The sun was setting in the deep California sky, not incredibly sharp like in the afternoon. More like the melting of the warm color-sphere from a box of Crayolas. I sighed happily, turning around in bed.
"Dex?" I mumbled with my eyes still closed. My fingers groped the warm sheets for him greedily, but they came up empty. I was then forced to open my eyelids. The hotel room was covered in the murky orange glow coming from the open window. I wrapped a sheet from the bed around myself, brushing my long wavy hair out of my face to look around.
He was sitting on a large chair in the corner of his room, a guitar perched on his knee. He was wearing only boxers, his curly hair matted on the left side. He smiled at me crookedly, seeing I was awake.
"Hello beautiful." He said easily, plucking at the strings of the guitar.
"What are you doing weirdo?" I demanded, flopping back on the pillows, exhausted. I turned my head, wiping my incredibly long hair back so I could look at him from my position. He smiled slightly at my exaggeration.
"Just playing." He said obviously.
"I got that Sherlock thanks." I murmured sarcastically.
"If I'm Sherlock, does that make you Watson?" he asked curiously in a British voice. I giggled in spite of myself, pulling the white sheet up to my chin.
"No way. I'm much, much cooler than him. And I probably look better in a fedora." I told him honestly. He laughed, rolling his eyes at me.
I watched him for a few moments, listening to the gentle strum of the guitar. I rememorized his features, trying to etch them into my mind again.
"It's getting harder and harder to let you leave." I choked out the words, my face half buried in the pillow. This startled him. He looked up at me with panicked eyes.
"Rem, I'm not leaving for two weeks." He reminded me, a desperate edge in his voice.
"I know." I whispered, tears already etching my eyes. "But I just miss you so much. And when you're on tour, I worry about you all the time. And you're always on MTV and I hear your songs on the radio, and it's unfair how we always have to be apart. I just hate being away from you . . ." I cried desperately, the tears forming on the edges of my eyes. Sometime during the middle of my monologue he set the guitar down, rushing over to sit on the edge of the bed next to me.
His arms wound around me tightly, holding me against his chest. He said nothing, but his warm embrace was more comforting then a thousand words.
"I'm sorry." I murmured a moment later with composure. "I just freaked out. I don't ruin the time we do have together. I'm sorry I'm being a goober."
"Goober?" he asked intrigued. I had a feeling that word would distract him. "That sounds like a candy. 'Try our new Sour Goobers'" he said in an announcer voice. I hated it when he made me laugh but I didn't want to. "Goober. That's the type of vocabulary they're teaching you at that fancy-schmancy Stanford school?" He demanded.
I said nothing, just giggled against the skin of his chest. A loud bang came from down the hall and voices filled the hotel suite.
"Hey, Dexter. Rem." I recognized John Miller's voice followed by a quick rap on the door. "Disconnect for a few minutes okay? Make a sandwich or something. I promise we're leaving in a few minutes. Just don't do any penetration while we're here." He begged.
Dexter groaned really loudly, pulling me back against the pillows so the headboard bounced against the wall loudly. All sounds stopped from the other room. Dead silence. I started laughing but Dexter slapped a hand over my mouth.
"No laughing. Or we will have to abort the mission." He whispered devilishly, only causing me to erupt into another series of giggles. He groaned over-dramatically again, rolling around on the bed.
"Oh Remy." He groaned loudly. "Right there. Dear God, Yes! Yes!" he shouted loudly. I jumped off the bed, dressing quickly in a pair of Dexter's shorts and the blue t-shirt he was wearing earlier.
"I'm taking no part in this." I told him. He stopped rolling around like Monkey on his back and sat up with a goofy smile on his face. There was still no sound of movement from the other side of the door.
"Just watch their faces now. It will be priceless. I wish I still had those distorted cameras." He chuckled, leading me out the door. I ignored the boys staggered around in the kitchen across from our room. Dexter walked over to fridge, popping the top on two beers and handing me one. I hopped up on the counter and surveyed the room.
