I blink.
“Me? Not us? Why?”
For a second I think maybe she’s ashamed to step out with me, but her blush deepens. And I cock my head and wait for an explanation.
“I have to use the, uh, facilities,” she says, like the word itself might explode.
It takes me a second.
Then it hits.
I grin.
“You gotta pee? You won’t pee in front of me?”
Her eyes go wide.
“Oh my God, David. Go!”
She actually stomps her foot.
And I lose it.
A laugh breaks out of me before I can stop it.
Real.
Unfiltered.
God, she’s—she’s just something else.
I step back in, quick, stealing one more kiss—first her nose, then her mouth, softer this time.
“Yeah, okay. You take care of that,” I murmur against her lips. “I’ll wait outside.”
Then I finally let her go.
And the second I step out into that hallway, the door closing quietly behind me—that pull hits again.
Stronger.
Heavier.
Like leaving her in there is the wrong move.
Like walking away—even for a few minutes—is already a mistake.
I drag a hand through my hair, exhale hard, and push it down.
Focus.
Work.
Handle what needs handling.
Then I go back to Hammonton. To her. To home.
Because one thing is crystal clear now—this?