Anniversary Shenanigans: Author Visit + Giveaway - Suki Fleet

Did you see the part on the invite about BYOP? (Bring Your Own Pillows?)

Why?

To land on when you swoon, silly! 

Because Suki Fleet has graced the stable with her mad skills once more! So get your pillows ready! 

Yes

by

Suki Fleet

I love this picture. Still can’t believe I had the guts to take it at your leaving party last night, since I didn’t have the guts to do anything else.

I run my hand through my hair and close my eyes, remembering the velvet softness of your lips as they smooshed clumsily against my cheek. Your breath, so warm against my ear as I clutched you tight to stop you falling backwards over the couch. Damn, you were drunk. And I got to take care of you, because everyone knows we’re mates, right? And that’s what mates do.

Except mates is just the lie everyone believes. It’s the lie you believe. I wish I could believe it, because I reckon just about anything is better than this aching fucking heart I’m lying here with.  

You’re going apple picking in Australia in six days. I know it’s too late and I’ve missed my chance, but I can’t help flicking through the photos I took. I printed them out. Somehow they feel more real when I can hold them in my hands.

My phone pings with a text. I glance out the window at the dusky dawn sky, and I think about ignoring it. But then I look down and see your name.

Wow I messed up last night. I’m such a coward.

I smile. Don’t worry, I wiped everyone’s memory after you stripped and jumped on the table singing Cotton Eye Joe.

Not funny.

You just got drunk. Nothing spectacular happened.

Exactly!

I shake my head. Perhaps you’re still a little drunk. It was about half eleven last night when I tucked you up on the couch in your mum’s bedroom. But then you did start on the peach Bellini’s at around three yesterday afternoon.

Today is Saturday and I know you have a shift at Costa at nine am, so I ask, You want to meet up? I can come into town.

We’ve had this unspoken thing going on for weeks, where most days I just happen to pop in to Costa around eleven, when I know you have a break, and we plan the damn trip that’s going to take you away from me. It’s so fucked up that the thing that really helped me get to know you is the thing that’s going to break us apart. Travelling is a dream of mine, but I suspect it’ll always be a dream. My crappy job barely gives me enough to pay for my room in this shared house. But just thinking about how excited you are about it makes me feel so full of light.

I’m kind of sitting on your doorstep.

My heart gives an excited thump.

My house is not on the way to Costa. Nor is it anywhere near your house, which is where you should be, sleeping off your hangover.

I’m about to swing my legs out of bed and run down stairs to let you in, when my phone pings again.

Don’t open the door though. Not yet. I can’t do this face to face.

My stomach lurches sickly. Do what?

God, see, I told you I was a coward.

You text the way you speak. I can imagine the way you’re pinching the bridge of your nose with your thumb and forefinger as you type. The adorable crease that appears between your eyebrows when you’re trying to figure something out.  

I walk quietly down the communal stairs and sink down with my back to the front door. I just want to be close to you.

No way you’re a coward. I text, feeling suddenly bold. What have I got to lose when I’m going to lose you in six days anyway? I might as well lose you to the truth. And you’re about to tell me something so awful you’re afraid to do it to my face. You’re going on a fucking amazing adventure, and all I can think about is how much I’m going to miss you.

Yeah?

Yeah, so fucking much…

You know why I got drunk?

It’s what a lot of people do at parties….?

Especially when it hurts to say goodbye. I really should have gotten completely plastered.

You don’t reply for so long, I stand up, battling with myself over opening the door. I end up pressing my forehead against the wavy glass window at the top. I can see you jogging your leg up and down, as though you’re full of nervous energy. The screen of your phone is lit up in your hand. Though try as I might, I can’t make out the picture on it.

It’s curiosity, in the end, that makes me open the door. Curiosity, and the fact that I’m cold and I’m lonely and my heart hurts knowing how close we are right now, and how far away you’re going to be in a few days’ time.   

You glance up in shock, nearly dropping your phone. I get a glimpse of what looks like a blurry photo of me on the screen before you flip it over in your lap. It’s freezing out and you’re shivering. I hug my arms around my naked chest. My cotton pyjama bottoms flap in the icy breeze.

