Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
ROSE
The hotel room door clicks shut behind me, and I lean back against it, trying to catch my breath as though I’ve just run a marathon instead of sitting silently on a bus replaying one single kiss over and over again until the memory feels imprinted on my bones.
I’m still buzzing. My skin feels too warm. My lips tingle. Every time I blink, I see Callum’s face. He’s burned onto the inside of my eyelids.
I need distraction. That’s my plan.
I kick off my boots, shed the clothes that still smell faintly of ice and adrenaline, and rummage in my suitcase.
The geekiest pyjamas I own land in my hands, navy blue with tiny cartoon astronauts floating among tacos.
Space Taco Cat PJs. They are ridiculous.
I love them. And it’s not as if anyone is going to see me.
I laugh at myself as I pull them on, tug my hair into a messy bun, and crawl onto the bed with my laptop, intending to start downloading photos from the match. But all I manage is staring at the login screen and thinking: He kissed me like I mattered.
My phone buzzes from where I tossed it beside me. My heart leaps and dives simultaneously. I scramble for it, palms suddenly sweaty.
Cal: Are you still awake?
Oh no. Oh yes. I sit there for a full ten seconds just staring at the words, like they might bite.
Rose: …maybe.
His typing bubble appears instantly.
Cal: Can I come by?
My pulse skyrockets. I sit up so fast the duvet tries to fight me.
Rose: Room 317.
I stare at the message, horrified. Why did I sound so eager? I should have played that cool. I should have thrown in a thinking emoji. Something. Anything. It doesn’t matter now because there’s a knock on my door.
Not just a knock. His knock. Firm. Uncertain. Hopeful. How the hell I decipher that from a knock; I have no idea but I do. I stand and nearly trip over my own feet getting to the door. My hands are shaking as I pull it open.
He’s there. Hoodie zipped halfway as though he left his room in a rush. Eyes on me because he can’t look anywhere else.
His gaze flicks down. Stops at the tacos floating through space.
He blinks. “Your pyjamas are… amazing.”
Heat sweeps up my neck. “Thank you. The astronaut tacos are limited edition.”
He smiles, slow and wicked and kind all at once. “Of course they are.”
I step back to let him in, heart hammering so hard I swear he must hear it, and the moment the door clicks shut behind him, he’s on me.
His hand cups the back of my head, fingers threading into my hair; his other arm slides around my waist and pulls me flush against him. My back hits the door with a soft thud and then his mouth is on mine. It’s hot, hungry, desperate.
I gasp into him, and he swallows the sound like he needs it to breathe.
“Been going insane,” he murmurs against my lips. “Needed…Jesus, Rose, I needed…”
Words dissolve when he kisses me again, deeper, firmer, pushing all the air from my lungs. My fingers fist into the front of his hoodie, clinging like he’s the only solid thing in the world.
His body is heat and muscle and restrained tension, every line pressed against me. The taste of him is intoxicating. Mint and something darker, something purely him. My knees go weak, and he notices, lifting me effortlessly until my toes barely scrape the carpet.
I’m drowning. And I never want to come up for air.
I drag my hands up to his jaw, into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. That sound shoots straight through me, leaving me trembling.
He breaks the kiss only long enough to rest his forehead against mine, breathing hard.
“This isn’t adrenaline,” he whispers fiercely. “Not for me.”
“It’s not for me either,” I whisper back, my voice shaking with truth.
Something shifts in his eyes, I’m not sure if it’s relief, desire or something terrifyingly close to awe, and then he’s kissing me again, guiding us away from the door, his mouth trailing along my jaw, the line of my throat, setting fireworks under my skin.
We tumble onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and soft laughter that dissolves back into need the second his weight settles above me. His hoodie comes off, and I trace the warm, solid lines of his shoulders, feeling him shiver under my touch as if he’s trying not to fall apart.
He kisses me like he’s starved and I’m the first tangible thing he’s tasted in months.
