Page 74 of Courtroom Drama
“Need something?” I turn toward the elevators where George has risen from his seat around the corner and taken two steps toward me.
Shit.
“Oh, hi, George. No, no. He just left this at dinner.” I hold up the origami elephant still in my hand, then motion it toward Damon’s door before me. “I was just returning it to him.”
George watches me bend down and slide the folded napkin under the door.
As I rise back to a stand, Damon’s door swings open. “Hey,” he says quietly with a primed look before I eyeball him, then George. He bends down and picks up the elephant.
“I was just returning that,” I say, loudly enough for George to hear. “You left it at dinner.”
“Thanks,” he says, his eyes shifting from George to me. We three stand exchanging glances for what feels like an hour.
“My origami support elephant,” Damon says to George, tilting his head and raising his shoulders.
“Okay, back to my room now.” At my door, I see them both still watching. Right. I’ll have to go all the way in and retreat completely. So, I do just that. I step into my room and fall onto the bed, defeated.
Ten minutes later, as I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, finding new shapes, I hear the now familiar swipe of paper. In some undetermined reflex, I jump out of bed and am at the door in one motion.
I find the origami napkin elephant atop a folded sheet of paper. I can’t pull it open fast enough.
NOT-SO-STEALTHY SYDNEY,
WHAT WAS THAT? I THOUGHT GEORGE MIGHT HANDCUFF YOU RIGHT THEN AND THERE.
DISTRESSED DAMON
I immediately grab a pen from the dresser and jot a response.
Distressed Damon,
I pause. Whatismy response? Do I tell him I was headed to his room to... what? I’m not sure I know what I planned to do once I got there. The possibilities are disturbingly endless. The truth is I’d take any excuse to interact with him. After considering a few moments, I write:
I realized I never properly thanked you for the elephant. Or crane or owl. So, thank you.
Sentimental Sydney
Warier than ever about leaving my room post-curfew, I stand at my door in contemplation. Cautiously, I check the peephole and open the door again. I walk barefoot past Cam’s room, where I hear music playing, then stop at Damon’s door. Before I can shuffle the paper into the space below it, it opens, and I have to swallow a yelp of surprise. There stands Damon, index finger pressed to his lips as he steps aside so I can enter his room. There is no time to think. I quickly glance to the corner George is tucked behind, and there is no sign of him. Before that can change, I step into Damon’s room, and he expertly closes the door behind me.
We stand facing each other in the narrow entryway of his room, and I am immediately hot. My heart was already thrumming against my rib cage as a result of the escapade itself, but now I realize the sneaking around is some kind of furtive foreplay. I am in over my head entirely.
Damon stares back at me, and his chest rises and falls with effort—though not as forcefully as mine.
I attempt to clear my throat and emit some sort of warbly screech.
“Far stealthier this time,” he whispers before I can speak. He’s still dressed in his navy dress shirt from court, top button open so the beginnings of his collarbones jut into view.
“How’d you know I was at your door?”
He cups the back of his neck and bends it forward, then looks at me with his brows and eyes pressed together as if one. “I was waiting for you.”
I stare at him, the tips of my ears burning. “Just in case I came back?”
“Yes. Consider the note bait.” He hangs his head and folds his arms in front of him. I struggle with where to look, his eyes or that chin dimple. I shuffle my attention between both.
“Bait for what exactly?” I tease. “Should I yell so George can ram the door down and save me?”
“You don’t need saving.” He shakes his head lightly, and I take note of the more serious edge to him tonight. “I want to know why you came to my door in the first place. It wasn’t to return the elephant.”
