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Summary
It usually plays like this –
(it's a shitty motel doorway in West Virginia)
– it’s a random Monday and Carisi comes over wearing some well-tailored suit.
He’s got the faintest traces of cologne clinging to him, his hair the perfect amount of messy, his fucking face, and she feels something warm and fizzing flip low in her stomach.
And she knows that feeling, is ever-so-familiar with that feeling, it’s the one that leads to sweat and skin and unfamiliar ceilings.
So, she just acknowledges it, tells herself no, not possible, and moves on.