Page 13 of Before I Should Leave
“Seven going on seventeen. Bossy as hell.”
I smiled. “I like her already.”
He smirked. “You’d get along. But she understands. I’ll be home before she wakes up in the morning.”
His voice held that same calm weight. No guilt. No rush. And something about knowing she wasn’t upset made me stop trying to give him reasons to leave. He wanted to stay, so I let him.
We stepped off the elevator and into a softly lit hallway. Cream carpet. Gold trim. The walls even smelled expensive. I slid the card into the lock of 430, and the door clicked open with a soft beep. The room was indeed beautiful.
Modern. Clean. King-size bed. Oversized glass shower in the corner. A wide desk. Floor-to-ceiling windows showing off the storm still raging outside. That thick rain slapping the glass in waves. And in the corner was a fully stocked mini bar.
My eyes clocked the little bottles lined up like options. Vodka. Whiskey. Gin. Tequila. A couple of overpriced snacks. Everything was organized too neatly for how chaotic the night had been. I walked in slowly, setting my suitcase by the wall, taking in the atmosphere. I didn’t expect luxury. But the space felt too… intentional to be a throwaway room.
Diesel stepped in after me and glanced around. “They wasn’t lyin’, huh? This shitisnice.”
“It really is.”
He wandered a little, unbothered. Checked out the view. Peeked at the room service menu. “You want somethin’ for real? I’m about to order somethin’ before I start eatin’ a six-dollar Snickers.”
I smiled, loosening my trench and finally kicking off my heels. “What are you thinking?”
“Whatever don’t come frozen or microwaved. You cool with pasta? Or you want somethin’ else?”
“Pasta sounds good.”
He nodded, picking up the hotel phone. “Bet.”
I walked over to the window while he ordered. The rain was still relentlessly coming down fast and loud against the glass, but it didn’t scare me now. It sounded like a rhythm you could fall asleep to.
I glanced back at Diesel as he wrapped up the call. He hung up, then turned to me with that same quiet energy. “Twenty-five minutes.”
“Perfect.”
His eyes lingered on me for a second. “You better now?”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Yeah. I think I am.”
He just nodded once. “Cool.”
By the time room service knocked, I was fresh out of the shower, skin warm, face clean, and wrapped in the hotel’s thick white robe like it was armor. I had no makeup on, hair wrapped up, legs bare and I didn’t even care. That alone told me this night was already pushing me past some line I usually held tight.
Diesel got comfortable too. He peeled off his hoodie and sweatpants to reveal basketball shorts underneath, low on his hips. He pulled his damn shirt off, exposing a chest of a Black God, arms full of ink and a relaxed ease that made it hard to look away.
We ate on the bed. Both of us sitting cross-legged, pasta bread bowls resting on oversized napkins, the TV playing some muted documentary neither of us was watching. He’d grabbed a few mini tequila bottles from the bar and cracked them open like it was a Tuesday night at somebody’s place instead of a last-minute hotel room in the middle of a storm.
“This is so good,” I mumbled around a forkful of creamy fettuccine.
He grinned. “Facts.”
“You can cook like this?”
He looked at me like I had insulted him. “Hell yeah.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Okay, okay.”
We ate in silence for a few more bites, but it wasn’t awkward. Just easy. The kind of quiet where breathing feels like enough. The storm was still at it outside. The rain streaked down the windows, thunder low and distant now. More moody than chaotic, like it had calmed down once we did.
Diesel leaned back on his elbow, wine in one hand, and glanced at me through his lashes. “You seem… different now.”
