“One of my neighbors is a very loud man who comes home around midnight and unwinds to the dulcet sounds of death metal.”
I wince. “Oof.”
“My neighbor on the other side, Edie, is a ninety-year-old woman who knocks on my door with a cane to ask whether I need groceries. So, she’s pretty cool.”
“You should be getting her groceries.”
“Right?” He smiles, fidgeting with a strand of my hair. “Most of my friends are back on the East Coast, but even they’ve scattered throughout New England.” Shrugging, he says with relaxed assurance, “I’ll find my people at some point. Right now the priority has been getting my work life back on track.”
I stare at his mouth, thinking on these words. We’re both alone, and for so long I insisted that wasn’t the same thing as being lonely. Now I’m not so sure.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks.
“I’ve lived around Jackson my entire life and you’ve just moved there, but we both need to find our people.”
With a knowing smile, James kisses me again, but this time he lingers, and it deepens, heating. I love the firm press of his lips, the quiet sounds he can’t seem to repress.
Against my mouth, he asks, “Is the lady satisfied?”
I run my finger down his chin, throat, chest and reach beneath the sheets, gently scratching his stomach. “The lady was satisfied …”
He growls, dragging his teeth over my jaw, and climbs back over me. “It appears I have more work to do.”
Giggling, I throw the sheets up and over our heads. Room service, rock-paper-scissors, and robes can wait.
When I wake up, I know it’s really early. Bird calls haven’t been drowned out by the hum of traffic. The sky still feels like a secret—deep blue-black but illuminated, like a light shining through fabric. Under the covers it’s warm, and my entire body has that heavy, weighted feeling where I can get lost in the sensation of being completely still.
I love this feeling, love becoming aware of different parts of my body, not just my hands. The pillowcase is smooth against my cheek. I slip my feet to a cooler section of the sheets and press back into the warm, naked body behind me.
His breathing is even, but his hand on my stomach flexes when I move, pulling me into him. I’m not sure he’s awake. On a scale of fine to nonverbal for the rest of the tour, how weird is it going to be between us now that we’ve had sex?
At the risk of waking up my body and getting my hands twisting and turning, I roll over to face him and find his eyes open, carefully watching me.
“Hi.”
He smiles. “Hi.”
There’s a condom wrapper stuck to his shoulder, and I assume it’s the one he tossed onto the bed that first time. There’s another in here somewhere from the second time; that one was sweeter, quieter, with my arms and legs wound all around him.
I definitely needed the heat and energy of the first time, but I think James liked the second one better. He looked completely wrecked afterward. We skipped the room service after all, and I think we were asleep by eight—no wonder we’re awake at dawn. Now he looks sleep-rumpled and wary, like he’s not sure how I’m going to behave this morning.
“We had sex,” I say.
He nods. “Twice.”
“My first hotel sex. And second.”
A twitch of his mouth. “Congratulations.”
When he reaches up to push his hair off his forehead, I lean back and take a long look down at his naked body. As expected, instead of covering himself, he rolls to his back and tucks a hand behind his head. It’s quite a view.
The silence stretches and, with considerably less bravado, he asks, “Are you okay today?”
Am I?
Two weeks ago, I would have laughed it off and said Of course. But I don’t know how to answer. I’m okay that we had sex, if that’s what he means. More than okay. I’m just not sure if everything else feels as easy as it used to, and I honestly don’t know what changed. Melly has always been Melly. Rusty has always been Rusty. But maybe I’m not that Carey anymore.
“Carey?”
“I’m okay,” I tell him. “About this, I mean. Are you?”
“Yes.” He has a hickey next to his collarbone. My first thought is how relieved I am that he can cover it up; my second is that I never want him to put clothes on again. “I am extremely okay.”
“Good.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” He rolls to his side again, pushing himself up onto his elbow, and because it’s a struggle not to look down again, I decide not to fight it. After a few wordless seconds, he laughs. “I might put some clothes on if we’re going to continue the conversation like this.” He motions vaguely to his lower half, still on display. “It’s a little drafty.”
Laughing, I pull the sheets to our chins and cuddle into the heat of him. He picks up my hand and begins massaging my fingers. Although there isn’t much he can do to stop the way my hands start moving as soon as I wake up, it’s still soothing; the rest of my body melts against the mattress. I’m happy with comfortable quiet. Talking means bringing up what got us here—or who—and what we’re going to do about it. I don’t know if I’m mentally prepared to deal with it before the sun is even up.
“We don’t have to decide anything now,” he says, studying me, “but we’ll eventually need to be on the same page about what we do outside this room.”
I gnaw on my lip, thinking while he continues to massage my hand. “As much as I want to protect this and keep it just between us for a little while, Melly will know. It’s like how dogs can smell fear, except it’s me with any hint of a life outside of work.”
He laughs.
“We don’t have to be anywhere for a few hours.” He looks at his watch. “Plenty of time to figure things out. I could go grab us coffee and something to eat and be back in ten minutes?”
“Yes, please.” My stomach gives a timely growl. “As you can hear, I am starving.”
He leans over me, hair a mess and eyes still sleepy. He kisses me once, not too long because we haven’t brushed our teeth yet, and then he’s up, sliding his glasses on and searching for his pants.
I lie back against the bed and stretch, content in a way I haven’t felt in ages. I listen to him move around the room, finding a shoe by the door, the other under the bed. Dressed, he leans over me again. I reach up, brush his hair back, and smile, relishing that this doesn’t feel awkward or weird.
“I want you to keep your glasses on.”
He lifts a single brow. He knows exactly what I mean. “We’ll do that when I get back.” A pause. “Don’t answer your phone yet, okay? Knowing Melly I’m sure she’ll be calling soon, and I want us to talk things out first.”
He peeks back over his shoulder at the clock. I groan. It’s five—almost time to get up and moving—but I want to stay in this happy bubble so much longer. “I won’t.”
Another kiss and then he’s up. “I’ll be fast. I’ll run.”
I laugh as the door closes behind him and fall back on the bed, grinning up at the ceiling. The room falls silent, but my booming thoughts easily fill the void. I like him. Not only is he absurdly good-looking when he’s naked, he’s also intuitive and patient and communicative and seems to get me, like really get me. Not because I’m simple, but because he’s looking carefully.