Page 50 of Hard Check

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Carver shut the door behind us and dropped the key card on the table like it weighed a hundred pounds. Then, he just looked at me. He didn't smirk or try to act suave. Only looked.

I wanted to say something clever, but my brain was running on empty. I blurted out, "Mentorship check-in?"

Carver smiled. "Yeah, let's go over your goals. See where you need hands-on support."

Igroaned. "Thatwasterrible."

"I'vehadworselines."Hetookastepcloser. "Youokay?"

Inoddedtoofast. "Yeah.Imean.Nervous.But...yeah."

"Yousure?"

"No, but I want this. You. I just—" I laughed, sharp and awkward. "I've never done this before. With a guy. So, if I, like, put my elbow in your eye—"

"I'll survive. Do you think I've got a perfect playbook for this?"

"Idon'tknow.Youwalkaroundlikeyoudo."

He wrapped his hands around my waist. "We figure it out together. Deal?"

"Deal,"Iwhispered.

The first kiss wasn't graceful. I turned my head too much, and he kissed half my cheek. We laughed against each other's mouths and tried again.

Thatonelanded.

We broke apart long enough to breathe, and Carver pulled his shirt over his head in one fluid motion. "If I'd known I'd be stripping under fluorescent motel lighting someday, I'd have prepared better."

"You're doing fine." I reached out to touch his bare chest and stared at the dark trail leading down into his jeans.

WhenItriedtotakeoffmy shirt,Isomehowgottangledinthesleeves,flailedforbalance,andfellbackwardontothebed.

Carverlaughed—reallylaughed,nothisusualgrunt-laugh—andclimbedoverme. "Yougooddownthere?"

"Eventually."

He helped me out of the shirt with exaggerated gentleness, like I might break.

Hishandsslidupmyarms,slowandreverent. "You'rebeautiful,youknowthat?"

"Nope,"Isaid,voicetoohighandtight.

"Well.Youare."

It wasn't frantic or like in the movies. There was no swelling music or seamless choreography—only skin against skin and more laughter than I'd ever expected.

We fumbled through it.

Carver's hands were warm and sure on my back, then my shoulders, and then hesitating at the waistband of my shorts. I made a sound between a gasp and a chuckle because I realized I still had one sock on.

We both stared at it silently before Carver declared, "Bold move."

"Shut up." I kicked it off and nailed him in the shoulder with it by accident.

He retaliated by trying to yank my sorts down with all the finesse of a hockey player untying their skates with their mitts still on. My foot caught in the fabric, and I lost my balance, flopping hard onto the mattress.

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