I raised my eyebrows and tilted my head toward the opening. “You coming?”
He blew out a breath and rolled his shoulders back.
I recognized the shift immediately—this was hockey player Taylor Morrison taking over. A man who bruised his body for fun. A guy who smiled in the face of expected pain.
“Lead the way.”
My heart thunderedin my ears. From down the hall, loud, drunken laughter spilled from one of the rooms.
Taylor stood behind me at my hotel room door, his body heat warming my back, even through my shirt. I closed my eyes and inhaled—cedar and amber maybe. I recognized it as the same cologne he’d worn in college. I’d avoided that scent for years, crossing to the other side of department stores and changing my gym schedule when someone in the locker room wore it.
His breath floated across the back of my neck, and my stomach lurched—with anticipation or dread, I couldn’t say.
Maybe both.
Once we crossed this threshold, there was no going back. No more pretending that I was over him. No more telling myself that what he and I once had didn’t matter.
My skin prickled, every nerve ending in my body wide awake. I could still walk away—call this a mistake, blame the whiskey, force him to leave.
But I wouldn’t.
I set my forehead against the door, feeling the cool wood against my heated skin.
“Are we going in?” Taylor asked, his voice expectant. Hopeful.
“Yeah,” I managed thickly, pressing the key card against the reader with shaking hands.
The lock clicked, and I twisted the handle. I stepped inside and flipped the switch. The lamps came on, lighting up the room. I was acutely aware of Taylor behind me.
“Can I get you a drink?”
Without waiting for an answer, I opened the armoire, revealing the overpriced minibar. I grabbed a tiny bottle of vodka, my hands still trembling as I unscrewed the cap. The quietglugof liquid emptying into the glass sounded overly loud.
“I used to worry about that,” Taylor said, his voice heavy with concern as he moved further into the room, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he moved to stand next to me.
I didn’t follow his meaning. “What?”
“The drinking,” he answered matter-of-factly.
I lowered my glass, holding it loosely between my fingers. “I don’t understand.”
He pulled his hands from his pockets and reached out, gently easing the glass from my grip. His fingers brushing mine caused my breath to catch before he turned and set it aside.
“You drank a lot that last month.”
That was rich, coming from him. I’d lost count of the times his teammates had texted me to come haul him home, his arm slung over my shoulder, his weight heavy against my side as I half-carried him across campus.
“It was our senior year. Everyone was partying, including you.” I crossed my arms over my chest.
Taylor nodded, his forehead creased. “Maybe, but you weren’t only drinking at parties. I saw the empty bottles you tried to hide … and the baggies.” He paused meaningfully, his accusation clear.
My cheeks flushed hot, and I rubbed the back of my neck, a nervous habit I’d never been able to shake. “You remember how hard my classes were,” I said, not quite meeting his eyes. “Everyone else was coasting through our senior year, taking whatever bullshit electives they needed to graduate. I had Comparative Politics, Advanced Game Theory, and that national security seminar with a reading list longer than my arm. I was drowning, Taylor.”
He moved to the edge of the bed and sat down, his elbows on his knees, waiting.
“I wasn’t partying. I just …” I trailed off, running a hand over my face. “I needed help staying awake. I found something that worked.”
“Adderall?” he asked quietly.
