But my fingers don’t close around it.
Something in me is bone-deep tired of this loop. Of pretending sex like this is enough. Of pretending I don’t care for him.
The silence stretches, humming. He’s still watching me, chest rising and falling, waiting for the usual exit.
“Get me out of here,” I say.
It comes out quieter than I expected. Not a demand. Not quite a plea.
His brows jump, just a fraction. “What, you want a round two already?”
I roll my eyes, the motion weak. “I want to breathe something that doesn’t smell like bleach and bad decisions. That’s all.”
He studies me for a second, like he’s trying to decide if this is another game.
Then he nods once, sharp. “Fine. Come on.”
He opens the door, checks the corridor, then steps aside to let me pass first. For the first time since I texted him from the foyer, the solution isn’t more sex or more drama.
He’s taking me outside.
***
NICO
The sun is lower when we sneak out of the hotel, that thin winter light already bleeding out of the sky above the ridgeline. I shove my hoodie up over my head, jam my hands into my pockets, and keep just enough distance between us that no one can say we are walking together.
We cross the street. The air bites harder out here than in the finish area, and it's cleaner, too. No exhaust, no fried food, just snow and wood smoke. The slope of the village road kicks up fast. My legs do not mind; hers do. I can hear her breath go shallow as we climb.
“Where are you taking me?” she asks, voice careful, like she is not sure if this is still a fight.
“I have an idea,” I say, pulling my phone out. My thumb is already finding Claus’ name.
“The woods again?” she says, one eyebrow arched, mouth curved just enough to make it a joke and a warning.
“Something better.” I snort and hit call.
“Hi, champ,” Claus says as soon as he picks up, background noise full of clanking and a radio. “Congrats!”
“Thanks,” I answer. “I am just around the corner. Mind if I stop by with a friend?”
In my head, it is perfect, a simple alpine family, coffee in a warm kitchen, my turf, not hers, somewhere that does not belong to sponsors or her father.
“Well…” he drawls. “I am actually working in the barn.”
I glance sideways at Élise’s pristine camel coat and glittering earrings. Snow squeaks under her designer boots. A smile pulls at my mouth before I can stop it.
“Perfect,” I grin. “Even better. See you.”
I hang up as we cross a small bridge, packed snow creaking under our feet. On the other side, the road narrows, and houses give way to more fields dusted white.
I take her hand without thinking about it.
Her fingers tense in surprise, then curl around mine, cool and small and absurdly soft.
“You are going to like this,” I say. “Something you have never seen before.”
She gives me a sideways look that says she doubts that very much, but she does not let go.
