We'd damaged my plan. Suddenly, nothing looked quite so clean.
The doors opened.
I dropped my hand and stepped back. The distance between us reassembled.
The hallway was empty. Beige carpet and brass sconces. Ordinary and completely irrelevant.
I walked out first.
I didn't look back. Couldn't. If I looked back, I'd see Heath standing in that elevator with his lips and eyes asking a question I wasn't ready to answer.
My keycard was in my jacket pocket. I walked to 1214 with my heart pounding.
Behind me, I heard his door open and close.
I waved the keycard. Green light. Pushed the door open, stepped inside, and let it close behind me.
The room smelled like a hotel room—recycled air and the synthetic lavender of whatever housekeeping sprayed on the pillows. Through the curtains, a parking lot light threw amber bars across the ceiling.
My hands were shaking.
Barely visible. It was a vibration beneath the surface. I pressed my palms flat against the desk, and the shaking stopped.
I walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. Elbows on knees. Head forward.
I could still feel him. How his lower lip had caught between both of mine when I'd corrected the angle. The sound he'd made, low, like a locked door opening.
Heath Donnelly kissed the way he played hockey—find the opening, commit, and deal with the aftermath later.
I pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes until I saw static.
The next several months were supposed to be a controlled demolition. One more season. Clean exit. A timeline that accounted for every variable except the one standing in an elevator asking me if I got nervous before games.
I reached for the TV remote and scrolled until I found a favorite old movie.North by Northwest.Cary Grant being chased across an open field by a crop duster, running with the loose-limbed urgency of someone who looked elegant even while terrified.
Volume low. Subtitles on.
It wasn't comfort. Needing comfort would mean something had gone wrong, and what had gone wrong was that something had finally gone right, and I had no framework to process that.
I loosened my tie and pulled it free. I removed my jacket and hung it on the desk chair.
The plan still existed. Nothing that had happened in that elevator changed the timeline or the fundamental math of leaving.
What it changed was twice as difficult. It changed what leaving meant.
Twelve hours ago, leaving meant freedom. Now, leaving meant walking away from the taste of Heath Donnelly's mouth. The sound he'd made. His hands on my waist like he'd been waiting and hadn't known for what.
My phone sat on the nightstand. I picked it up and unlocked it.
Our last exchange stared back from hours ago. A different lifetime.
Can't sleep. Same. Wanted to make sure you were okay. Media can be tough.
Clean. Careful. The texts of two people maintaining plausible deniability with professional-grade discipline.
My thumbs hovered.
I typed:Are you okay?
