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Elizabeth Moore had definitely been pretty when we were younger, but now she’s absolutely stunning. The infectious energy she creates, her wit, and those big brown eyes make a zesty, compelling match. Her boldness and radiant presence do the rest.
Luckily, the valet pulls up, and I hand him a twenty before I open the door for Lizzie. “After you,” I say. I don’t miss the way she gracefully slides into the passenger seat. Her movements are those of a dancer: graceful, controlled and in tune with her body.
This night is going to be fun. Real fun.
“There’s a hotel not too far from here,” I say once I join her and start the car. “It’s a great place. You’re going to love it.”
The idea of taking her to a hotel isn’t ideal. This is Lizzie. We have a history. But my apartment is forty-five minutes away, and it isn’t fully furnished yet. Various moving boxes are still lying around, and there are other things that needed to be done, even though I’ve been here a couple of weeks now.
Lizzie eyes me with a curious expression. “Why are we going to a hotel?”
“Apartment is still being renovated and isn’t ready yet,” I answer her question.
Likely suspecting as much, Lizzie smiles. “A hotel it is then.”
I peel out of the parking lot, weaving easily onto the main road as the engine roars. We continue to catch up on old times. Our school, teachers, mutual friends—none of which I kept up with after my parents and I moved. She brings up a movie she recently watched that inspired her dress choice and a funny show I don’t know. With my schedule, I hardly have time to watch TV anymore. Still, I enjoy the sound of her voice while we can’t help but share glances, that intense heat from our shared kiss still buzzing between us. We both know exactly how this evening is going to end, and my mind is spinning with all the things I plan to do to her body.
After all, we have a lot of time to make up for.
Glancing out of the corner of my eye, I take a brief second to admire her profile while she’s talking about a sewing project for her dance performance at work, then stops. There’s a slight pinch to her eyebrows, and she’s fidgeting, which makes me wonder if she’s having second thoughts.
“You all right?” I ask when there’s a lull in her story.
“Yeah.” She lifts one shoulder. “Just a little nervous.” She tries a chuckle.
“Would you like me to take you home?”
“No, please don’t.” She smiles and reaches over, resting her hand on my knee.
I speed up.
The hotel’s parking lot is packed, so I zoom through it toward the main entrance, where a bellman waits to greet us. The hotel is one I use for overnights on a regular basis, especially with the renovations going on. It’s close to my job and a great place to crash when I have an early delivery the next morning. I hand him the keys and a tip before slipping my arm around Lizzie’s waist.
People fill almost every corner of the lobby, so we have to wait to check in. My gut instinct is to skip to the front of the line, discreetly pass them a few bills, and expedite the process. Somehow, though, I don’t think Lizzie will appreciate the gesture. My past dalliances would have, but from past and present interactions with Lizzie, I know she wouldn’t. In the back of my mind, I have a foggy memory of a much-younger version of her snapping at a classmate who tried to jump ahead in line.
Playfully, I suggest, “You want us to try and skip?”
“No!” She looks outraged, then grins when she gets that I’m teasing her. “Absolutely not,” she adds with a playful eye roll. “We’ll survive the wait—I hope.”
It makes me smile, and I draw her closer. “I’ll do my best to ensure everyone makes it through the wait alive.”
Lizzie leans into my side. “I’ll put my faith in you, Dr. Maxwell.”
She hasn’t changed a single bit. It’s nice how right she feels tucked against me. We were once tucked together in a similar fashion as we sat on a soft couch, with loud music blaring all around us. I wanted her then too. Unfortunately, luck wasn’t on our side that night.
“Careful there!” A little boy kicks a ball against my leg, prompting us to pivot around. I casually kick the blue ball back to the kid, and he catches it and grins cheekily before storming off. A haggard-looking man chases after him, pausing briefly to say, “I’m sorry!” in an exhausted tone, the weariness evident in his voice. “Come here, little man.”
“You sure you don’t want kids?” Lizzie asks. “You seem to have a knack for them!”
I shake my head. “Oh, I’m sure.”
“Come on, that little ball-kicking incident proves you’ve got some hidden talent!” Lizzie snickers, and we watch the man chase after his son. “But the poor guy looks so tired.”
“Him or the kid?” I arch a brow in question.
“Him.”
“Kids will do that to you,” I tell her.
