Reese smiled, small but real. “I’d like that.”
It turned out Sloane had been booked into the same hotel as the drivers, which was a first. As far as Reese knew, Sloane usually preferred to snag a place away from the chaos that came with race weekend. The upside of the change? They could ride back together.
As the sights and sounds of Suzuka streamed past the car windows, Reese felt lighter than she had in years. The driver had his window cracked, and the warm night air rushed in, lifting strands of her hair every few moments. She closed her eyes and grinned, letting the sensations wash over her. She enjoyed the wind, the motion, the lingering adrenaline from the day, and the quiet awareness of Sloane beside her. When she opened her eyesagain, Sloane’s gaze rested on her profile. In the darkened car, Reese pretended not to notice. She enjoyed it too much.
“What floor?” Sloane asked fifteen minutes later as the elevator doors slid open in the lobby.
“Eighteen,” Reese said.
“Impressive.” Sloane tapped both their buttons. “I’m on five, which is … less so.”
“You have to make friends with Miranda.”
Sloane raised a brow. “You think I haven’t tried? And of courseyouhave. I’m sure you’ve successfully charmed your way into her good graces. I forget who I’m dealing with.”
Reese smiled and rocked onto her toes as the elevator doors closed, sealing them in together. She savored the quiet, the last few seconds of their evening. She hated to see it end. She wondered if the honest, refreshing rhythm they’d slipped into tonight was a one-off born of travel, exhaustion, and their simple proximity, or the first step toward something that could unfold into more.
Did she want to undress Sloane slowly and make her crave things with white-hot intensity? Hell, yes. But she’d settle for platonic if it meant more moments like this. She’d take whatever she could get.
Someone somewhere must have been listening to her thoughts, because the elevator abruptly shuddered, sputtered, and stopped with an ominous metallic bang.
“Oh no,” Sloane murmured, stepping forward. “I’d hit a button, but I’m afraid I’ll send us plunging to our death.”
Reese’s eyes widened. “Let’s maybe not put that out into the universe.” She glanced up at the ceiling panel, then down at the seam in the doors as if clues might reveal themselves. “Maybe I could pry the doors open? Check if we’re near a floor?” She shifted forward, bracing her hands?—
Sloane’s palm closed gently around her bicep. “Not sure this is the time for heroics.”
“I feel like it’s always time for those. No?”
“No,” Sloane said flatly. “But maybe we should ring the bell.”
“We can try that first,” Reese conceded. She crossed her arms to keep from wrestling their way out of this. The emergency call connected to a maintenance worker who spoke only Japanese, which neither of them understood, but his tone was calm and reassuring.
“Well, now what?” Sloane asked—just as the overhead lights flickered and switched to dim, humming emergency fluorescents. They exchanged a look.
Reese lowered herself to the floor. “It might be a while. The last time this happened, it was over an hour.”
“The last time?” Sloane echoed, sitting beside her. “You’ve been trapped in an elevator before?”
“Four times.”
Sloane stared at her, incredulous. “Remind me never to get on one of these with you again. The elevator overlords have cursed you.”
Reese grinned. “No. They just like me.”
“That cannot be your answer to everything,” Sloane said, but a smile tugged at her mouth.
Reese slid a little closer. Not enough to crowd, just enough to be unmistakable. “I think you find it endearing. I’m hoping you find all of me that way.”
“I don’t think it matters if I did. Your confidence knows no limits.”
“Then you don’t know me as well as you think you do,” Reese said softly. “Because I care very much what the great Sloane Foster thinks. And,” she added, “I also care whatyouthink.”
Sloane went quiet. The uneven lighting cast shadows across her face, softening some features, sharpening others, revealing nothing.
“It’s interesting,” she said finally, voice low, “that you differentiate the two. I’m not sure most people do.”
“I’m sure there’s overlap,” Reese said, her knee brushing Sloane’s lightly. “But yeah, there’s a difference.”
