I grab her waist. Both hands. Pulling her toward me, trying to close the distance, trying to deepen the kiss into something faster and harder and more like the way I want everything — immediate, consuming, all at once.
She lets me pull her closer. For three seconds, her body is pressed against mine — the height, the lean solidity of her, the warmth of her stomach against my ribs — and her mouth opens against mine and I taste her and I make a sound against her lips that I will deny later and remember forever.
She breaks the kiss.
Steps back. My hands are still on her waist. She reaches down and removes them — gently, precisely, placing them at my sides the way she'd replace a club in the bag.
"That's what you asked about," she says. Her voice is steady. Her breathing is not. "Now you know."
She goes inside. The door closes. The lock clicks with the small, definitive sound of a woman who will not open it again tonight.
I stand in the corridor.
My lips feel swollen. My jaw feels warm where her thumb pressed. My hands feel empty in a way that has nothing to do with whether they're holding something.
I call Bisi before I reach my own room. She answers on the second ring.
"It's ten o'clock, Tala."
"Restructure the contract. Tonight. Whatever Phaedra needs. Independent representation, guaranteed compensation, termination protections. All of it."
Silence. Three beats.
"This is about Quillan."
"This is about making the arrangement equitable."
"This is about wanting to sleep with your caddie."
"This is about wanting to be allowed to explore a relationship with a woman who will not let me touch her until she is professionally protected from me, and she is right to demand that, and I am going to make it happen."
Bisi is quiet again. Longer this time. I can hear her thinking — the particular quality of silence that means she's calculating whether my current emotional state is an asset or a liability.
"I'll call Phaedra in the morning."
"Tonight."
"Phaedra Lo does not take calls after nine PM. I know this because I have tried. She will respond to an email with a proposal and a meeting time, and I will send that email now. The restructuring will be done properly and it will take as long as it takes. You will not rush this."
"I'm not rushing."
"You have never in your life not rushed, Tala. Let me do this correctly. Let her attorney review everything. Let the protections be real, not performative. If this woman matters to you beyond a tournament fling, you can wait a few days."
She matters.
I don't say it because saying it would give Bisi leverage and Bisi has enough leverage already. But the truth sits in my chest like a stone, warm and heavy and not going anywhere.
"Send the email," I say.
"Already drafting."
She hangs up. I stand in my room. My back is against the door. The lock presses into my spine.
I touch my jaw where Nerys held me. The skin is still warm. Or I'm imagining it. Or I've overheated. Or I'm twenty-seven years old and have kissed more people than I can count with any precision, and none of them — not a single one — held my face like it was something worth steadying.
She kissed me the way she caddies. With preparation. With attention. With the absolute certainty of someone who has done the math and decided to commit.
And then she stopped.
