Orla
Washington DC
July
I flew out to Washington on the seventeenth of July with the whole team, Tyler included.
I’d spent a week pretending that kiss never happened, but my body remembered in ways my conscience wished it didn’t.
Sometimes, when I passed him a resistance band or steadied his knee during our sessions, my fingers would brush his skin, and the memory of that kiss would play in full colour through my mind.
Every morning, I worked his hamstring, updated his rehab plan, and avoided looking directly at his mouth because every time I did, my lips remembered what they felt like. My whole body did.
Every afternoon, I sat through meetings like I didn’t feel the heat of his stare burning into the side of my face.
I tried with every scrap of restraint I had, not to let my eyes drift over to him.
But every time they did, his were already on mine.
Like he knew. Like he was waiting. And the most pathetic part was that I didn’t want him to stop looking at me. I hated that I loved the attention.
What also didn’t help was that he’d set up camp behind my eyelids at night. The feel of his hand on my jaw. The press of his mouth against mine. All of it haunting me long after I’d left that terrace.
That kiss had short-circuited me in every way I wish it hadn’t. It was pure, inconvenient electricity. I couldn’t think about it without heat sparking low in my belly.
He never brought it up. Never pushed. Just…waited. Which somehow made it worse. That was the killer, the waiting. Like he knew exactly what I was trying to outrun and was perfectly content to let me trip over it myself.
But I’d made the rules. I’d drawn the line. And now I had to live on the wrong side of it. Congratulations to me, the architect of my own misery.
So here I was, in another country, far away from home with no escape.
When Alan said travel and accommodation were covered, I hadn’t realised that meant five-star excess.
At least the universe had decided my misery should at least paired with luxury.
The hotel was obscene. Marble floors polished until you could see your reflection in them, flower arrangements taller than me, and a concierge who looked like he used to guard the crown jewels. The air smelled of polish and money.
We’d barely landed before we were herded through the lobby and handed sleek keycards. The team scattered, peeling off toward elevators and never ending corridors.
I ended up in the lift with Tyler, Ted, and Ben, one of the physios I’d brought onto the team.
Tyler hadn’t said much since the airport, but he didn’t need to open his mouth for me to feel his presence.
I could feel him. The weight of him behind me, his black cotton hoodie pulled over his head, heat radiating in the small space and his woodsmoke aftershave infiltrating my senses.
God forbid he realised what standing this close to him did to me.
On the eighth floor, the lift chimed and the doors opened. I stepped out, scanning the ambiently lit corridor. Eight zero five. My room was second on the left.
Tyler followed. He grabbed my suitcase off the trolley like it was nothing, because of course he was being a fucking gentleman, and trailed after me.
He stopped outside my door, glanced at the number, then down at the keycard in his hand. Then back up at the door next to mine. Eight zero six.
Of course.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered under my breath.
He grinned, smug and golden. “Looks like we’re neighbours.”
“Thanks,” I said stiffly, nodding toward my bag. My tone was polite enough not to sting but inside, I was freaking out
I swiped into my room and stepped inside, shutting the door before I could think twice.
My back hit the door and I stayed there, breathing hard, hands pressed flat against the wood like I could hold him at arms length with sheer force.
I just left him standing there like a golden retriever puppy I’d kicked.
Jesus Christ. This was already too difficult, and we’d only been here half an hour.
I could’ve reassigned him to one of the other physios, played it safe. But no, I was better than that. I’d worked too fucking hard for this opportunity to start acting like a teenager over an impulsive kiss.
Even if it had been the best, most electrifying kiss of my life and he smelt like woodsmoke and heaven and looked at me like I hung the bloody moon.
I dropped my bag and groaned, kicking off my shoes, and flopping backwards onto the plush bed, the comforter crinkling noisily under the force.
I exhaled hard. The sheets were cool against my skin, but my body felt like it was on fire.
From the flight, the nerves, and the knowledge that Tyler Reed was sleeping ten paces away for the next week.
I could already hear faint sounds through the wall, his footsteps, a drawer closing, the low thud of his bag hitting the floor. Too close. Way too close. Every noise was a reminder that he was right there.
I sat up sharply, scanning the open bathroom door. I needed a bath. I needed sleep. I needed to get my head together.
Because if I was going to spend a month in the same hotels as Tyler bloody Reed, I had to keep my wits and my clothes firmly on.