you're such a smart-arse." I move onto my knees so I'm a little higher, reaching in the bag of crisps for more ammunition.

"And you think you're not! That's even worse!" they declare as they dodge another one of my bullets.

To stop me throwing another they reach down and grab hold of my hand. Somehow their grip is so firm, they pull me up to standing, the bag of Cheetos left on the mat.

"You know there was one thing I did find a little weird about last night," they say, still holding my wrist although their hold has loosened slightly.

"Oh?" I say and a shiver of panic ripples through me. At least I think that's what it is.

"It was weird doing that with you but not kissing you before or after."

I blink at them, their deep brown eyes fixed on me.

"But we hugged. You said you liked to hug… after stuff like that."

"I do. But hugging isn't kissing. Do you like kissing, Maeve?"

I love kissing, I want to say but that would be too much. That would be ridiculous.

"Sometimes," I say instead.

Loncey licks their lips and that pulls my eyes down to their full lips that are this indescribable mix of light brown and warm pink. It hits me then that they want to kiss me. That they're going to kiss me. And I feel… good about it. I feel hopeful and keen and curious and full of anticipation.

The last time I wanted to kiss someone was at Christmas nearly a year ago and it was Arabella. But it wasn't like this. That felt like something I had to do, like it was a test, one I failed miserably, but thankfully not at the cost of our friendship.

This is totally different. There is an element of want to this kiss.

"That's good to know," Loncey says and then, after squeezing my finger briefly, they drop my hand and walk away.

"You fucker!" I call out to their back.

They turn and flash me a very amused smile. "Pardon?"

"You stood there licking your lips like you were about to kiss me!" I point a finger at them and step closer. "I bet you've tried that move on all your partners and I can't believe I fell for it."

They're laughing softly and I can't decide whether to shout louder or join in their laughter. "You're right, I have tried it on others in the past," they say. "But I promise you this was different."

"How? Because you didn't actually kiss me? Just wanted to leave me hanging like a wet fecking fish on a hook?"

They step closer to me and their eyes are all dark and stupidly bottomless again. "No, Maeve. This was different because I had to stop myself. I had to use all the energy in my body to hold myself back."

My mouth goes dry. "Why? I said I liked kissing… sometimes."

They nod and have the audacity to lick their lips again but this time it's more contemplative than suggestive. "Because I refuse for our first kiss to be in a sweaty gym while I'm wearing a tank top and you have Cheeto breath."

I clap my hand over my mouth before deciding it's more important I shout at them so I remove it. "You absolute—"

I'm cut off when two of their fingers land on my lips. "Now who said I didn't like Cheeto breath? And that cute little orange moustache you have from them too." They wipe at my top lip and it's that that silences me more than their words.

I square my shoulders back and swallow away the way they have me feeling, all limp in my limbs and tight in my core.

"You said first kiss." I cross my arms. "That implies you think there will be more than one. I think at this point you'll be lucky to get even that."

I should be pleased when Loncey's composure breaks but as it descends into more giggles I feel anything but satisfied. I feel hungry for more certainty. I feel hungry for… shit, that kiss. Their kiss.

"I think you're absolutely right," they say. "Now, I'm going to shower. You have your Cheetos to finish and then maybe we'll go get some real food. Sound good?"

A frown wants to claim my forehead but I fight it. I'm not sure how we went from being inches away from kissing to suddenly back to being nothing but mates who hang out again, but it's left me feeling a bit disoriented.

"Or do you want to get rid of me?" they add, and I see now they're putting the ball back in my court. It's the perfect opportunity for me to tell them to feck off good and proper. But I don't want to. It's actually the last thing I want to do. I want to hang out. I want to get some food. And yeah, I want to finish my Cheetos.

"Are you buying?" I ask.

Their smile practically takes over their whole face. "As long as you don't mind that epic chicken kale salad again."

I tut, but more to school my smile than anything else.

"Go shower. You reek."

Loncey shakes their head. "Finish your Cheetos, orange ‘stache."

I wait until they've disappeared into the changing rooms before I bring my fingers to my mouth, but I'm not checking for Cheeto crumbs. I'm tracing the curve of my smile, and possibly, possibly imagining my fingertips are Loncey's lips.