Teddy is ruffling through his suitcase. He straightens when I appear, then pulls out a ball of fabric and tosses it my way. My reflexes are slower than usual—looking at you, tequila—but I still manage to catch it.
It’s almost an exact mirror of the night I lost my room key. But there’s a stark difference between that night and tonight, and it hums between us like a live wire. A pulse of possibilities.
I don’t want our first time to be like this. I don’t knowifwe’ll ever have a first time. Our respective relationship statuses were a hurdle, just like they were eight years ago. But they’ve never beenthehurdle. We’re not a couple of teenagers any longer. I’ve never fooled around with any member of my crew before—for good reason. And once the tour ends, our lives will look very different again.
Starting something with Teddy would be about lust. But it would mean something. Even without it beginning, I know the end will hurt.
I hold his gaze as I pull off my hoodie. My dress is strapless. One tug on the zipper, and it pools on the floor in a puddle of green fabric, leaving me in a set of underwear I’m relieved to see is matching. I yank his T-shirt on, then pull my bra off through the armhole in a move I can credit to middle school gym.
Teddy tracks the descent of my lacy bra. “How drunk are you?”
“Three tequilas with simple syrup and lime.”
“You hate tequila.”
“I was in a bad mood. I didn’t want one of my favorite drinks to be ruined.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Two tequilas in, it made perfect sense.”
He rolls his eyes, but a small smirk appears. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You like it.”
“I likeyou.”
Those are the three words that permeate the hazy fog of my buzzed brain. We’re not joking around anymore, and that seriousness soaks into my system, chasing away the laziness of liquor.
“I like you too,” I tell him. “I always have. Too much.”
“Hasn’t always felt that way.”
I swallow, absorbing those words along with the hurt saturating each syllable. “You know why I…you knew.”
“Yeah, I did. But that’s the difference between us. I would have fought. You never even considered trying to.”
He brushes past me and heads into the bathroom. I crawl under the covers and let the haze of alcohol pull me into unconsciousness.
“I would have fought. You never even considered trying to.”
He’s wrong. I more than considered it.