Seth looked visibly relieved, and that made something protective settle warmly in my chest.
“Room service sounds amazing actually,” he admitted.
We ended up sprawled across opposite sides of the bed with the room service menu between us. Choosing food somehow became deeply serious.
“You can’t order chicken tenders,” Seth informed me. “It seems wrong.”
“Watch me,” I told him.
“You’re in your thirties,” Seth pointed out.
“And yet my love for fried food remains strong.”
Seth grinned down at the menu. "Somehow that doesn't surprise me."
Eventually we compromised by ordering entirely too much food.
A burger and fries for me. Seafood pasta for Seth. We also ordered chicken tenders, extra onion rings, and beer.
While we waited, Seth disappeared into the bathroom first to shower. I heard the water start running a minute later.
I stared at the bathroom door a little too long, picturing what Seth looked like naked. Then I dropped backward onto the bed instead and stared at the ceiling.
This whole trip had become emotionally dangerous far too quickly. Somewhere between fake dates and beach walks, I’d apparently developed real feelings like some kind of idiot.
The bathroom door finally opened about twenty minutes later, and then Seth walked out wearing the hotel bathrobe.
My brain stopped functioning temporarily. His curls were damp again, softer somehow after the shower. A few drops of water still clung near his neck.
The robe sat slightly loose on him, exposing just enough skin to become a problem. My wolf perked up so fast it practically hit its head.
Seth glanced over while toweling his hair. “You okay?”
“No,” I said honestly, eying him up and down and letting him see the appreciation in my eyes.
He blinked, then laughed.
“You should probably shower,” he informed me.
“Probably.”
I grabbed my clothes and escaped before I embarrassed myself further. Unfortunately, showering didn’t help much.
If anything, standing under cold water just gave me more time to think about Seth sitting ten feet away wrapped in a hotel bathrobe. Not ideal.
When I came back out in an old T-shirt and boxers, room service had arrived.
Seth was already sitting cross-legged near the headboard with the tray pulled close between us. For one stupid second, the sight hit me with startling domestic warmth.
Yeah, I could certainly get used to this.
“You took forever,” Seth informed me.
“You survived,” I told him.
“Barely.”
We settled against the pillows with food balanced precariously between us while some random action movie played on the television mostly ignored.
