The silence stretches between us, thick and warm and dangerously alive. Waking early to order me coffee is already a sacrifice, but there’s the easy sacrifice—an app—and there’sthis.
He got up before dawn, probably took an early morning run to Pinnacle Perk, stood in the line, half asleep, and brought it to me.
My whole life, people have come to me when they need something handled. Jake, my coworkers, half the players in this organization. I fix things, smooth things over, keep everything running so nobody else has to deal with the mess.
If I leave a room, people assume I’ll come back.
Yet Lucas is standing in my room at five in the morning with two coffees, messy hair, and sleep still clinging to his voice, and for the first time in my life, I catch a glimpse of what it might be like to have a life where someone follows me instead of waiting for me to return.
“The drinks are going to get cold,” I say, because my brain cannot process this level of feeling before sunrise.
“Let them,” he murmurs.
“Logan’s going to wonder where you are.”
“Let him.”
“I have work to do.”
He reaches a hand up, and his thumb brushes my cheek. The light touch sends a ripple through me that makes me acutely aware of every inch of space between us.
For one quiet minute the team doesn’t exist. The brozone doesn’t exist. Jake doesn’t exist.
There’s just Lucas standing in my room, waiting for me to tell him what comes next.
And that leaves me to decide what comes next.
With my hands on his chest, his on my waist, and only our mingling breath between us, the next step feels easy.
Inevitable.
My eyes fall to his lips. They look sunburned from yesterday, and I can practically taste the heat on them.
The moment I start to rise to my tiptoes, his lips part. His hands tighten on my waist, and butterflies take flight in my stomach. I slide one hand up to his neck and slip a finger beneath the bead necklaces he must wear to bed. His skin is smooth, but hot, too. Sunburned.
He leans down so his forehead bumps mine, and it’s almost enough—this contact. But he’s hesitating, waiting for me to take the lead, and suddenly, the weight of that decision feels too heavy for me to bear.
“You need to reapply sunscreen,” I say, closing my eyes, the words landing like an apology.
He’s quiet for just a second—long enough that I feel the loss of what almost happened—and then he chuckles. The next thing I know, his warm, chapped lips are pressing against my forehead and his arms are wrapping me into a hug that’s almost as good as a kiss. We’ve hugged before, so this is easy. No decision necessary.
With his back against the wall and me leaning against him, he rests his cheek against my head and holds me close and tight.We stay like that for so long—breathing together, the whole world going still around us—that I could almost fall asleep for how good it feels. The butterflies in my stomach land. Stop fluttering their wings. Relax completely.
But eventually, the sound of a door outside the room snaps me to my senses, causing a wave of anxiety that crashes over those poor butterflies.
“You should go,” I say. “If someone sees you leave, we’ll be on the first plane home tomorrow.”
His shoulders slump, but he kisses me one last time on the head, letting his lips linger for just a second before he then releases me.
I have to force myself not to whimper as I step back from him. I open the door and glance up and down the hall.
“All clear,” I say.
He covers my hand on the doorknob with his and squeezes enough that I meet his eye. “Then I’ll see you at breakfast,” he says.
I close the door and stand there for a moment with my hand still on the knob, listening to his footsteps move down the hall until I can’t hear them anymore.
The drinks are still warm. We were a heartbeat away from kissing. And I just sent him away because of a sound in the hallway.
