“Tori?” Banks’ voice, muffled through the wood. “You awake? Dana’s looking for you. Something about game reports?”
We stare at each other in horror.
“Shit,” she whispers.
I drop my forehead to her shoulder, breathing hard. “Of course.”
“One second!” she calls out, her voice impressively steady for someone who was just writhing underneath me. “Just—give me a minute!”
We untangle with frantic efficiency. She grabs her shirt from the floor, yanking it over her head. I’m searching for my sweatshirt.
“Window?” I ask.
“We’re on the third floor,” she hisses.
“Behind the curtains?”
“This isn’t a heist movie, Zayden.”
“Then I’m hiding in the bathroom.”
I’m already moving, scooping up my hoodie and ducking behind the bathroom door. Through the crack, I watch her finger-comb her hair, take a breath, and open the door.
“Hey.” Her voice is casual. Normal. Like she wasn’t half-naked thirty seconds ago. “What’s up?”
“Dana needs the reports from tonight’s game.” Banks’ voice is flat, but there’s something in it—suspicion, maybe, or just his usual grumpiness. “Said she texted you.”
“Oh, uh—” Tori glances toward the nightstand, where her phone is presumably turned to silent. “Yeah, sorry. I was already asleep. I’ll email them to her in five minutes.”
“You okay?” A pause. “You look flushed.”
“Hot shower. You know how hotels crank the heat.”
Another pause. Longer this time. My heart is pounding so loudly I’m sure he can hear it.
“Alright,” Banks finally says. “Get some sleep. Bus leaves at eight.”
“Got it. Thanks.”
The door closes. I wait, barely breathing, until I hear Banks’ footsteps fade down the hall.
Tori opens the bathroom door. She’s got a hand pressed to her chest, eyes wide, and she’s fighting a smile.
“That was close.”
“Too close.” I lean against the doorframe, still trying to catch my breath. “You were very smooth, by the way.”
“Years of practice lying to my mother about parties.” She shakes her head. “God, if he’d come five minutes later—”
“Let’s not think about that.”
“I can’t stop thinking about it.”
We look at each other. The heat is still there—of course it is, it never really goes away—but now there’s something else too. Reality is creeping back in.
“We can’t keep doing this,” she says quietly.
“I know.”
