I appreciated that. I told him so.
"You're easy to dress," he said. "Good proportions."
"I've been told."
He smiled. I smiled back. It was genuinely fine. There was nothing there, not on my end, and Caleb seemed to get that without needing it explained. We existed in the wardrobe area with the easy comfort of two people who'd had a moment that hadn't gone anywhere and were both adults about it.
Then I looked up and Cross was in the room.
He looked exactly like Nathan Cross always looked. Coat, tablet, focused. Moving through the room with purpose, the way he moved everywhere, like he'd already assessed it and found it adequately functional. No evidence of last night anywhere on him. No evidence of anything.
Which was fine.
That was fine.
That was what I had asked for. Nobody reading into anything. It doesn't have to mean anything. We're adults. I had said those words with my own mouth and I had meant them, or I had meant to mean them, which was approximately the same thing.
This was me getting exactly what I'd asked for.
Great.
He found me.
His blue eyes moved from my face to Caleb's hands on my shoulders and back to my face. The whole thing took maybe one second. Left no visible mark, which was how Cross dideverything, except that he didn't look away after. He held it for a beat longer than a man who didn't care would hold it, and then he looked at his tablet like someone who had made a decision about where to look.
Caleb's hands stilled slightly on my shoulders.
I turned to Caleb. He had his eyes on Cross across the room with the mildly curious expression of someone who had just noticed something and was deciding whether it was his business.
"Friend of yours, right?" he asked, low.
"Team doctor," I said.
Caleb turned back to me.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
Then, after a second, casually, like it was an afterthought: "Hey, I actually tried to reach you after that night. Couple times."
"What? Really?"
"Yeah. I texted. Called once, I think." He was doing something with the lapel, not looking at me. "Never heard back. Figured you weren't interested, which, fair." A small shrug. "Just thought it was a little weird since you seemed"—he paused, choosing the word—"receptive, at the bar."
Across the room, Cross dropped his tablet.
My head came up fast. He had already retrieved it, was already back to whatever he'd been doing before, face giving nothing.
Caleb was still talking. Something about texting, about the number, about never hearing back.
I had not received any texts from Caleb. I had gone through my phone the morning after, thoroughly, in the elevator, with a headache, and there had been nothing from his number. I would have noticed.
There had been nothing from Caleb.
"Huh," I said.
Caleb’s eyes cut to me briefly. Then to Cross across the room toward where he was standing with his tablet, and something moved through his expression.
