The door clicked open and Roman walked in, his shoulders heavy, his button loose, his phone barely held by the tip of his fingers.

He looked exhausted, yet satisfied—a grin making its way across his face.

Tessa was still standing by the table, phone still in her hand, staring at nothing. The towel was half-forgotten around her shoulders; her skin was still damp from the library, from him.

Roman dropped his phone on the chair and kicked off his shoes. “Fuck, I’m dead, it’s 9 pm already,” he muttered, voice raspy. “I have to be back at the hotel in a bit. Wake me up in two hours. Or don’t....