He narrows his eyes.
“Hard to make real friends in law school, you know? But Mina’s all I need. She actually forced me to buy this dress.”
“Remind me to thank her,” he says, letting his gaze slowly drift down to my cleavage and then back up to my eyes.
After the food arrives, we don’t talk much, stuffing our faces with elevated Southern cuisine.
When I finish eating, feeling too full to move, I sit back and just look at James.
It hits me that we go home tomorrow. Back to our regular lives where we’re not together and can’t be together. But this week with him felt like a glimpse into what life with him could be like.
And it felt good.
I realize I’m just staring at him, smiling dopily. I should say something, but all I can think is that I don’t want to ruin this night. I don’t want to ruin whatever this is.
His eyes flick up, catching me. Heat again, but softer this time. He cocks his head, studies me for a beat, then says, “You seem like you’re somewhere else.”
“I was just thinking,” I say, picking at the edge of my napkin.
“About?”
I shake my head, not quite ready to admit vulnerability here, in this perfect, suspended night that feels like it should last forever.
“About tomorrow,” I say finally, settling for the safe version. “It’ll be weird going back to the real world after…” I gesture vaguely, indicating the two of us, the table, the week that has been all hunger and heat and hotel room sex.
James looks down, a small smile twisting one corner of his mouth.
“I know. But we’ll go back, be professionals. You’ll pretend you don’t know about my tattoos, and I’ll pretend I don’t know how you sound when you come.”
The line is meant to amuse me, and it does. But it also lands with a pang of something I can’t quite name. A longing, maybe, or the slow slide of dread that comes with knowing something this good can’t possibly last. I’m not sure I even know whatthisis, but I don’t want it to end. Maybe this week meant more to me than it did to him. I don’t know what to think anymore.
I chase the feeling away with another sip of wine.
The server appears to take our plates away and lets us know that Colt has comped our meal. James shakes his head as the server turns to leave and lays down a few bills, enough to cover what would have been the check and the tip for our server.
We step out into the night, the city bright even in the dark with music and neon. James hails a car with a brief flick of his hand, and the driver pulls up instantly, as if he’s been waiting for us.
The silence on the ride back is thick, not awkward but charged. Every passing moment is a reminder we’re returning to a room that belongs only to us for one more night.
When we arrive to the room, the suite is dark save for the few accent lights. James sets down his jacket, crosses to the windows, and stands there a minute.
I watch him, full of things I want to say and none of them feeling safe enough to say.
He turns, his eyes sweeping over me so slow it hurts. He lifts a hand, crooking a finger.
I go to him.
He folds me in, tugs the silk of my dress up an inch, then two, hands warm and steady. I feel the tremble in my own hands as I reach for his face, kissing him deeply, as if that could make the night last longer.
There is no hurry this time, just the low, warm certainty of his body against mine, the way he holds my face and looks at me like I’m the only thing in existence.
He walks us to the bedroom without ever breaking the kiss, backs me down onto the bed and settles over me, propping himself on his elbows so he can study my face.
“You’re really something,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along my jaw. “You know that?”
“I’m just a girl in a dress,” I whisper, and he smiles, but it’s sad, almost sweet.
He peels the dress from my shoulders slowly, as if it’s something precious. When I’m bare, he traces me with his hands like he’s memorizing every curve.
