Page 83 of The Spider & the Storm

I cocked a brow. “Do I seem like the type of guy who fucks girls in elevators?”

“No, but you don’t look like the kinda guy who would fuck a girl you don’t know against a headstone either.”

“Touché.”

“So, have you?”

“Have I what?”

“Fucked a girl in an elevator.”

“No,” I said, unable to control my incredulous burst of laughter.

Luke sighed mournfully and went back to flipping channels. “Yeah, me neither.”

I imagined grabbing Stormy girl right then and there, kissing her and hiking up that heavy-looking skirt. I imagined pressing her back against the elevator wall and wrapping her legs around my waist, all to live a fantasy Luke had never gotten the chance to fulfill.

I smiled to myself despite the heat rising from the collar of my sweater, and Stormy reached out to nudge my arm with her knuckles.

“What are you thinking about?”

I let the smile fall from my face as I shook my head mournfully. “Nothing.”

She studied me for a moment, like she wanted to ask something, but wasn’t sure she should. I could only imaginewhat that question might be, and thank God the elevator didn’t allow her to ask it.

We reached her floor, and I immediately stepped out. She quickened her pace to keep up, her heels echoing a hollow sound through the empty, monotonous hallway.

“I hate hotels,” she muttered, staying close to my side. “Did you know, like, roughly a hundred thousand people die in hotels every year?”

“People die everywhere every single day,” I replied.

“Well, thank you for that, Mr. Morbid,” she grumbled sarcastically. “I think what gets me about hotels is how empty and eerie they feel. Like, I’ve never stayed at a hotel that felt warm and comfortable. They’re all just …cold.”

“Well, yeah. They’re not home,” I said as I thought aboutmyhome. The house I’d left. The house that held every memory that meant something to me. The house I would never see again.

“Right. And when you think about how many people died in all those hotel rooms, it just makes it so much worse. I can’t stand it.”

I glanced at her through the corner of my eye. “You don’t like death much, huh?”

That earned me an amused laugh. “Does anyonelikeit?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t have a job without it.”

She snorted. “Interesting take, but okay. Anyway, no. I don’t like death. When I was in my early twenties, I watched a guy my age die.” She stopped at a door and quietly added as she dug her key card from her purse, “I never really got over that.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, not knowing what else there was to say.

She shrugged, pulling the white card out and flipping it over in her fingers. “I mean, I’m okay, for the most part. It just changes you, I guess.”

“Yeah, death has a way of doing that. It never leaves you the same as you were before.”

Her eyes met mine with a touch of intrigue and a dash of sadness. “Is that what happened to you?”

“I’ve never died before, no,” I countered with a smirk while avoiding a question way too personal for my liking.

Stormy girl murmured a contemplative sound, those green eyes holding mine for just a moment before she turned to swipe her card above the door handle. It clicked open, and I contained my relieved sigh as she stepped inside.

“So, can we see each other again?” she asked.

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