Page 55 of Falling For My Ex's Older Brother

She looks up at me. The evening is sitting on both of us — everything seen, everything unsaid, everything that has no clean resolution yet.

"Ready?" I say.

"Ready," she says.

We walk out into the New York night together.

The car ride back to the hotel is quiet. She's looking out her window when I look over at her. Her hand restson her knee. Mine rests on mine.The city moves past — lit and relentless, doing what New York does at this hour without any interest in what's happening in the back of this car. Her profile is still. Her hands are in her lap. She's somewhere else.

I watch her. She doesn't turn but she knows I'm looking — I can tell by the slight stillness in her profile, the way she holds herself a fraction more carefully than she would if she thought she was unobserved. She keeps her eyes on the window and I keep mine on her and the city moves past and neither of us says anything. After some minutes, I turn and look out my own window.

Something shifted in her over the course of the evening. I've been trying to locate the exact moment since we left the venue. The Sonia conversation at the bar? The parents; something my father said, maybe, at the end of the evening? Whatever it is she's carrying it quietly and she's not going to hand it to me tonight without being asked.

The hotel comes into view. We get out. We ride the elevator in silence. The doors open and we walk the corridor toward our rooms and the quiet between us has a different quality than usual — not comfortable, not hostile. Heavy. Full of things sitting on the surface waiting to be addressed.

I stop between our doors. She stops beside me. She's looking at the floor. Her keycard is in her hand. She's doing the thing she does when she's deciding whether to say something or let it go.

"Are you alright?"I ask.

She looks up. "I'm fine."

"You've been somewhere else since the second half of the evening."

"It was a long night." She shifts the keycard between her fingers.

"I'm tired."

I look at her.

"Did Sonia say something to you?"

Her eyes come up fast — a flash of something, quickly managed.

"I saw her cross to you at the bar," I say.

"I couldn't hear what was said."

Sutton is quiet for a moment.

"It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me."

She looks at me steadily.

"Logan. It's fine. I handled it."

"I know you did…but still." I hold her gaze.

"There is nothing going on with Sonia. There never has been. I've told you that already."

She tilts her head slightly. Something moves at the corner of her mouth — not quite a smile, not quite a challenge.

"Is she your type?"

I look at her. "No."

"What is your type, Logan?"