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We stepped out onto the padded hallway carpet and I finally gave in, kicking off my heels and carrying them to the door.
“You made it all this way, and you couldn’t wait until you were inside?”
“You try walking around on four-inch spikes for hours.”
“Nah, I’d never survive.”
“Men are the weaker sex.”
Cole chuckled, stopping when I did before my door.
“This is me.”
He leaned against the doorframe and stared down at me, as reluctant to leave as I was.
“What are we doing?” I asked.
“Standing outside of your hotel room.”
I pushed his shoulder. “So literal.”
He caught my wrist and dragged me a pace closer. “What do you want me to say, Lila? You know what we’re doing.”
“Being reckless,” I offered.
“I’d rather live one reckless night with you than a lifetime of caution.”
My chest ached at the words. I shouldn’t feel the same, but I did.
“Cole …”
“I don’t know how to let you go. I’m with someone else, and I still can’t do it.” He brought my hand up to his shoulder. His arms circling my waist, he dropped his forehead down to mine. “It’s too hard, being away from you.”
“I know,” I whispered. “I never wanted this. You were the one who left.”
“I’m here now.”
I shook my head. “It’s not the same. Tomorrow, you’ll go back to San Francisco again. Just like every other time.”
“What if I didn’t?”
I lurched back. “Don’t. It’s not fair.”
His own anger bubbled up. “Fair? When has this ever been fair? How I feel about you isn’t fair, Lila.”
I balled my hands into fists. I didn’t want to be wrecked by this boy again. “What does that even mean?” I demanded. “How do you feel?”
He took my hand, gently uncoiling my fist, and placed it over his heart. “Like you’ve owned this every day since I met you.”
“Please,” I whispered. I wasn’t sure if I was asking for more or begging him to stop.
“If you don’t feel the same, then tell me to go. Tell me it’s over. Put me out of my misery. But if you do feel the same …” He let the words hang between us.
I could have walked then. Let him think that I didn’t feel exactly how he felt, but it was hard to conflate a lie with the right thing.
“Lila?”
“I do.”
He stepped forward, a question in his eyes, waiting for the moment where I told him no, where I stopped him, but we were beyond that now. We’d been beyond that for a while. We shouldn’t have gone for beignets or walked around the city or taken the elevator ride. No to it all. But I hadn’t. I couldn’t.
His hands pushed up into my hair, tilting my face up to look at him. Those big blue eyes and perfect lips and the five o’clock shadow. This was my Cole. The one I’d loved since college, since the day he’d been nervous to ask me out and then kissed me in front of the entire university. I hung, suspended in his grasp, the decision for where we went after this squarely in his hands.
Nothing could stop this train as it barreled down the tracks. We were a runaway, just waiting for the crash.
And then we crashed.
His lips on mine. His tongue pushed into my mouth. Our bodies pressed tight.
I fumbled with the key card against the door and toed it open. Cole followed me inside, filling the space as if he belonged here. As if he always had.
We stumbled backward, slamming the door in our wake. And we were now alone in my darkened hotel room. I had never been more glad that I’d decided not to share with Trish. That I’d wanted the privacy to work on my presentation.
We landed on the bed in a tangle of limbs. I had no idea where I stopped and Cole started. We were just one. Finally complete.
My skirt rode up to my hips as I wrapped my legs around his waist. I wanted to feel him pressed against me, feel every inch of his solid body.
I knew it was wrong. We shouldn’t be doing this. Not when we had other people back at home. But it didn’t feel wrong. It was the rightest thing I’d done in a long time, and I didn’t know what that said about me.
The only thing that was clear was that I wasn’t over Cole Davis. Not even close. And I didn’t know if I ever would be.
“Lila,” he gasped, running his hands up my bare legs. “Fuck, I want this, but …”
He didn’t have to finish. I met his gaze. This was a tipping point. And we hadn’t crossed it. Not yet. Not entirely. But we were about to unless I told him no. Unless I told him to stop.
I didn’t.
“You want this,” he said as a statement, not a question.
