Scandalized(16)

We collapse, his front to my back, his heaving chest pounding along my spine.

For minutes, we are paralyzed. Sweaty, entwined. He reaches blindly up, finding my hand, weaving our fingers together. His palm presses to the back of my hand, and then he does the same thing with the other, until I’m sweetly caged beneath him, and this time, I fall asleep without even realizing it.





Four


In unison, our phone alarms go off at five, after only maybe an hour of sleep. It’s like being heavily drugged, the way I can barely roll over, and then I realize it’s because I’m still on my stomach with a full-grown, six-foot-one-inch man asleep on top of me.

He stirs, rolling to the side and groaning, covering his face with a hand. “No.”

“I agree,” I mumble into the pillow.

“This must be what zombies feel like all the time.”

It seems we’re on the same page about the alarms: let them go until they time out in a few minutes. His chime sounds like the default setting on the phone, and I feel him laugh beside me at the Black Sabbath ringtone.

“I guess that would get me up, too,” he murmurs, kissing my shoulder.

Laughing, I stretch to grab the bottle of water on the bedside table, offering it to him. He pushes up onto an elbow, unscrewing the cap and taking a long drink. After what we did, it should be awkward to stare directly at Alec in the weak light filtering in from the hallway, but it isn’t. I watch him gulp down the water with primal satisfaction, and it is genuinely one of my favorite things ever to witness. Pillow lines crease his face. His hair is crazy. The fact that it’s five and we have an eight o’clock flight means we don’t have time for another round, but my body doesn’t get the memo. Blood seems to rise to the surface of my skin in anticipation of his hands.

And when he passes over the water to me and I lift the bottle to my mouth, he takes the opportunity to slide his hand over my stomach, stroking back and forth, eyes closed and forehead pressed against my shoulder.

“I had fun,” he says quietly. “I’m so glad you remembered me.”

It is both wonderful and terrible when he says this. Wonderful because I know he means it; terrible, because—of course—this is how the goodbye starts.

“Me too,” I say. “Really. I don’t want to get too intense, but it’s been a shitty year, and I needed this.”

“For maybe different reasons, I needed it, too.” He pauses, frowning. “But I just want to say—”

Oh God.

“Alec.” I turn to smile at him, hiding the way my chest immediately tightens at this tonal shift. “You don’t have to say it. You live in London. I’m in LA. I have no expectation of seeing you again.”

“No, no. Well, yes, that is—unfortunately—probably true, but I meant something else.” He gazes down at me. “This will sound weird, and you’ll understand it later, I think, but I mean it when I agree this was exactly what I needed. And I’m just—” He swallows, neck flushing. It’s weird to see him stumble over words. “I’m really happy to be here with you. Exactly how it was last night. Whatever happens after this, I want you to promise to remember that. Okay?”

Even a cold brick would realize that Alec Kim is saying something without saying it, but it’s so carefully veiled I don’t know how to probe deeper. He doesn’t give me a chance, either, because he cups my jaw, offering up a kiss that is both sweet and passionate, gently coaxing me back onto the pillow.

“I wish we had time,” he says against my mouth, and I know exactly what he means.

But we don’t.

He stares down at me, exhaling, and then with a quiet groan pushes up and turns to sit at the edge of the bed. I want to roll over and wrap my arms around him because, oddly, it seems like he needs a hug, but it doesn’t feel like something we’d do at sunrise. So I sit there staring at his back while he stares down at the floor. All of the ease and comfort of last night have started to fade, and I quietly hate it.

We both startle when the room phone rings, and then Alec lets out a mumbled “Oh” of recollection. Leaning over, he answers it with an instinctive “Yeoboseyo,” and then, “Hello… Yes, thank you. Let’s say fifteen. Thank you.”

He hangs up and looks over his shoulder at me. “If you’d like, you can use the restroom right there to get ready.” He lifts his chin to indicate where he means. “The concierge is bringing something up for me and will be here in about fifteen minutes. I’ll shower in the other restroom.”

The outside world is pressing back in, making us both adopt a level of formality that feels completely unnatural. Thanking him, I hold the sheet to my chest and avert my eyes as he stands fully naked, finding his clothes on the floor and carrying them out into the living room with him. With a towel around his waist, he returns just as I’m getting up, bringing me my suitcase, bra, and dress. I want to kiss him in thanks; it’s what every cell in my body is leaning forward to do, but he just gives a polite nod and ducks back out. In only a few seconds, I hear another door close farther out in the suite and the sound of the shower turning on.

Staring down at my open suitcase on the bed, I decide the dress is still the cleanest thing to wear, and then debate the underwear situation. I could wash a pair in the sink and wear them—damp—on the plane. I could go without. I don’t like either of these choices. This is a problem for post-shower Georgia. But after rinsing off quickly and wrapping myself up in one of the hotel’s lush, thick towels, I hear a quiet knock land on the bathroom door. I open it, letting Alec in.