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“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” she asks as we step inside. “I wouldn’t have minded going to another hotel that much.”
Truthfully, that might not have been a bad option, especially considering it wouldn’t have cost any extra money. But at the same time, I don’t want any chance of Sloane missing out on important information.
If there’s a traffic jam, or something else happens on her way to the hotel, it could be a problem. All the activity, and our chance at keeping an eye on Craig, is happening here. Better to have her close by, even if it's closer than I had anticipated.
Besides, I’ve slept on many couches in my lifetime, most of which were far less comfortable than the one in my lounging area.
“I promise,” I say. “It’s not an issue in the slightest.”
Once we’re at my room, Sloane takes her luggage and gives the place a look over. By her wide-eyed expression and the huge grin on her face, I can tell she’s glad she decided to stay with me after all.
She eyes the futon in the lounging room and sits down. “Nice and soft,” she says, flopping down onto the cushions. “I’ll have no trouble sleeping here.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You’re not sleeping there. I am,” I say.
“What?” Sloane sits upright. “But it’s your room. I’m not kicking you out of your bed.”
“Really, it’s fine,” I insist. “I’m not making a guest sleep on the couch. It’s not your fault your room flooded.”
“And it’s not your fault, either.” Sloane crosses her arms. “I’m not letting you sleep on this couch.”
“Well, I’m not letting you sleep on it,” I say.
“Then I guess we’re both sleeping in the bed,” Sloane says. With a shrug, she rises to her feet and drags her suitcase to the bathroom.
I give her a puzzled look. For a moment I think she’s joking, but she seems to think that’s that. “Wait, what?”
“I mean, we can be adults about it, can’t we? It doesn’t have to be weird if we don’t want it to be,” Sloane says with a shrug. “And we both seem to think the other person deserves the bed. So let’s just both sleep there. It’s probably big enough to hold a family of twelve, anyway.”
I suppose she has a point. “Whatever. That’s fine,” I say. “Just don’t hog the blankets.”
“No promises,” Sloane says, shutting the bathroom door.
While she’s gone, I take the opportunity to get ready for bed. Normally, I sleep in just my underwear, but there’s no way I’m doing that tonight. So instead, I change into a tank top and some loose-fitting sweatpants.
When Sloane emerges from the bathroom, I feel my heart skip a beat. She’s in a soft-looking nightgown that clings to her figure, her perky nipples showing through. Her hair is up in a messy bun, and she’s washed off all of her makeup as well.
Damn it, why am I taking notes on how she looks? I pull my gaze away before she can catch me eyeballing her.
She climbs into bed with a yawn, pulling the comforters over herself. “Anyway, night night. I’m beat,” she says.
She rolls over so that she’s facing away from me.
I join her in the bed. Thankfully, it’s big enough that we’re able to keep a few feet between us. I turn off the lights, fluff up my pillows, and lie down.
Yet despite the comfortable bed I’m lying in, I can’t bring myself to fall asleep. Sloane herself said that this didn’t have to be weird, and yet I can’t relax knowing she’s right there. What is wrong with me?
Sure, she’s pretty and likely one of the smartest people I’ve ever met – but I’ve encountered many smart, gorgeous women in my life, and none of them get into my head like she does.
Maybe it helps that we click like magnets whenever we talk. Although this relationship is supposed to be strictly professional, I couldn’t help feeling a connection to her during our dinner today.
It’s been ages since I’ve opened up to anyone. My tough business exterior is all people know of me. But Sloane has started to see through me, and I’m not sure how to feel about it. I should be scared of it. But truthfully, it’s… nice. I want to see more of her, and I want her to see more of me.
“You don’t snore, do you?” Sloane’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts.
“Uh… Not that I know of,” I say.
“In my experience, orcs snore like a chainsaw,” Sloane says. “If you start snoring, do I have permission to smother you with a pillow?”
