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If I turn them off, I’m afraid they’ll wake her.

My hand absently strokes her arm as my eyes sweep the room.

Of course it’s immaculate.

The massive bed I’m lying on dominates the space, covered in layers of wrinkled, cream-colored bedding that probably costs more than the cabin I’m staying in. Dark furniture. Warm amber lamps. My clothes lie on a thick rug. Floor-to-ceiling curtains frame a set of French doors leading to a balcony.

I take stock of what I see.

Two windows. A balcony exit. Bedroom door. No obvious cameras.

A black velvet pumpkin sits on the nightstand beside a stack of books. Tiny bats climb the wall above the dresser. A candle sits beneath a warmer lamp, filling the room with vanilla and cinnamon.

It smells like her.

Then my gaze lands on the decorative pillow that ended up on the floor.

I'M THE FUN ONE.

Yeah. That tracks.

A phone charger snakes across one nightstand beside a half-empty bottle of water, three hair ties, and a paperback with enough colored tabs sticking out of it to qualify as a filing system.

The room is warm. Comfortable. Personal.

I don't belong here.

My thoughts race as I wait a couple of minutes.

Excellent sex.

Terrible decision.

Side hurts.

Need pants.

Need truck.

I glance at the watch on my wrist.

It’s time.

Longing fills me as I glance down at her once more. Warm, steady breaths brush my chest.

Something tightens inside me.

I slide out from beneath her, inch by careful inch.

She doesn’t stir.

My feet hit the floor, and I rise to my full height.

I grab a pillow and prop it against her. She hugs it like she thinks it’s me.

I grab my pants and step one foot into them. Or try to.

I grip the dresser, waiting for the dizziness to pass.