Page 145 of The Clinch
I think about objecting. Arriving calm instead of half drowned in sweat feels less like luxury than mercy.
He takes my empty smoothie glass from my hand and sets it in the sink. “Go get dressed, Flash.”
And because the city outside is sweltering, because his mouth is still fresh on mine, and because arguing about kindness feels like splitting hairs when I’m already wired with first-day nerves, I turn and head for the shower.
We come downstairs together,hand in hand. The doorman gives us a discreet good morning, and Leo opens the door to the waiting sedan as if this is the most natural thing in the world.
Outside, the air is already thick enough to wear. “I’ll see you tonight, Flash,” he says, bending to kiss me once more.
The kiss is brief, but I carry it into the car with me anyway. Then he turns toward his Range Rover at the curb, already shifting back into that camp-focused, controlled version of himself that seems to sharpen by the day.
I slide into the back seat. The air conditioning hits first, cool against the backs of my knees and the damp heat gathering at the base of my throat from the short walk outside. The seat is soft. The space smells faintly of leather and linen. Through the window, I watch Leo get into his SUV and start the engine.
Outside, the city is sweating. Men in shirtsleeves hurry past with giant iced coffees. A woman walking a dog stands at the curb, fanning herself with one hand while glaring at the poor animal as if the weather is somehow its fault.
I sink back for one dangerous second and let myself enjoy it.
More than that, if I’m honest.
My phone buzzes in my lap before the driver has even pulled away.
MARCO
First day, Doctor Hotshot
Please don’t scare your new colleagues
I’m rooting for you
I smilebefore I can stop myself.
LIZ
I’m freaking out
His reply comes instantly.
MARCO
You’re going to crush it
Call later
I tuckthe phone back into my lap just as it starts ringing again.
Mom.
I answer on the first ring. “Good morning.”
“Are you heading to NYU?” my mother asks. In the background, I hear cupboard doors and dishes. “We wanted to wish you luck on your first day.”
My father’s voice cuts in behind her. “Are you nervous?”
“Yes.” Lying to them has always been pointless. “Also excited. Also a little sick.”
“That sounds correct,” Dad says.
The driver eases into traffic, the city unfolding outside in bright, simmering strips of light. Delivery trucks. Scaffolding. Steam rising from nowhere visible.
