Streaks of pink and orange decorate the sky, the golden light illuminating her features, and she tips the angle until our faces are partially cut off but my branded sweatshirt is visible. She moves closer—I wasn’t sure it was even possible—and I wonder if she can time the erratic beating in my chest, thethud, thud, thudthat’s persistent in her presence.
The tips of her fingernails scrape against my jaw, her thumb pausing over my bottom lip, tugging at the skin. I inhale a sharp breath, enraptured by the swirls of burnt gold in her eyes. Her pupils dilate, and she snaps the photo.
It’s over in an instant.
Cool wind whips through the space Sofía creates between us when she retreats to the far edge of the blanket. I refrain from chasing her, from demanding she touch me again, or begging for something idiotic, like a kiss.
“That should do,” she says, low and breathy, fixated on the photo.
This PR dating thing might kill me.
Chapter 13
sofía
“Where’s the tent?” I ask, shivering from the windchill and the goose bumps left behind from the graze of Jett’s skin against mine.
It was a simple photo. I don’t understand why my body is reacting like he pushed me against the wall and swept me into a frenzied kiss.
“Up there,” Jett replies, pointing to the black metal attached to the roof.
He pulls a small ladder from the trunk and attaches it, climbing up. With a few flicks, it pops open, doubling in size. When he’s done, he climbs down and admires his work.
There’s only one problem…
“Where’s the other one?”
He glances down at me. “The other what?”
“The other tent.”
I remember making sure I had bookedtwotents.
“It’s on the roof of the other car?” His statement comes out as a question. “Where Molly and Doug are going to sleep.”
Every thought in my mind screeches to a halt. I’m not great at math, but if there are four people and onlytwotents, that means there are two people in each tent. If Molly and Doug are sharing, that means…oh, dear lord.
“We’re both supposed to sleep up there?”
The tent shrinks in size the longer I stare at it. Not a lot of space for two people to coexist with at least three feet of space between them. They call that space “coworkers valley.” It exists for a reason—one I need to remind myself of more than I expected when I left for this trip.
Jett faces me, discomfort written on his every feature. “You were the one who booked this.”
I press a palm against my forehead, but it doesn’t quell the racing thoughts.
Oh, I fucked up. Big time.
How to fix this?
Not even pacing can calm the maelstrom of thoughts as I mentally formulate a plan of action. Could Jett and Doug share? No, that wouldn’t be fair to them. The hotels are all booked out. There are no rental properties available. It comes down to one solution: I have to sleep in the LandCruiser’s cab.
I’m small. I can curl up in the back seat and use my clothing as a pillow. We have towels I can repurpose as a blanket, and once we arrive at Airlie Beach, I can book a massage to remove the inevitable kinks in my neck and back.
A solution doesn’t prevent the disappointment and panic from taking over and forcing tears to my eyes.
“I’ll sleep in the back seat tonight so you can have the tent. I’m sorry. I messed this up.”
It’s impossible to meet his gaze—especially since my failure and lack of due diligence created this uncomfortable problem. Before he can respond, I snatch my toothbrush and scurry to the bathroom, fighting back the tears until I’m out of view.
