Chapter 27
The adrenaline crash hits about fifteen minutes after the line disappears. It always does. One minute, I’m alert and buzzing, high on conversation and connection and validation. The next, I’m sitting on the edge of the hotel bed in socked feet, glaring at the carpet.
I love people.
I love crowds.
I love being seen.
And I am exhausted.
Carter moves around the room quietly, maybe sensing I need space. He sets my bag down, straightens the chair, and lines his shoes up with military precision by the door. There’s comfort in his order, in the way he makes chaos behave. I could use a touch of that in my life.
I drop back onto the mattress with a dramatic groan.
"Ah, the inevitable collapse. My old nemesis."
"Need water?"
"God, yes."
He hands me a bottle. Our fingers brush, again, as if they’re magnetized. Like they’ve forgotten how to stop doing that. I sit up, take a long drink, then let myself fall sideways, half sprawled across the pillows.
"I forgot how intense that is," I admit. "It’s like speed dating."
He sits beside me, careful not to jostle. "You were incredible."
I snort. "I was on. There’s a difference."
He studies me. "Explain."
I roll onto my side, propping my head on my hand. "Performing is easier than being real."
His brow furrows and I resist the urge to lean forward and kiss it smooth.
"Out there, I know what I’m doing. I know my lines. My beats. My rhythm. I know how to make people laugh. I know how to make them feel safe. I know how to hold space for them." I hesitate, then shrug lightly. "In here, I have to be… me."
"That seems like the easier option."
I laugh softly. "For you, maybe."
He doesn’t push, just listens. God, I’m starting to crave that.
"You," I point, "are profoundly unnerving."
"Good." His tone is dry. "I was worried I’d lost my edge."
"I’m serious." I shift closer without really deciding to. "You see things. You notice. You pay attention. And somehow, that makes me want to take the armor off, which is deeply inconvenient."
His mouth curves. "Sorry."
"No, you’re not."
"You’re right. Not even a little."
We sit there with our shoulders brushing, the quiet stretching comfortably between us. The room feels softer now. Warmer. As if we’ve exhaled into it.
"I saw you," I add quietly.
"At the table?"
I nod. "Watching."
His ears pink. It’s subtle. Delicious.
"You looked…" I search for the word. "Proud."
He swallows. "I was."
Something in my chest tilts.
"I’m glad you were there," I admit. "I like knowing someone I care about saw that part of me."
His gaze flicks to mine and holds.
"I care about you, too," he says simply. No drama. No bravado. No jokes. Just truth.
My heart stumbles. We shift closer, knees touching, shoulders leaning.
"Benji?" he murmurs.
"Yeah?"
"You know this isn’t temporary, right?"
The question lands gently. The answer hits hard.
I think of Morningwood. Of HOA nonsense.
Of cider tastings and flamingo wars and standing in kitchens arguing about inflatable regulations.
I think of the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not watching.
Of clearing out a dresser drawer of my funkiest t-shirts to make room for his boring ones.
I think of how easily my life is rearranging itself around his presence.
And I realize, with startling clarity, that he’s right. This thing between us isn’t a fling. It’s a shift.
"Yeah," I say quietly. "I know."
"And that scares you."
I huff a breath. "More than any audience ever has."
His warm hand finds mine. "Me too."
Somehow, that makes it easier. We lie back together, side by side, staring at the ceiling with our fingers loosely tangled. There’s no urgency, no pressure. Just a quiet connection that stirs hope in my chest, leaving me a bit unsettled.
Because somewhere between the signing table and this hotel bed, I have crossed a line I swore I wouldn’t.
I’m falling hard for him. Ugh. Gross. Unexpected character development.
Carter Reed is still maddening. Still overly serious. Still incapable of leaving a surface cluttered. But now it’s… different. Now it’s a sexy annoying. The kind that sneaks up on you and makes your chest feel warm and ridiculous.
If I sleep with him again, and it ruins everything, fine. I’ll just move. Maybe to an island. Maybe to wherever Harry Styles lives now. But something in my gut tells me this isn’t a thing that ruins. It’s a thing that changes.
I turn my head and find Carter already looking at me. He’s quiet and thoughtful and entirely too easy to fall for.
Well. That’s inconvenient. And kind of wonderful.
I grin at him, giving his hand a squeeze. "Come on, I’m starving. Dinner’s on me."
"You sure? I’d love to treat you after—"
"Trust me, I signed four new clients today, and I can probably close two more deals before we head home. My treat."
"Fine. Lead the way, Mr. Powerful and Delicious."