I don’t want it to be our last kiss. I don’t want to have a last kiss with Eleanor at all.
I’m back on the Strip, close to my hotel but even closer to Eleanor’s. I don’t overthink it, just let my shitty boat shoes carry me through the lobby of her hotel and into the elevator. I’m disoriented for a moment when I reach her floor, trying to retrace my steps from this morning. I hesitate in front of the door I’m only 90 percent sure is actually Eleanor’s.
After a deep breath, I knock.
“Hang on!” Eleanor’s voice calls from inside. Relief and nerves battle it out at the confirmation that I’m exactly where I need to be.
After a few moments of waiting, I lean a little closer, turning my ear toward the heavy hotel door. I can hear rustling, and then what I think is a muffled curse, and then footsteps.
“Adam?”
“Yeah.” I straighten and stuff my hands in my pockets, waiting for her to open the door. It occurs to me that she’s probably watching me through the peephole, and I don’t know where I’m supposed to look. My gaze flicks up to the little circle in the door, and I lift a brow.
The door swings open, revealing a wet-haired Eleanor, fresh from the shower. My gaze involuntarily scans her body, noting the way her T-shirt sticks to her damp skin, the way her nipples show through the fabric, and the thought pops into my head unbidden:No bra.
I clear my throat and gather my senses, focusing on her face instead of her bare legs.
“Hi.” It’s the best I can manage.
“Hi,” she says, a lilt in her voice that almost turns it into a question:What are you doing here?
“I, um.” My brows pull together. I’m a fucking idiot, and despite having ample opportunity to do so, I didn’t think through what I would say once I was actually standing here in front of her. “I sent a picture of my ID to Tyler, and he said we’re all set.”
She nods. “Yeah, he texted me too.”
Right. Of course he did. “Good. Yeah. I just wanted to make sure you were in the loop.”
Oh god. That doesn’t even make sense. I could’ve called for that, could’ve texted. Could have waited a couple hours and told her in person at the show.
“I sort of figured you’d still be at the brewery,” she hedges.
I shake my head. “I bailed pretty soon after you left.”
Her expression shifts into one I can’t name—somehow calculating and wary and pleased all at once.
“Actually, could I come in for a sec?” I ask before I lose my nerve completely.
“Yeah, sure.” Eleanor steps back, holding the door open. It’s moderately reassuring that she doesn’t hesitate, though I have to swallow thickly when the door snicks shut behind me.
Housekeeping has been through since this morning—the bed is pristine, the floor no longer scattered with discarded clothing.
The ends of Eleanor’s hair are still dripping, getting the shoulders of her shirt all wet. “I’m sorry—you were getting ready and I randomly showed up.”
She sticks her hands in her back pockets. “That’s okay. What’s up?”
I drag a hand over my jaw, scratching a bit at the scruff. I drop my hand and shake my head. “Look, I’m really glad we’re not going to be married much longer.”
Eleanor’s brow furrows. “Uh… yeah. Me too. That’s what you came here to say?”
“No. Hang on, shit.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and shuffle a half step closer to Eleanor. “What I’m trying to say is, I’m glad, but I’m also… I don’t want to go back to LA and pretend it never happened. I don’t want us to act like strangers. Or never see each other.”
Eleanor considers this for a moment. “You want to see each other?”
“I really liked getting to know you better today,” I tell her. “I want… more of that. I want to know you. And I hate to be the guy who waits until his fake marriage is over to finally admit how he really feels—”
“Right, everyone hates that fucking guy,” Eleanor says faintly.
“—but I kind of can’t stop thinking about you.”
