Nash and Zayela walked side by side down the streets of the underground, heading back to the hotel.
Once inside the luxury room, Zayela changed. Not her clothes, her mood.
She started sticking close. Very close.
She clung to Nash's arm while he took off his hoodie. Her bare shoulder brushed his. She leaned against him on the couch, their thighs pressing together.
When he stood up, she followed. When he moved across the room, she trailed behind like a shadow.
"So..." Nash finally said, raising an eyebrow, "do I owe you money or something?"
She blinked and looked up, faking confusion.
"Huh? I just feel good today. Is that a crime?"
She wasn't fooling anyone.
Nash understood her. After all, she'd been through hell. It made sense she was craving warmth, presence, contact, anything to ground her now that the weight was off her shoulders.