Well there was Tim, eyeing us with one eyebrow cocked like he was an investigator. Lucas had both eyebrows raised so high it was like he had Botox injections. And then there was John Miller. He basically looked so excited he was about to drool.
He probably needed a cold shower now.
"Hey guys." I said breezily, like it was no big deal. Dexter sighed dreamily, and sinked down to the floor in front of the cabinets, an avalanche of failing limbs and sprawling long legs.
"Geez, Rem. What did you do to him?" Ted complained with a smile, pouring himself a cup of coffee. I kicked Dexter playfully in the shoulder and he squirmed.
"It's a gift." I said obnoxiously, brushing my hair off my shoulder arrogantly. I giggle lightly at their expressions.
The next morning, after my romantic Chinese food take-out dinner with Dexter sitting on the floor of the living room in the kitchen, I woke up pretty late in the morning. The light was casting a reddish glow on the inside of my eyelids.
Without opening my eyes, I knew Dexter wasn't with me. The bed felt too warm and big without him in it with me. I rolled over, feeling something prick lightly on my forehead. My eyes fluttered open, but they were concealed with the glow from a yellow post-it note.
Stuck to my forehead.
I peeled it off hesitantly, quickly recognizing Dexter's loopy and unorganized handwriting. The black ink was rubbed off in the corner, naturally.
Rehearsal. Lunch at SuperDawgs. Noon.
Fabulous. It was eleven thirty. In twenty minutes, I managed to shower and change into a pair of jean shorts, a tie-dye shirt and gladiator sandals. I grabbed my Aviators, my beige fringe purse and practically ran out the hotel.
SuperDawgs was a classic little burger joint, with retro booths and a long musty counter and the waitresses wore roller skates. Of course Truth Squad would come here.
They had all pushed together four tables, a mass of burgers and fries pilled between them. Dexter caught sight of me when I walked in, getting a blast of air conditioning, sending a shiver through my spine. He waved, wildly, sending a mass flurry of fries all over the place.
"Hey baby doll." He murmured, grabbing my hand as he walked over. I was about to pull a chair over from another empty table, but he tugged on my arm, pulling me into his lap. "You got the best seat in the house."
"Most definitely." I said cheerfully, popping a fry into my mouth. "Diet coke please." I asked a passing waitress. Her name tag read 'Leanne' and she had curly red hair perched on the front of his head.
"So, Miss Remy. Regret buying me plastic ware?" He whispered devilishly in my ear. I growled lightly, angry that he brought this up again. He chuckled, pulling me tighter and ducking my head onto his shoulder.
"Shut up." I moaned.
"Tell the truth." He said seductively.
"I do regret it. With every fiber of my being." I lied, tugging lightly on one of the corkscrews of his hair. He grinned goofily, catching my clean-cut lie. Across the table, the guys were doing an impersonation of their old land-lord, Mr. Howard.
"Girls these days are tramps." John Miller growled ferociously, in his old geezer voice. "In my days, once the girl hit twenty years of age, her parents started focusing in on her potential husband." Dexter looked at me pointedly. "They wear these trampy clothes like prostitutes."
"I'm twenty." I reminded John Miller. He wiggled his eyebrows at me devilishly.
"Prostitutes." Dexter called his Robin Hood voice, pumping a fist in the air.
"Hey." I called, reaching up to bring his hand down. He tickled me for a few moments before giving up after I didn't respond with a fit of giggles.
"These lovely ladies are maidens like yourself fair Remy. The youthful age of twenty years since birth." Dexter demanded. I bit down on my lips to keep from smiling.
"So you're saying I should be a hooker?" I asked.
"Oh honey. A high-paid hooker. Like the exclusive ones for Governors and basketball players." He said in a reassuring tone, rubbing my shoulder. "Even as a rock star, I couldn't afford you."
Part of me wanted to be mad, thinking about how my boyfriend was hookers. I rolled my eyes, partly furious, partly amused. I took a long sip of my soda. Sitting on his lap, however, I couldn't escape his interest.
"So, what should we do now?" He murmured against my neck, kissing me softly.
"Well, we should decide on a price." I said easily.
