With relief, she directed him to the small water closet. The room was basic -- now that she was her own boss, she wasn't springing for Crowne Plazas and Hiltons, this was practically a coffin -- and there was nowhere to sit except the bed. Her laptop was open and there was a lot of email in her inbox, but for once, she didn't care. She was keenly attuned to the water noises coming from behind the door, each new sound making her jump a little. What was he doing in there, inserting a fucking diaphragm? She heard him work the latch on the door and she put on her best smile. Her stomach was full of butterflies. He smiled back and sat down on the bed next to her, taking her hand again. His hand was moist from being washed, and a little slippery. She didn't mind. Wordlessly, she put her head on his barrel chest. His heart was racing, and so was hers. Gradually, they leaned back, until they were side by side on the bed, her head still on his chest. Moving like she was in a dream, she lifted her head from his chest and stared into his eyes. They were wide and scared. She kissed him, softly. His lips were trembling and unyielding. She kissed him more insistently, running her hands over his chest and shoulders, putting one leg over him. He closed his eyes and kissed her back. He wasn't bad, but he was scared or nervous and all jittery. She kissed his throat, breathing in the smell, savoring the rough texture of his three-day beard. Tentatively, he put his hands on her back, stroked her, worked gradually towards her bottom. Then he stopped. "What's wrong?" she said, propping herself up on her forearms, still straddling him. She saw that there were tears in his eyes. "Lester? What's wrong?" He opened his mouth and then shut it. Tears slid off his face into his ears. She blotted them with a corner of hotel-pillow. She stroked his hair. "Lester?" He gave out a choked sob and pushed her away. He sat up and put his face in his hands. His back heaved. She stroked his shoulders tentatively. Finally, he seemed to get himself under control. He sniffled. "I have to go," he said. "Lester, what's *wrong*?" "I can't do this," he said. "I..." "Just tell me," she said. "Whatever it is, tell me." "You didn't want me before." He said it simply without accusation, but it stung like he'd slapped her in the face. "Oh, Lester," she said, moving to hug him, but he pushed her away. "I have to go," he said, drawing himself up to his full height. He was tall, though he'd never seemed it before, but oh, he was tall, six foot four or taller. He filled the room. His eyes were red and swollen, but he put on a smile for her. "Thanks, Suzanne. It was really good to see you again. I'll see you in Florida." She stood up and moved quickly to him, stood on tiptoe to put her arms around his neck and hug him fiercely. He hugged her back and she kissed him on the cheek. "I'll see you in Florida," she said.