Page 78 of Silver Sweet

“I have the time, nepo baby.” His fingers drift along the laptop’s track pad. “Go to bed.” His voice is cutting, a knife to the chest. I’ve been enjoying his blades.

Then his eyes graze my face as he searches for signs of fatigue, like he feels guilty for keeping me awake. “Seriously, Tom?—”

“I can work another hour. Just let me get an energy drink.” I slide out of the booth and go to the bar.

When I come back with a slim Lightning Bolt! can, Phoenix is packing up and telling me, “I’ll do this at my apartment. Get some sleep.”

“No, dude, I’m fine.”

“Come on,” he snaps. “You’re about to keel over.”

I extend my arms, showing my great balance. “I can walk a straight line too.”

Phoenix sighs out a breath. “Just let me work on this, Tom.”

I shake my head, grimacing. “No.”

“No?” He runs his tongue over his teeth. We’re both breathing too hard. “I can’t invite you to my apartment.”

It tries to tank my stomach. “Why not?”He did not just reject you.I lower my voice while we stand out of the booth. “We’d just be working. Nothing’s going to happen.”

He tightens a hand on his backpack. “I didn’t say anything would. My room is a shoebox compared to yours, and I have a full-size bed—don’tsay anything about it.”

I’m too tired to make a comment, honestly.

Phoenix shifts his weight, his eyes all over my face. I feel like he’s moving at a hundred miles an hour and I’ve slowed to ten. “Please, Tom.”

I must nod.

He walks with me back to my high-rise.

I’m a zombie when I enter my apartment. I can’t even tell if Harriet is here. Did not check to see if there was a tie on the door. So I shove my headphones on my ears and just pass out on top of my comforter.

I wake to frustration and hurt. I can’t tell the origins of the emotion other than it’s Phoenix. I’m on my phone in the bathroom, recording a voice memo. “We areequalshere,” I say strongly. “That does not mean you being equal parts annoying and impatient. I could have worked an hour longer, even in your shoebox. All right? Bye.” I send the memo, then add a second one very fast. “Also, fuck you.”

I brush my teeth, shower, and when I’m dressed, I check my phone to find Phoenix has responded with twenty different mixes of the song, a middle finger emoji, and a text I reread ten times.

PHOENIX WOLFGANG

You want to work on your bed again? That’s the only way I’m keeping you up that late.

I want to respond:we kept each other up that late.But semantics. And honestly, I cannot detach the visual of Phoenix on my bed. Again.

Of course I tell Eliot everything.

My brother and I walk side by side along the busy streets in Hell’s Kitchen. The collar of his peacoat is lifted to block the chilly February wind. My black hoodie beneath a jean jacket does its job, but I’m mostly warm because Eliotinsistson discussing Phoenix.

He knows Phoenix has been bothering me this morning. Okay, fine, maybe more than just this morning.

“He clearly wants to fuck,” Eliot says while our strides match the powerful flow of pedestrians who have somewhere to be. I’m headed to the studio. Eliot, to the theater.

“I think he doesn’t want me falling asleep in a bar’s nasty booth.” Which…is thoughtful, if true. “And dude, there is nofuckingto be had.” I lower my voice while we bypass a lingering gaggle of tourists trying to locate Times Square.

They do a double take at Eliot. We never slow enough for them to figure out who we are. I don’t check my surroundings too much. Not when my bodyguard outpaces us by a couple feet and Eliot’s bodyguard is a foot behind.

I tell my brother, “The real question ishowhe was able to finish those mixes that fast.” I wince in confusion. “Did he not sleep?”

Eliot taps his nose.