I shrug, and then lie through my teeth. “I don’t know.”
She watches me, patient in that dangerous way.
“I’m trying,” I add, trying for a bit of the truth.
“Yeah?” Her voice dips soft.
“Yeah.”
She nods, like that matters more than a promise. It does. We order pie, we eat some more, and we talk. Time does its stupid slippery thing, and before we know it, it’s after 2 a.m.
I pay and we step back into the Florida night, but now something in the air feels charged. The streetlights cast honey pools on the pavement. The arena looms behind us like a sleeping beast.
Sadie walks beside me, shoulders relaxed, eyes a little tired. I want to reach for her hand. I don’t. Because I want to too much. And I know I need to figure this shit out. We cross the street toward the hotel.
The lobby is quiet now, almost empty. The elevator opens fast. We step in. The doors glide shut. The silence is different in here. It’s not a comfortable-quiet, it’s an alone-quiet. Sadie leans against the wall opposite me, arms loosely crossed, looking up at the ceiling like she’s trying not to look at me.
I can’t stop looking at her. The elevator hums upward. I clear my throat. “Thanks for tonight.”
She glances at me. “You’re welcome.” A beat. “Also,” she adds, voice low, “I wasn’t just trying to be nice when I said you were good tonight. I meant it.”
I nod, my throat tight. Sadie’s gaze drops to my mouth without thinking. Mine drops to hers. The air goes thin. The elevator dings at our floor, and it’s like the sound slices through us. The doors open. We don’t move for half a second.
Sadie blinks first. Steps out. I follow. The hallway is dim, carpet plush under our shoes, quiet except for the ice machine buzzing at the far end. Her room is two doors down from mine.
She stops outside her door. Turns to face me. “You good?” she whispers, like the question belongs only to this moment.
I don’t answer with words. I step closer, slow enough to give her every chance to stop me. She doesn’t. Her breath catches. Her eyes soften. I lift a hand, tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyelids flutter closed for a heartbeat like she felt it everywhere.
“Sadie,” I whisper, and my voice is wrecked.
“Dean,” she breathes.
And then I kiss her. Not like Graceland. That was hunger. This is choice. I kiss her slow and deep, letting myself feel every inch of it; her mouth opening, her hands sliding up my chest, pulling me closer until she’s backed against the door and I’m there, pressing into her like I forgot how to be anywhere else.
She makes that soft sound again, the one that knock-out punches straight through my chest. I kiss her harder, needier, a little reckless. She kisses me back like she’s been waiting all day. Maybe she has. God knows, I have.
The hallway disappears. Orlando disappears. The tour disappears. There’s only her mouth and my hands and the way my heart is doing something bright and terrifying. When I finally pull back, her lashes are dark against her cheeks, her lips swollen, her breath uneven.
She looks at me steadily. Not uncertain. Not fragile. Present. Her thumb brushes my jaw. “Hey.”
I rest my forehead against hers. “I don’t want this to be something we rush.”
Her breath hitches—not hurt. Thoughtful. “I was just thinking the same thing,” she admits quietly.
I pull back enough to look at her. “You were?”
She nods. “Last time was… intense.” A small smile curves her mouth. “And I don’t regret it. But I don’t want us to keep colliding just because we can.”
Something in my chest loosens. Relief, sharp and unexpected. “Yeah,” I admit. “Me neither.”
She exhales, slow. Grounded. “I want more time. Not distance. Just… intention.”
The word lands like a promise.
“I can do that,” I say, and I mean it. No panic. No urge to run. Just truth.
She smiles then—soft, real. “Good.”
