▪️Friday, January 22nd, 2018▪️

▪️Tuscon, AZ▪️

In the kitchenette, Mike takes up the opposite bench of the built-in. I could've squeezed in next to him, but this is a much better place to be. Under the table, my knees are between his. Is this my ideal morning? No, but for darned sure it's the best morning since the one I spent with Mike in Seattle. And that's two weeks' worth of crappy mornings.

"Poppy helped me plan the visit." Mike moves his head to my right, where the other reason this morning isn't ideal is sipping an espresso from a dainty cup. Poppy. She's the best, hands down, but I want Mike all to myself. I can tolerate her for a bit longer because I mean, what can I say? An off the charts surprise is hard to pull off, and I'm scared at how much I didn't suspect what these two have been planning. Has the entire group been in on it?

"Thank you," I say to Poppy and Mike. "How long have you been plotting this?"

"LA. I thought he might be the best present." How did I not know these two have exchanged phone numbers?

"So, it was Poppy's idea?" I narrow my eyes and employ my confess-now glare on Mike.

"Joint." Mike's knees squeeze mine and, who am I kidding, I don't care whose idea it was. "I could only come out on these days, while you're in transit. Poppy pulled some strings, and for two days I'm part of the tour."

"Thank you." I lean into Poppy's shoulder. "Mike is the best birthday present."

Mike and Poppy exchange a look that I wish I knew the meaning of. "You get him for one night. No hotel until tomorrow afternoon. Not going to make all your dreams come true." There's a glint in Poppy's eyes.

Late thirties or not, she's not kidding herself. Getting Mike naked and alone would've been even better, but Poppy's wrong. Today's dream came true and blew the other dreams out of the water. "I'll take what I can get." We arrive to Phoenix tomorrow morning, which means I just might get a couple of hours alone with Mike before he leaves. "When are you flying back?"

"Tomorrow evening at eight." Mike's eyes are apologizing. "That was the latest flight I could take that would still get me home in time for work."

"I'm spending thirty-six hours with you. That's thirty-six more than I was expecting. Let's celebrate."

"But your birthday is tomorrow."

"It's tomorrow somewhere in the world already. We're going to pretend we are there. I'm ready to get one year older a day earlier for you."

His knees are doing too good of a job massaging my thighs under the table. I lower my hand that's away from Poppy and begin some massaging of my own. Watching Mike's eyes dart back to mine with every kind of promise hidden in them wakes me up for good. He captures my hand between his knee and mine and doesn't let me explore any further.

"Before we get on with that"-he switches from my eyes to my lips-"I was told there's a bathroom on this bus?"

If he thinks I'll be joining him in the bus's bathroom, I'll have to pop his bubble. "There are rules."

"Just need to show-"

"There are no 'justs' with tour bus bathrooms. There are only rules. First-one person at a time and one person only." The fire in Mike's face goes from high to simmer. Poppy snickers next to me. She must've seen the change as well. "But the most vital rule is: liquid waste only." I raise my eyebrows at Mike. Talking about pooping with a man, whom I'm trying to convince I don't even fart, is not something they teach you at college.

"Liquid..." Mike raises his eyebrows to match mine. "What other showers are there?"

He's not getting it. Shit. Do I have to talk out loud about shit?

"Don't defecate in the bathroom, mate. That's what she's talking about." Poppy gets up, grabs a bottle of water from the storage below her seat. "Use bottled water to brush your teeth. And a shower lasts to the count of six Mississippi. Three if you can manage it. This is not Four Seasons."

Another reason Poppy is the tour mom. She has no qualms talking about human waste or holding my hair up when I had too much to drink. She insists having kids does it to a person. If I wanted to be comfortable around bodily fluids, I would've become a nurse. No, thank you.

Mike successfully makes it out of the cramped space between the table and the built-in bench, which not all members of the tour can accomplish. "Where can I drop my"-he points at his backpack on the floor-"things? Angie's bunk?"

All twelve bunks on the bus are occupied. My earlier thought of sharing my bunk with Mike comes back. "For now. I'll show you other storage options."

"Actually, there's one more surprise for you." Poppy's cheeks are flushed.

"Did you kick someone off the bus for us?" I slide my butt along the faux-leather bench cover and remember why three people standing up in the kitchenette space are a crowd. More so if one of them is of Mike's height and. . . muscliness? That's a word I need to sneak into the dictionary. Or a song? I try to get back to the threads of melodies from my earlier dream, but they are too far under the surface of Mike-is-here excitement for me to hear them.