My Space Taco Cat pyjama top rides up, and his hand slips underneath, his palm hot on my waist. My breath stutters. His thumb strokes slow, reverent circles into my skin, like he’s memorising me.
I wrap my legs around him without thinking. His hips press down, and the shock of sensation steals any remaining rational thought I had left.
“Cal…” It comes out on a plea.
He freezes. His chest rises and falls against mine, breath ragged.
“If we keep going,” he says, voice roughened by restraint, “I don’t know how to stop.”
My heart squeezes. Because the truth is I don’t want him to stop. I want him everywhere.
But there’s something in his eyes, fear tangled with desire, that tugs me back from the edge.
I cup his cheek. “We don’t have to do everything tonight.”
His exhale is full of relief and frustration in equal measure.
“Right,” he says, resting his forehead to mine again. “Right. Just… tell me if I’m going too far. Or not far enough.”
I laugh softly. “Trust me. Not far enough is not the issue.”
He grins, eyes dark with promise. “Good to know.”
He kisses me slower then, softer. He’s savouring every second instead of racing through it.
His fingers draw invisible lines on my skin, mapping me.
And I do the same to him. We kiss until time stops existing, until the only thing that matters is the taste of him, the weight of him, the way he whispers my name as if it’s dangerous.
Eventually the heat settles into something warm and encompassing. He shifts so I’m curled against his chest, his arm snug around my waist, holding me so he stays anchored.
The room is noiseless except for our breathing and the soft hum of hotel air conditioning. His lips brush the top of my head.
“You make everything feel less impossible,” he murmurs.
My heart squeezes so tight it aches. I want to ask what he means. I want to press until he gives me all his shadows and regrets and why he looks tortured every time the past slips into his eyes. But not tonight.
Tonight, this is enough.
“You make everything feel like a beginning,” I say.
He doesn’t answer right away. But his hand slides up my back, pulling me closer, like the fear inside him needs to feel me right here to believe I’m real.
Eventually his breathing evens out, deep and slow. He falls asleep holding me as though he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
I listen to the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear, letting it lull me, letting it reassure me that he’s here, actually here, and I’m not dreaming this.
I fall asleep believing something wild. That maybe I’m allowed to want this.
When the morning light leaks pale and early through the curtains, I surface slowly, warm and safe, still wrapped in him. His arms cocoon me. His face is tucked into my hair, breath warm against my neck.
He’s asleep. Peaceful. Beautiful.
And then his body tenses in recognition and panic flickers across his face as he blinks awake, and remembers exactly where he is.
“Shit,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “What time—”
He twists, squinting at the digital clock.
“Five forty-two,” I murmur, still heavy-limbed with sleep. “The team breakfast is at seven.”
“Then I need to leave now if I don’t want Brennan writing ‘Scarlet Letter’ across my jersey.”
I scrunch my nose. “You’d look good in red.”
He laughs, it’s soft and surprised, and leans down to kiss me, slow and soft but still full of last night’s heat.
“I don’t want to go,” he admits.
“Then don’t.”
He closes his eyes as though that sentence hurts. “If I stay, I may never leave.”
My cheeks burn, but my chest swells at the same time. No one has ever said anything like that to me. Not with that kind of honesty.
He brushes his thumb across my cheek, lingering. “We’ll talk later,” he promises.
“Promise?” I whisper.
“Cross my heart.” His smile tilts, crooked and devastating. “Even if it’s already yours.”
My breath catches, but before I can say anything, he slides out of bed, grabs his hoodie, and cracks the door open just enough to peek into the hallway.
He looks back once more. At me in my Space Taco Cat pyjamas, tangled in the sheets we shared. His eyes soften as if he wants to come right back.
“See you soon, Rose.”
“See you soon, Cal.”
Then he slips out, silent and quick, before the world can notice he ever left.
I lie back in the bed that still smells of him, heart flipping and fluttering and terrified, and let one truth finally settle deep inside me.
I am falling.
And I don’t want to stop.