Chapter 7: Hale Street

The laundromat was still running when we got to Hale Street.

Rows of dryers turned behind the glass, and the whole sidewalk smelled like warm cotton.

Rhett's door was around the side, with a steep staircase behind it.

He climbed it two steps ahead of me with my garment bag over his shoulder.

At the top he stopped with his key in the lock.

"It's small," he said. "And there's a fan that rattles."

"I like rattling."

He opened the door.

One room, a kitchen counter, a bed in the corner with a plain dark blanket, and a desk buried in circuit boards.

The floor hummed faintly from the dryers underneath.

He hung the dress on the back of the door.

Then he turned around, and we just looked at each other.

I'd spent three days being watched by strangers.

This was the first time somebody had looked at me.

"Quinn."

"Don't give me a speech."

"I wasn't going to."

"You were going to ask if I'm sure."

His mouth twitched. "I was going to ask if you wanted tea."

"I want you."

I said it plainly, and it landed in the room.

He crossed the floor in three strides.

His hands went into my hair and his mouth came down on mine, hard, with none of the care from the booth.

I backed into the edge of the desk and a circuit board clattered to the floor.

Neither of us looked.

He kissed me until my knees were useless.

I pulled his shirt up and he lifted his arms so I could get it over his head.

His chest was lean and warm, with a trail of dark hair down to his belt.

I put my mouth against his collarbone, and he sucked in a breath.

"Slower," he said, and his voice cracked. "Or I won't last."

"I don't want slower."

I undid his belt myself.

He walked me backward to the bed and sat me down on the edge of it.

Then he went down on his knees in front of me and looked up.

"I want to see you," he said.

I answered by pulling my sweater over my head.

He made a rough sound, and ran his hands up my ribs to the clasp of my bra.

It fell away.

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