Poppy leads the way. I follow, and Mike's closing the ranks. All bunks' curtains are still closed, and no curious stares trail our trio to the back of the bus. Sleeping while the bus is rolling is one rule I appreciate. The door to the studio is the only thing in front of us. Poppy slides the wood panel open.

"Surprise!" A shower of shouts and ruckus of curtains sliding on the bunks behind us startle me.

"What the?" I look back, but the heads and hands hanging from the bunks point toward the studio. That's where we were going. Poppy steps inside the back section that would've been a second lounge on most buses, but the workaholics at The Whats changed into a recording studio.

No more. The equipment that took space in the middle, the chairs, and stands no longer clutter the floor. Instead, there's a freaking bed. A bed with linens and pillows takes most every inch of the space. When and how did they manage this without me knowing?

"What the?" I do a three-sixty and watch the smiling and ecstatic faces of my bus roomies. Mike's hand covers his forehead. Clearly, this was a surprise for him as well. "You guys..."

Tears. I've got tears in my eyes, and I don't want any meds to dull these. Happy tears are my Kryptonite. That's when I'm at my most vulnerable. This morning...Dammit.

This.

Morning.

No curse words are enough to convey to these people how much this means to me. The tears run out of my nose, and I sniffle. Bodily fluids my ass. I find Mike's chest and let it all out into his sweaty T-shirt. Crying in the middle of the tour bus with a dozen people who've been my roommates for the last two months might be my lowest moment with them, or my highest. Mike's arms press me into him and shield my quiet shudders from getting too out of hand. Happy. I'm so happy right now: it's intolerable.

The flood of feelings I forgot existed-joy, gratitude, relief, release, care-erupt in the shape of the sweetest tears. They all fucking care about me.

"It's a blow-up mattress, so...be gentle with it, eh?" Poppy puts her hand on my head, like I'm her kid too. "Have fun. The lot is sleeping with earplugs and background music on tonight."

"Thanks, Poppy." One of Mike's hands leaves my back, and I assume Poppy and Mike exchange some elaborate handshake they've concocted over their clandestine text message exchange. The door to the room closes with a snap.

I extricate my face from damp cotton over Mike's torso and wipe my eyes with my shirt. "This is too much." Sniveling is so unlike me. But this is my grateful sniveling.

"They seem to disagree." Mike runs his hand over my cheek and catches whatever moisture is left.

"I guess they like me."

"Might be a bit more than like."

"What makes you say that?"

"Personal experience." Mike braces himself against the doorframe and settles his lips on mine. A peck. "Are you glad I'm here?"

"Yep." I kiss him back.

"So this was a good surprise?" His lips stay a second longer on mine.

"Excellent." I parrot the French way of saying the word a-la Amelie and return to our ping-pong of kisses. "A wish I didn't know I had."

"I told you, I'd do anything for your wishes to come true." His mouth stays on mine longer, and we switch from ping-pong to the best version of a tug-a-war, where no matter who's gained ground, we're both winning. The hatch I've been trying to shut on my feelings for Mike springs open, and the wanting of him, body and soul, escapes. My blood rushes to my temples, and pulses the 'no', 'no', 'no' in it. I pull away. No feelings. This is not serious. I need to stuff them back to where they were. I force a smile so I don't change my mind, not give him any promises I cannot keep.

"Happy almost birthday." Mike buries his face in my hair.

My intentions of cooling things between us fall by the wayside. Today he's here, and I'm here. I have one life, and I'm living it to the fullest. Today that means thirty-six hours with a man who flew here to spend them with me, even though he has more important things to do. It means zero regrets: I'm rocking this bus.

"Go get your shower." I free myself from his embrace.

"I need that for what I have planned for us next." He opens his backpack and pulls out a Ziplock bag with toiletries and a fresh T-shirt. "Thirty seconds, and I'll be back."

"Six-seconds, or Poppy will come and drag you out."

"What opulence."

I jab him into the stomach.

"Don't break my abs. I'll need my core strength to keep us from falling over on that contraption in there."

I jab him some more.

"What?" Mike kisses my nose.

"Shut up already. Shower. Bed."

"Shower. Food. Bed?" He raises his shoulders, and his stomach chooses that moment to growl.

"It's always food with you." I open the door, walk around, and push him through the door. "I'll microwave something."

"The opulence." Mike backs away before my fist can reach him for another jab.