Free Break It Up by E.M. Tippetts

sooner or later. I just hoped it was later.
    He’s clearly on edge, upset. Here in close quarters he seems much taller and more imposing. Those eyes of his positively smolder.
    I wait for him to speak first, only he doesn’t. The floor leaps beneath our feet as the elevator begins its short ascent. Before I can react, Zach swipes my bag.
    “What room are you?” he asks.
    “Three-twenty-five.”
    He precedes me out of the elevator and carries my bag to the door of my room. From the way he stands, he clearly expects to be let in.
    I freeze. I’ve got no idea what to say or do.
    He turns and looks at me, at my defensive stance and my confusion. Here we are, in the hallway of a generic hotel. The carpets smell like cleaning products I’m not familiar with and there appear to be fire doors every five feet or so, but the overall sense of the place has the same economy hotel vibe I know well.
    Voices down the hall startle me and instinct takes over. The keycard slides into place with a click and I let the famous guy into my room so he can escape a potential fan mobbing.
    The room turns out to be tiny, like a closet with a little bed, a sink, and a bathroom. There isn’t any other furniture; the television is bolted to the wall.
    Zach frowns. “You don’t want to put your luggage on the floor. Bedbugs can a hitch a ride that way.”
    “Ew.”
    “I mean, they’re not…common.” He’s at a loss, though. There is no table or dresser.
    We look at each other. His expression is pure confusion, like I’m a complex equation he can’t solve.
    “Listen,” he asks, “are you mad at me?”
    “No.” I shake my head. “Are you mad at me?”
    “I’ve texted you, like, a million times.”
    I know . Only I can’t bring myself to admit that. He looks really torn up, like I slapped him across the face for no reason. I’ve got no idea how to explain myself. Just a few days ago I was being his best friend and helping him out. He had a right to expect things would stay that way. I suppose I could tell him the truth, that I want nothing more than to rip his clothes off and have my wicked way with him, but that too feels like a betrayal.
    A few more awkward seconds tick by, and finally, I give in. “I didn’t know,” I lie. I pull my new phone out of my pocket. “I have a new number and everything’s been so crazy. I’m sorry. I should have remembered to tell you.”
    The tension drains from his face at once. “Oh.”
    The way he falls for it without question makes me feel even guiltier. “I’m sorry.”
    “No, it’s all good. I thought you were mad at me.”
    I shake my head. That much, at least, is the truth. I’m mad at me for putting myself in this situation.
    “Was it really complicated to get out of your summer job?”
    “Complicated is a good word, yeah.”
    “So you’re here.” He grins.
    It doesn’t seem to matter to him that I was cagey and indifferent all throughout the plane ride. He’s ready to forgive me and go back to being best buddies, just like that.
    I am an awful, awful person.
    “Everything okay?” he asks.
    I force a smile and nod. “I’m really tired and stuff—”
    “Oh, right. Yeah.” He puts my bag down on the bed. “Listen,” he says. “Thank you. It means the world to me that you’re here. I know it wasn’t easy for you to pull off.”
    “Well, I wanted to be here for you.” I’m not sure whether that’s a lie or the truth.
    But it rings true to him. He grasps my shoulders and I relax, hoping that he’ll kiss me. Instead, he touches my cheek with the tip of his finger.
    My pulse thunders and I’m back to the weak-kneed, incoherent state I was in when I first met him at that restaurant.
    His hands slide down my arms and until he grasps my wrists, lightly.
    I gaze up at him, ready to have him hug me again.
    “Can I ask you something else?” His gaze doesn’t waver.
    “Sure.”
    “You and Ben?”
    “It’s all good. He’s annoying, but, whatever.”
    Those steely