A few beats pass in silence. I want to say something to soften our conversation.

“More coffee?” My voice is hesitant.

He chuckles, and I sigh from relief.

“Nah, let’s go inside. You must be getting cold.”

We brush our teeth side by side. Staring at our reflections in the mirror, I see how physically opposite we are. He’s huge, whereas I’m on the smaller side of average. He’s white and all-American with those hazel-green eyes and buzzed hair, whereas I’m of Middle Eastern descent. My hair at the roots is black as night, and my eyes are a warm brown with golden flecks. Still, we look good. Really, really good actually.

He smiles at me through the mirror. “You’re gorgeous.” He spits into the sink before turning on the faucet.

I roll my eyes, wanting to tell him that he’s the hot one. But the man doesn’t need anything more to feed his ego, so I just shrug. “Thank you.”

I climb into my bed as Slade sifts through his small duffel, pulling out a little bag before taking it into the bathroom. I want to ask what he’s doing, but that would be overstepping. He’s got a thick red line, and the last thing I want to do is cross it. We seem to have a good thing going, and I don’t want to ruin it.

A few moments later, he returns, sitting in his own bed without a shirt and nothing other than boxer briefs. I do my best not to ogle.

“You should be proud of yourself, Lauren.” He leans back onto the bed. “After the shooting, you had a rough few days. But, now, look at you.”

He flips off the light by his bedside, but I can still feel his gaze in the dark.

“You decided you would be okay; that’s internal dialogue. You told yourself you would be all right, and now, you are. You sleep well. You eat well. You’re smiling and laughing. Sure, what happened might have shifted your perspective on some things. But you’re okay.” His words fill up this spot in my chest I never knew was empty.

“Are you saying I’m … strong?” My voice comes out more upbeat than I intended.

He chuckles. “I am. You have more mental toughness in you than you let on. I see it though.”

“Th-thank you. I appreciate that.” My heart thumps.

“Well, I, for one, would never want to cut you in line for a sale at … Prada—or wherever it is you shop. You’d probably smack me upside the head for taking the last size seven shoe.”

“Oh,” I exclaim, unable to stop myself from laughing. I won’t fill him in on the time I did in fact get into a fight with another woman over the last pair of red Louboutin heels, which are now sitting pretty in my closet. “What can I say? I play to win.”

“Is there another way to play?” I swear, I can feel his smile as he says, “Good night, Lauren.”