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I smirk and follow with our bags. “I couldn’t very well ask for two beds, not in front of everyone in line to check in.”
She waltzes over and flops down onto the bed in question. “What a predictable rom-com trope.”
“Then it’s a good thing you made all those rules.” I set everything down before lying beside her. She turns her head to roll her eyes at me, and I reach out to drape my arm over her waist, tugging her closer. “I can always sleep on the pull-out sofa if you’re worried about breaking the law,” I whisper over her shoulder as I curve my body around hers.
She giggles and squirms at first, but she eventually gives up and melts into me. “I’m sure we’ll be fine, especially since I have no choice but to stay sober. I’ll be the designated Debbie Downer for the evening.”
Gah, she smellssogood.
I groan into the back of her neck and give her one more good squeeze before letting her go. “No need. I’ll be on my best behavior, I promise.”
She twists around to glare at me again. “Unless I beg, right?”
“I wouldn’t actually make you beg, Reed,” I say with a pout. “One ‘oh, please, Blake,’ and you can have whatever you want from me.”
She laughs and shoves me away this time, and I sigh as I watch her get up and sort through her suitcase. “I should start getting ready,” she declares, draping a garment bag over her shoulder. She drags it across the floor while she gathers the rest of her things, and I can’t help but smile. “I’ll be in the bathroom for a while, so you’d better go first.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I pluck the hanger from her grasp and hang her dress on the back of the bathroom door. Then I grab my shaving case and shut the door behind me, only intending to freshen up before deciding I need a quick shower. It’s not until I’m drying off that I remember I didn’t bring my clothes in with me. Loren’s probably going to have something to say when I walk out, but she’ll just have to deal with it.
I wrap the towel around myself and venture into the room. “Bathroom’s all yours,” I announce. But her reflection in the wall mirror stops me in my tracks.
“I borrowed one of your shirts once I heard you start the shower. Hope you don’t mind,” she says, her eyes meeting mine through her reflection as she continues curling her hair. She falters for a second when she notices the only thing I’m wearing is a damp towel, the one that’s currently loosening as I stand frozen, gaping at her and practically drooling over seeing her in my button-down.
“You brought my dress in with you,” she reminds me when she sets down the curling iron, and once she stands, I’m forced to plant my hands on my hips to keep the towel in place. “So I needed something that opened in the front to avoid ruining my hair and makeup when I have to change later.”
I gulp and nod my head quickly, my eyes running over her as I suppress the urge to ask her if she’ll need help with the buttons. “Looks like it works fine.”
“What’s your excuse?” She gestures to my current condition and smiles.
“I hadn’t planned on the shower, but I realized it was necessary once I took off my shirt,” I spit out.
She crosses her arms over her waist, making the shirt’s hem riding up higher over her bare thighs, and I bite the inside of my cheek. I could use another, much colder shower at the moment.
“Sure, you did, Gus-Gus,” she replies sarcastically, but I don’t miss the way her gaze drifts down.
“Right, and you can stop pretending you don’t like what you see, Agnes,” I retort, keeping my hands on my hips as I strut over to the bag containing my tux. All it takes is a second of her checking me out to revive my confidence.
I hang up my tuxedo and unzip my suitcase to retrieve a clean pair of underwear. Then I turn to look at her over my shoulder, making sure I flex my back muscles in the process. “Aren’t you going to finish primping in the bathroom now?”
She clears her throat and looks away. “You’ve made it too steamy. I can’t go in without ruining my hair.”
“Oh, sorry. I hadn’t thought about that.”
“I’ll wait for it to cool off.” Her voice sounds distant, like she’s walked off or at least turned away from me.
“I guess we’ll both have to get dressed in here, then,” I volunteer, unsuccessfully hiding the smile in my tone. “I won’t peek if you don’t.”
She huffs out a laugh. “Deal.”
I glance behind me after I slip on my boxers, hoping to catch her looking. But my plan backfires, and watching her unbutton that shirt is nearly too much for me to take. I groan and avert my eyes again, resolving to conduct myself as I promised earlier.
We’re both quiet except for the rustling of our clothes when she speaks up again. “Once you’re decent, would you mind helping me with this zipper?”
“I’m never decent,” I say, whirling around to find her standing close with her back to me. “But I don’t mind helping you—if and only if you admit to peeking, at least once.”
She shakes her head as she reaches to gather her hair and lift it in one hand while holding up the front of her dress with the other. “I did no such thing.”
“So, you walked backward to get over here?”