You bite your lip and look at the ground, but not before I catch the way your gaze drifts down my stomach.

I frown. You were so shy at school. But that was years ago. These past few weeks you haven’t seemed shy at all. Is that what I’m missing here? Because while not interested is a tightly closed door, shy might just be a matter of finding out how to lift that door off its damn hinges.

It doesn’t help that I can be pretty shy too when I like someone as much as I like you.

“D’you…d’you want to come up?” I ask, my heart banging in my ears. It’s an innocent enough question, but now there’s this fragile sense of possibility, I’m all jangly with nerves.

“Okay.” You sound far from sure, but I tell myself my invitation wasn’t exactly rock solid, and you did ask me not to open the door.

I hold out my hand. Hardly daring to breathe as I lead you up the stairs to my room. I kick the door shut behind us.

Too late, I realise I left the photos from last night spread across my pillow. And you’re staring at them.

Fuckety fuck.

I scrub my hand across my face and yawn, pretending I’m super relaxed and that printing out pictures of one of my best friends kissing me is so perfectly normal I don’t have to mention it, and I’m definitely not about to shrivel up in a tiny ball of shame and embarrassment.

But when you turn to look at me, you have this little smile that lights up your eyes.  “I don’t remember doing that. Kissing you, I mean.”

I shrug. Because pretending this is nothing important is the only way I’m dealing with it. But you must think I’m the king of mixed messages when I say hoarsely, “I don’t think I’m ever going to forget it.”

Suddenly you’re in my arms. Your face buried in my shoulder, your fingers twisted in my hair.

Damn, your coat is cold. With shaky fingers you trace the goose bumps across my shoulder blades. I have no idea what is going on right now. So I hold you like you’re holding me, the both of us trembling.

Without moving away, I reach between us and search for the zip to your coat. You shimmy out of it, one arm at a time, still clutching me close.

We don’t talk, we don’t look at one another’s faces, and yet we find one another somehow. It scares me how right this feels with you.

There’s laughter as I try to pull your t shirt over your head and it catches on your glorious ears. You blush when we make accidental eye contact, then you press your lips to my throat, and I might whimper, just a little. And when I dip my head, searching for your lips, I might melt all the way through with the soft sounds you make.

Standing shirtless in my room, kissing you, is something from a dream. I have this strange feeling words are going to wake us. And I don’t ever want to wake. I want to pretend we have all the time in the world. I want to pretend you’re not leaving me.

I breath you in, my nose pressed to the soft silky skin beneath your ear. If I didn’t think I was ever going to forget some drunken kiss on my cheek, I’m going to remember this for all eternity.

“Ravi,” you whisper. You look half drugged, your pupils blown. I can’t stop kissing you.

Gently you push me back. Your palms against my chest. My heart thumps against them.

“I don’t want to leave without you. The thought of it is killing me. Come with me. Please. We’ll figure out how to get the money for your ticket. We’ll sell stuff. I’m good at raising money. You know I am. What do you say?”

I swallow, feeling as if I’m waking from one dream and you’re pulling me into another, bigger, one. There are no other words but, “Yes.”

***

Let Suki know what you thought of "Yes" in the comments below!

We'll try to keep our squees down. Thanks to Suki Fleet for jamming with us!

Author Bio: 

Suki Fleet grew up on a boat and as a small child spent a lot of time travelling at sea with her family. She has always wanted to be a writer. As a kid she told ghost stories to scare people, but stories about romance were the ones that inspired her to sit down and write. She doesn’t think she’ll ever stop writing them.

Her novel This is Not a Love Story won Best Gay Debut in the 2014 Rainbow Awards and is currently a finalist in the 2015 Lambda Awards.

You can contact Suki at sukifleet@gmail.com she’d love to hear from you.

Website
Facebook
Twitter

Enter the giveaway for a chance to win one Suki Fleet eBook from her backlist - winner's choice!

a Rafflecopter giveaway


The giveaway is open until 12:00AM (Eastern time) on 11/21/16. Shortly thereafter, we will contact a winner! 

Please respond to the winning notification within 48 hours or we will choose another winner. Good luck!


Don't miss entering in our month long unicorn giveaway here!