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“I want to.” She grits her teeth, and I wait patiently. Then, that determined look of hers—a look I’ve grown to like—moves over her face. “Justin and I were coworkers at my last job. We met, fell in love, dated for three years, then broke up. It got a bit messy after that.”
“Is that why you moved to Atlanta?”
Annie wraps my jacket tighter around herself. Looks off into the distance. “Not… entirely.” Then, she seems to grit her teeth. Straighten. “I moved because it was the right thing to do. And I got presented with the right opportunity.”
“Well, I’m glad you did.”
Her head whips around, sending auburn strands across her face in diagonal lines. “Really?”
I nod, amused by her surprise. “Yes. I can already see how much you bring to the table. And I’m glad we didn’t lose you over last weekend’s…”
“Accident?”
I almost chuckle. “I was going to say ‘incident.’ But I think I like accident better. There can be happy accidents.”
“Was the Econo Hotel one?”
At this point, we’re outside our office building. I meet her eyes, hold them for a long moment. “I think it was. You?”
She breathes out slowly, and the sound is almost shaky. It’s a sound I want to hear again. “Yes, I do.”
I slip my key out of my pocket. Push the door open. “After you.”
She slips by me and I smell her shampoo. It’s that sweet, totally unique ocean smell again. So typically Annie. I bet my jacket smells like her now.
I follow her into the elevator, which suddenly feels about six sizes smaller than usual. Six times warmer too, despite the fact that I’m missing my jacket.
We stand close. So close, our arms are almost touching.
“Annie?” I say, not looking at her.
“Yeah?”
“For what it’s worth.” I keep my eyes trained on the stainless steel door. “Sounds to me like you were too good for that guy.”
Annie shivers and the motion tickles my arm, pricking it with sensation.
“Or maybe he was just the wrong guy for me.” Her voice is scratchy.
I swallow. “Maybe.”
The elevator hums to life, and as we leave the ground, my stomach drops from more than just the motion of gravity leaving my body.
15
LIAM
It is a truth universally acknowledged that elevators are not sexy.
Or at least, it should be. For some reason, people seem to fixate on those scenes in movies and TV shows where two people in an elevator together end up in a quintessential passionate embrace, all to set up for a B.S. happily-ever-after. Like in thatNew Girlshow my sister watches, where the annoying, loud guy and the quirky girl end up kissing in the elevator after minutes of screen time showing them running around and missing each other again and again.
In real life, after all of that cat and mouse, I’d be feeling sweaty and annoyed, not romantic. It’s total sensationalism.
The point is, elevators are for efficiency. You enter one for the sole purpose of moving from point A to point B.
A cold, hard, metal box. That’s all it is.
I certainly wasn’t feeling anything towards Annie during the ride in that cold, hard, metal box last night—a ride which took all of thirty-five seconds, but felt like it lasted an eternity. Didn’t think about how her skin flushed pink as her shaky voice put the emphasis on her ex being the “wrong guy.”
