Page 33 of Serving Bunt

I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. There was no way I could last in here, alone with my thoughts any longer. Especially not when it felt like the inside of a fucking sauna.

I pulled on a clean T-shirt and stepped outside.

The night air was still warm, but at least it was moving. Crickets chirped softly from the trees, and a low hoo-hoo echoed through the darkness.

Hold up. Was that an owl?

I stared out toward the tree line like the Blair Witch herself might come sprinting out of it. Great. My life had officially crossed into horror movie territory.

It wasn’t fair. I had spent the better part of twenty years mainlining rom-coms. Although, now that I thought about it, the setups were nearly identical.

Forced proximity in a remote location? Check.

Embarrassing mishaps in the kitchen? Check.

Sexual tension so thick you could spread it on toast? Checkity-check check check.

Honestly, the only real difference between a rom-com and a slasher flick was whether the main characters ended up making out or getting murdered. And with my luck, the odds didn’t look good.

My gaze drifted left.

Matty’s cabin light was still on.

I stared at his window for a long moment. Part of me wanted to knock; the other told me to leave him be.

He had already laid everything out, so the least I could do was give him grace to process it without showing up at his door in the middle of the night like some lovesick idiot.

Right?

Anyone? Bueller?

I stood there debating with myself for another minute before finally crossing the few feet separating our cabins. When I knocked on his door, it opened almost immediately.

Matty stood there in nothing but a pair of cotton sweatpants.

“Hey,” I said, voice rough.

“Hey.”

His hair looked damp, curling a little at the ends like he’d showered recently, and the waistband of his joggers hung low enough on his hips to make me briefly forget my own name. My gaze dipped lower before I could stop it, tracing over the line of his stomach.

“You gonna tell me why you knocked on my door at . . . 2:17?” he drawled sleepily.

My eyes shot back up.

“My A/C died.”

Matty stared at me for a beat. “Okay.”

“I suffered bravely for two hours before resorting to this.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And I know you’re pissed with me, but I was hoping . . .”

“You want to use me for my air conditioning?”

I blinked. “In short, yes.”