Page 49 of Cava with My Colleague

“Yeah,” I agree, even though he hasn’t finished the sentence.

He pulls back just enough to look at me, and there’s something in his expression. Not regret—thank god, not regret. But wonder, maybe. Like he’s just as surprised by this as I am.

He kisses me again, quicker this time but no less devastating. Then he steps back, and I can see him gathering himself, putting his professional mask back in place. But it doesn’t quite fit anymore. Not when I can still see the heat in his eyes.

“Goodnight, Jade.”

“Goodnight, Carlos.”

I watch him walk the few steps to his door. He glances back once before disappearing inside, and I catch myself smiling like an idiot.

Inside my room, I lean against the door and touch my lips. They’re still tingling.

My phone buzzes with a text. It’s our group chat, checking up on me.

Sara

How was the presentation?

I look at the message for a long moment, then respond.

Me

Tell you tomorrow. It was . . . really good.

I don’t mention the kiss. Not yet. It feels too new, too fragile, like talking about it might make it disappear.

Instead, I get ready for bed with a smile I can’t seem to shake, and when I finally fall asleep, I don’t dream about falling off stages or losing my hair.

I dream about dark eyes and gentle hands and the way Carlos said my name like it mattered.

19

Carlos

* * *

I lie in bed, an uncomfortable weight in my body.

I’m not thinking about Jade and our many antagonistic conversations. Nor am I thinking about the picture she shared tonight or the childhood she must have had with her illness.

No, I’m thinking about the way her mouth parted when I’d tugged her hair.

I hadn’t meant to pull it that hard. I was aiming to be teasing and friendly, but somewhere along the way, between when my fingertip first felt the graze of her hair and when I tightened my grip, I lost my mind.

Now all I can think about is what would have happened if I’d wound her hair up in my grip, all the way to the crown of her head where her hair band sat. What would she have done then?

I don’t know, I can only imagine, and for once my thoughts are pretty imaginative. Her eyelashes would flutter again, but this time they would stay lowered, barely gazing at me through a haze of lust. Her mouth would drop open, just inviting me to put whatever I wanted between her lush lips.

If I had pushed, would she have gotten on her knees?

In my imagination she does. And I unzip my trousers, the sound loud in the hallway of the hotel, and feed my cock to her.

In real life, lying on my bed, I grip myself through my underwear. I squeeze too hard, the pinch of discomfort an attempt at keeping me grounded, but I’m too far into this fantasy already.

Somehow, Jade has brought out a side of me that’s more imaginative than ever before. I’ve never thought about wrapping my fist in someone’s hair or getting sucked off somewhere we could be caught.

With our truce, our confessions over our dislike for each other, we’re suddenly in a space where my feelings have tipped over from dislike and wariness to . . . respect. And attraction.