He shrugged. “I know the basics. We used to get a lot of Mrs. Robinson jokes, me and Serena. So I never watched it out of spite.”
The elevator finally dinged open, and the two of them stepped out into the hall.
“So you don’t know how it ends?”
“I assume it’s not happily ever after.”
“Not exactly,” Lilah said. “Dustin Hoffman crashes her daughter’s wedding, and they run away together and get on a bus.”
“Him and Mrs. Robinson?”
“No, the daughter. And the last shot is just one long take of them sitting in the back of the bus, like, ‘Oh shit, what did we just do?’ ”
They reached the door to his room, and he fished around in his pocket for the key. “Is that how you feel? You regret it?” He studiously avoided her eyes as he asked it, and she felt her heart squeeze.
She shook her head emphatically. “No. I mean, I think it’s supposed to be ambiguous. Not regret, necessarily. Just, like…we did something big. Something that can’t be undone. And I have no fucking idea what’s going to happen tomorrow.” She couldn’t stop the quaver from creeping into her voice.
He had the key now, but instead of opening the door, he turned to her, cradling her face in both hands before leaning in to kiss her gently.
“Don’t worry about tomorrow. Or about anyone else. Right now, it’s just us. It’s just tonight.”
She suppressed a laugh, ruining the moment.
“What?” he asked.
“You just accidentally quotedRentat me. Kind of.”
He groaned, scrunching up his face to try to mask his grin. “God, you reallyarea theater nerd. You’re right, this whole thing was a mistake. I gotta go.”
He feinted like he was going to walk back toward the elevator, but she grabbed his sleeve and easily pulled him back into her arms, both of them laughing. “Okay, okay, just open the door already, cool guy.”
Their laughter stopped abruptly as soon as they got into the room, Shane pinning her against the door before they even turned on the light. Their coats fell forgotten to the floor as they groped for each other, trading fierce, bruising kisses. He tangled his fist in her hair and scraped his teeth beneath her jawline, turning her whole body boneless.
She let herself sink into the rhythm of it, the push and pull of their mouths and breath and hands. Against her will, drowsiness began to overtake her the longer her eyes were closed, her movements becoming lazy and languorous. He pulled away once he sensed her slowing, and she opened her eyes to see him watching her with concern.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” she breathed.
He reached out to push her hair out of her eyes, his fingers tenderly skating across her temple. “Are you tired?”
“Kind of,” she admitted.
“Do you want to wait?”
She considered it, then shook her head. “Do you? You must be about to drop.”
He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “I think we’ve waited long enough, don’t you?”
The rasp in his voice made her breath hitch, and she nodded, understanding him perfectly. He wasn’t talking about sex, obviously. He meant how long it had taken them to get out of their own fucking way. How much time they’d wasted. How close they’d come to living out the rest of their lives hating each other for reasons she couldn’t even remember.
Okay, maybe she could remember. But she didn’t care anymore. She hadn’t cared in a long time. All she cared about now was not wasting another second.
She leaned forward and caught his lower lip in her teeth. He groaned and pressed himself into her again, anchoring her to the door with his body, gripping beneath her thighs until he’d lifted her legs off the ground, which she obediently wrapped around his waist.
She gasped when she felt how hard he was against her, the ache between her legs already unbearable. He bit down on her collarbone and pressed a feverish line of kisses back up to her mouth, and she slipped her tongue between his lips without hesitation, making him moan in the back of his throat. She felt delirious with need, torn between wanting him inside her immediately and wanting to draw each moment out as long as possible.
Too soon, he pulled away, setting her back on her feet as she whined in protest.
