Chapter 7: Crossed Lines and Tangled Hearts

The next day, sunlight streamed through the curtains—soft, golden. The hotel room smelled of clean sheets and faint cologne.

Alex was still asleep, arm across the pillow, hair a mess. My heart ached with old longing.

I reached for my phone, saw a familiar number calling. My stomach dropped, fingers freezing. The number was burned into my brain.

Panic surged. My breath caught, body tensing.

I glanced at Alex. Luckily, my phone was on silent.

He didn’t stir.

I gathered my clothes quietly, hands shaking. Just as I was about to leave, Alex’s deep voice sounded:

"Where are you going?"

I jumped, bag hitting the floor with a thud. Cheeks flaming, I mumbled:

"I’m going back to my room first."

I didn’t look back—just bolted for the hallway.

…

After landing back home, the airport was a blur. My mom insisted on picking me up—she brought Ben Carter too.

I spotted them at arrivals, Mom waving, Ben holding Starbucks. His smile was warm, comforting. I realized too late how it might look.

Alex immediately misunderstood. His jaw tightened, eyes darting between us. The tension was thick enough to cut.

…

In the office, my cubicle was cluttered with sticky notes and half-drunk coffee cups, but my mind was a million miles away.

I was sorting files, lost in thought. The last phone call still felt like a warning—the past never lets go.

I didn’t answer, but I knew what it meant.

So distracted, I didn’t even notice Alex come in. He hugged me from behind, lifted me onto the desk.

His hands found my waist, the touch possessive and tender. My heart leapt.

His kisses rained down, voice husky:

"Babe, want to try it here?"

My face burned. I stopped his hand:

"No, this is the office. If someone from HR walks in, I’ll have a heart attack."

He just grinned, totally unbothered.

"No one will. I locked the door."

His kisses trailed downward. I shivered, praying the cleaning crew wouldn’t make a surprise appearance.

Suddenly, my phone vibrated—Ben Carter calling.

My stomach did a little flip—Ben’s calls always came with a side of guilt I hadn’t ordered.

Alex grabbed the phone first. He shot me a look, thumb hovering over the screen. He was about to hang up, then paused, hesitated, and answered.

His eyes met mine, daring me to protest. I held my breath, heart pounding, legs squeezed tight.

Alex hissed softly, whispering in my ear:

"Relax, babe."

The call connected. Ben’s gentle voice came through:

"Maddie, I made some soup. I’ll bring it to your office when I’m nearby."

Alex kept kissing me, lightly biting in a way that felt like punishment.

I gasped, half-laughing, half-protesting. He was impossible.

"Babe, why aren’t you answering him?"

His lips brushed my ear, voice low and teasing. I rolled my eyes, torn between exasperation and affection—the messy, beautiful chaos of being in love again, American-style.

I had no idea which mess would blow up first—my career, my love life, or my phone.