8EPISODE 8
Sunlight cuts through the curtains, too sharp for the hour.I blink awake to the weight of an arm draped heavy across my stomach, warm and possessive.I lie still, just listening to the muffled hum of traffic below, to Adam’s steady breathing against the back of my neck.
I should slip out while he’s still asleep.It would be easier that way.No awkward goodbye, no risk of lingering.Just clothes back on, door closed, end of story.
But then he shifts, nuzzles closer, and murmurs, “You’re still here.”
“Didn’t get around to running,” I mutter, voice scratchy.
He chuckles, the sound vibrating through my spine.“Good.”His hand flexes against my stomach, anchoring me there.
We lay like that for a while in silence that feels strange and dangerous in its comfort.Then he props himself up on one elbow, hair sticking every which way, eyes bright even in the blur of morning.“Stay for breakfast.Don’t make it complicated.”
“You order room service for all your conquests?”I ask, even though I’m already too comfortable under the sheets, too unwilling to move.
His grin is slow, easy.“No.Just the ones I want to see again.”
His words settle deep in my chest.I cover it with a smirk, but inside, something shifts.The thought of him wanting more—of me wanting more—rattles around my chest, sharp and sweet.
“Careful,” I say, letting the warning curl in my voice.“That sounds dangerously like interest.”
He leans down, presses a kiss against my temple, softer than anything we did last night.“Maybe it is.”
And just like that, the idea of leaving doesn’t feel simple anymore.
The tray arrives twenty minutes later, silver lids and the smell of coffee filling the room.Adam tips the waiter generously, then shuts the door with his hip like he’s done this a hundred times.Sitting cross-legged in the sheets, I try not to look like I’m waiting on him, but the moment he sets the tray on the bed, I’m already reaching for the mug.
“Black?”he asks, holding out the sugar and cream like it’s a test.
“Black,” I confirm, taking a long swallow that burns in the best way.“Need it to remind me I’m still alive.”
He smirks, settling across from me, hair a wreck, wearing nothing but a hotel robe.“Pretty sure I already reminded you of that last night.”
“Cocky,” I say around a mouthful of toast.
“Confident,” he corrects, flashing a grin before spearing a piece of fruit with his fork.He offers it across the tray without comment, and before I can think better of it, I lean forward and take it from him.It’s too domestic, too easy, but damn if it doesn’t feel good.
We eat in companionable silence, interrupted only by his dry jokes about the eggs and my muttered complaints about hotel coffee never being hot enough.It should feel awkward, but it doesn’t.
Halfway through, he sets down his fork and leans back against the headboard, studying me.His face has that look again, like I’m not just a distraction, not just a warm body in his bed.
“You were going to leave,” he says, not accusing, just certain.
“Yeah.”No point denying it.
“And you didn’t.”
I shrug and sip my coffee, but my throat’s tight.“The door was too heavy.”
He laughs softly, but it fades quickly.His hand rubs at the back of his neck, uncertain in a way I haven’t seen from him yet.“I don’t usually… care if someone stays.But with you…” He trails off, searching for the words.“It feels different.Like if I let you walk out, I’m going to regret it.”
That sits heavy in the space between us.I should make a joke, deflect like I always do.Instead, I just hold his gaze, feeling something shift in me, dangerous and sweet all at once.
Maybe last night wasn’t just about heat.Maybe, it’s the start of something I don’t know how to name yet.
The coffee is bitter, but it’s grounding.My body aches the way it always does after a night spent giving too much, chasing heat until I’m wrung out.Usually, the mornings after blur together—faces I can’t quite recall, names I never learned, encounters that dissolve into the fog thicker than the steam in the bathhouse.
It’s all the same: hunger, release, emptiness.
