I push through the crowd toward the door. The cold Toronto air hits me on the street and I pull out my phone and call Jasmine. It rings four times and goes to voicemail.
I text her:I'm coming to the hotel.
I flag a cab and give the driver the name of the Shangri-La. The ride takes twelve minutes. I spend every one of those minutes replaying the evening from Jasmine's perspective.
I'm an idiot.
The cab pulls up to the hotel. I pay the driver and walk through the lobby. I don't have a room key for her floor. I pull out my phone to text her.
I'm in the lobby. Let me up.
A long pause. Then my phone buzzes.
Jasmine: Room 2814.
The elevator takes me to the twenty-eighth floor. The hallway is quiet and dimly lit with thick carpet that swallows my footsteps. I find her door and knock.
She opens it in leggings and a t-shirt. Her makeup is still on, but her eyes are red. She steps aside, and I walk in. The room is dark except for the glow of the CN Tower through the wall of windows.
Jasmine sits on the edge of the bed, pulls her knees up, and wraps her arms around them. I pull the desk chair over and sit facing her. Our knees are almost touching.
“Blake told me about the woman at the bar.”
Her jaw tightens. “There's nothing to tell. A woman talked to you. That's what women do when professional athletes go to bars.”
“She was a fan.”
“I'm not angry, Logan. You didn't do anything wrong,” she says.
Not true. “Then why did you leave?”
She doesn't answer right away. She rests her chin on her knees and stares at the window. The tower's blue light falls across her face.
“She touched you,” she says quietly. “She put her hand on your arm, then on your chest, and she was standing too close to you.”
“She was showing me a photo of her kid in a Renegades jersey. That's all it was.”
She presses her forehead against her knees. “I've never felt like that before with anyone. I've never cared enough to be jealous. But watching that woman touch you made me want to walk across that bar and remove her hand from your body.”
“Why didn't you?”
She lifts her head and looks at me. “Because nobody in that bar knows I'm your girlfriend, Logan. That's why. I don't get towalk over and put my arm through yours and let every woman in the room know you're taken. I have to just sit there and watch.”
She's right. We agreed to keep it a secret, but right now, looking at her red eyes and tight jaw, the timeline feels like it's costing more than it's protecting.
“I didn't feel anything,” I say. “When that woman touched me, I felt nothing. She could have been a wall or a lamppost. I was thinking about you the entire time I was at that bar. Every time I looked across the room and found you in the booth, that was the only thing that mattered.”
“I believe you.”
“Do you?” I ask, searching her eyes.
“Yes. I believe you didn't feel anything. But that doesn't change the fact that I felt everything.” She unwraps her arms from her knees and lets her legs stretch out on the bed. “This is new for me. The jealousy and possessiveness. I don't know what to do with it.”
“Come here,” I say.
She doesn't move.
“Jasmine. Come here.”
