I never realized how wonderful it could be for someone else to take charge, even with something as simple as soothing a sunburn.
“We could order room service and watch a movie,” Jett offers, hands roaming up my spine and over my shoulders. I let out an embarrassing mewl, and he huffs a breathy laugh. “I’m taking that as an agreement.”
I bob my head, wrapping my arms tighter around the pillow. God, this is nice, and room service sounds incredible. The touchstops, and I miss it but keep my mouth glued shut to avoid admitting that out loud while I wait for the gel to dry.
When it’s tacky on my back, I waddle to the bathroom to wrangle the swimsuit off my body. A large sweatshirt and a pair of basketball shorts sit on the counter.
“I left some clothes in there for you in case you wanted something loose,” Jett yells through the door.
I stare down at the chaotically folded apparel.
Honestly, fuck him for being so kind, because it’s messing with my head. Tears prick the back of my eyes as I peel away the swimsuit and slip the soft, worn t-shirt over my head. It smells like him—earthy, like tea and the breeze through an old-growth forest.
The hem hits my mid-thigh, and I have to pull the drawstring tight to keep the shorts over my hips. I step out of the bathroom, cosplaying as Adam Sandler walking the red carpet for a movie premiere.
Jett bursts into laughter. I try to cut him a glare, but it’s futile, and a giggle bursts out of me. “How do I look?” I ask, twirling in my outfit.
“Marvelous,” he replies. “Stunning as always.”
I know it’s a joke, but there’s nothing in his voice that suggests he’s kidding, and I don’t know what to do with that. “Do you know what you want to eat?”
“I ordered for us.”
Panic grips my chest. I have too many horror stories of men ordering food for me, only to select something I don’t like. I’ll try anything once, but I always come back to the same thing: mac and cheese.
Doesn’t matter if it’s from a box or topped with shaved truffles, the genius combination of noodles and cheese is by far mankind’s greatest invention. If it’s covered in toasted breadcrumbs, I ascend to a new plane of existence.
Infuriated my mother when I was a kid. She’d spend hours making tamales, and I’d ask to stuff them with Kraft instead of meat or cheese.
Now, a note lives in my phone ranking every restaurant based on their mac and cheese, with judging categories of cheese, toppings, consistency, the vessel in which the food is presented, and taste.
It’s a serious system.
But if he already ordered, that means I have to eat whatever he thought I wanted, and I’m going to have to pretend and visualize that it’s mac and cheese. I might shed a tear if it’s a salad.
Removing all the panic from my voice, I ask, “What did you order?”
He’s focused on the movie options on the television, oblivious to my internal turmoil. “I got a chicken parm for me, and mac and cheese for you.”
I let out a dramatic gasp in a hushed room, and Jett whips his head in my direction.
“Did you get hurt?” He flies from his seat, reaching me in three quick steps, scanning for any explanation why I reacted that way. He reaches out to touch me, then stops, placing his hand back at his side.
“I’m fine,” I croak. “Just…excited.” His brows scrunch together, so I add, “Mac and cheese is my favorite food.”
“Oh”—he spins on his heel, walking back toward the television—“I know that.”
I follow him. “You know that? How?”
We’ve never had a conversation about this; how could he possiblyknowit’s my favorite?
A knock raps at the door, and he reroutes, pulling in the cart of food. Greasy cheese fills the air, and he mumbles “Oh, yeah” as he lifts the large cover and reveals breaded chicken smothered in sauce and cheese. Another metal cover rises, and there liesmy mac and cheese, complete with a perfect golden-brown breadcrumb topping.
It’s the single most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
“When you came over to present your itinerary, you chose the mac and cheese. Then had seconds and whispered, ‘Fuck yes, breadcrumbs.’ That’s how I feel about pizza.”
I don’t know that I like how perceptive he is, but I toss the thought aside when he sets the trays on the bed. Leaning against the pillows, he picks up the remote and presses play on a movie.
