The fog had grounded your flight, forcing the team to book a couple of last-minute rooms in a downtown Boston hotel. The hallway outside is quiet, carpet muffling every step as you unlock the door to your shared room. The moment you step in, the tension that’s been building all day finally snaps.

“You didn’t have to say that in front of everyone,” you throw over your shoulder, dropping your bag.

Carlos s voice is sharp. “I said what needed to be said. You were pushing it.” ` You turn to face him, heart hammering. “Pushing it? I was defending myself. But sure, let’s make it about you again, because that’s what this is always about — your schedule, your image, your damn car.”

His jaw tightens. “This is my job. My life. I don’t expect you to understand what that takes.”

“Oh, I understand just fine,” you bite back. “I just don’t think it gives you a free pass to treat me like I’m… optional.”

The words hang between you, heavy and electric. He steps closer, eyes locked on yours — not angry now, but something else entirely. The air shifts.

“You really have no idea what you do to me, do you?” His voice is quieter now, deeper.

You don’t move, not even when the space between you shrinks to nothing. His breath brushes your lips, and before you can answer, he’s kissing you — hard, urgent, like the argument was just foreplay.