So I shower.
Because water and expensive shower gel fix everything.
Right? Except they don’t.
Because now I’m standing in the middle of a luxury hotel room in nothing but a towel, skin still damp, heart racing for absolutely no logical reason—and then my phone rings.
I freeze.
I know who it is.
I don’t even need to look.
I grab it anyway.
Answer before I can talk myself out of it.
“Hello?”
A beat.
Then his voice.
Low. Rough. Like it’s been dragged over something sharp.
“Tell me you feel this too, linda.”
My breath catches.
“Or tell me to stay away, and I will.”
That shouldn’t be hot.
That should be responsible.
That should be the moment I say, yes, stay away, let’s be adults about this.
But I don’t do that. I don’t want reality right now.
Nope.
So, I opt for magic instead.
“I feel it too,” I whisper.
The truth just spills out before I can stop it. Before I can protect myself.
Silence.
Then he growls, and it’s like a bolt of electricity straight to my vagina. I bite back my moan and clench my thighs.
“I’m coming over,” he says.
The line goes dead, but I don’t move.
Not right away.
Because I just made a choice.