Chapter Seventeen | The Line Between
I shivered my way down the hallway, arms folded tight around myself. It wasn’t just the air conditioning — though that was brutal, hitting my damp skin like ice. It was everything. The silence between us. The way my heart thudded in my chest like it was warning me. I wasn’t sure if it was nerves or hope. Or both.
We reached his door, and just like that, the spell broke. No mention of the pool. No mention of what was said. What was felt. It was like nothing had happened.
Of course it was.
He had a way of compartmentalizing, of closing drawers and sealing them shut without even flinching. I’d learned not to expect anything different. The moment I thought we might be shifting toward something more, he’d shift away. Like he was allergic to possibility.
Still, I followed him in.
The door shut behind us with a soft click. He walked over to the bed and tossed a hoodie in my direction. I caught it midair without a word.
Of course he knew I was cold. He always noticed those things. Little things. It was the big ones he pretended not to see.
I carried the hoodie into the bathroom and locked the door behind me, leaning against it for a breath longer than I meant to. My reflection stared back at me in the mirror — flushed cheeks, messy hair, eyes too wide, too full. I looked like a girl caught in something she hadn’t meant to fall into.
I wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Not with him. Not anymore.
I tugged the hoodie over my head, hesitating halfway through. It smelled like him — that familiar mix of laundry detergent and something woodsy. It made me want to crawl inside it, inside him, and stay there.
But it wasn’t mine. Neither was he.
I’d been told that, shown that, reminded of it over and over. Still, I put it on.
And then, impulsively — stupidly — I unclasped the bikini top beneath it and let it fall to the bathroom counter. A bold, silent move. Not an invitation exactly… more of a question. Not for sex. For truth. For clarity. For whatever the hell this was.
I immediately regretted it.
He wasn’t going to make a move. That wasn’t him. He’d joke, maybe say something that would make me feel foolish. He’d have no idea what it took for me to be this exposed, even under fabric.
A knock snapped me out of it.
“Yeah?” I called, trying to sound casual.
“You good?” His voice. Low. Closer than I thought.
I unlocked the door and opened it, only to find him standing right there — too close. The hallway, the air, the moment, it all seemed to press in around us.
I took a step to pass him, my body humming with nerves.
And then — he caught my wrist.
Gently.
Not forceful. Not planned. Just… a pause.
My breath caught. Time did too.
I looked up at him.
And waited.
