But it works. We stop, Faust’s hands falling, red flags waved. And then I make a mistake—I look at him. His hair is finger-messy, his eyes black and hungry. I must’ve accidentally yanked his hoodie down his neck, revealing a vein I’ve never noticed running up the side of his flushed throat. The only sound is him breathing, a soft noise in the quiet, and he rolls his jaw to one side. Nods. “Okay.”
He’s back to cool Faust. Detached. Pulling away, because he clearly thinks pushing in hurt me. My heart burns. I need to explain that he hasn’t jumped my boundaries—that the problem is that I like this too much.
Instead, I turn to face the wall so that he can change. As if I wasn’t pressed against him moments ago.
I listen to him standing there, no doubt dumbfounded by my stupidity, then the stilted swishing of fabric.
Embarrassment makes it difficult to swallow. Oh my god. Every second that goes by is worse, a new nightmare where he doesn’thurt me, but I hurt him. “I’m sorry. I don’t do this.” I take a breath. “I’ve never… this is new for me. And I, I like you, as a person, and I want you to do as well as possible today, without me making you late or screwing up your schedule. Because I’m really looking forward to watching you, even more after—after kissing you.”
That might be the first time I’ve really acknowledged what we’ve done out loud. Behind me, Faust exhales, surprised by it, too.
“I act like I know what I’m doing, and I usually do,” I admit. “But I don’t think I know like you do. You’re so… you. So please just—if I seem like, whoa, she’s not cool—that’s because I’m not. I’m not cool at all.”
About you, I add silently.
I hold my breath. Wait for him to thank me for apologizing. Soft footsteps thump against the floor behind me, and then Faust is clearing his throat. “I’m sorry.”
“No, please don’t—”
“I have a new rule.”
Instantly, I’m perking up. Back to our game, where things are chaotic, but they’re safe. “Yeah?”
“Two, actually.”
“I’m ready.”
“If you ever change your mind about what you want to do with me, you have to tell me when we aren’t together.”
When we aren’t… oh. In the same room. “But I liked what we were doing.”
He chuckles, still behind me. Still not touching me. “I did, too.”
But he doesn’t want things to slip in the heat of the moment. Is it that clear to him after two days that I’m prone to slipping? I bite at the inside of my cheek, self-conscious and grateful at the same time. “Okay, rule accepted. What’s the other one?”
“I’d like to work out how I can help you while you’re gone. With your job.”
I turn, and seeing him this time is less painful—partially. The feverish, freshly kissed Faust from earlier is gone, though he doesn’t look any less steadfastly interested in me. Maybe he only experiences emotions intensely. Intensely aroused, intensely devoted.
“Okay, yeah. We probably should’ve started there,” I say with a smile.
Intensely happy. Faust starts to smile, too.
Then there’s a knock.
And then—after approximately two bone-chilling seconds—thebeep-beepof a hotel key card opening the door to Faust’s room.
I turn to ice, my limbs and fingers and mouth frozen into place, like I’m in a cartoon and whoever’s coming in has magic-wand-tapped-me into a living snowman. Faust, on the other hand, springs into motion. Running his fingers through his hair, smoothing his new shirt down, then turning to the person walking into his room, with a frown that could decimate small moons if concentrated into a laser point.
“Hey!” Eddie spins the key card in his hands. “Cat! Faust! Morning!”
“Eddie,” Faust breathes out, his tone shockingly flat. “What are you doing?”
Turns out, all of Faust’s iciness is concentrated in his voice. Which, yay, good for me, I’m not alone, but bad for us as a collective. Eddie blinks, then sulks into a pout. “We have that thing. Uh—that—meeting? We talked about it yesterday?” His brow furrows. “They sent me to grab you. Sorry, did they not message you?”
Without replying, Faust stalks over to where his phone is sittingon his nightstand and thumbs through what must be a pile of notifications. Partway through the scroll, his chest hitches. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
