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“You’re the best assistant I’ve ever had. I don’t want to mess that up,” Drake obliterated all my hopes. He might as well have patted me on the head and told me I was a cute little puppy and asked me to please go fetch his iPad for him.
The car ride got uncomfortably silent except for the poor windshield wipers that were pretty much useless. But thanks to my anxiety over facing potential death, I had no time to be embarrassed. The snow was coming down so hard now, the semi’s lights looked more like an eerie glow. I gripped the door handle even harder. This was the worst decision ever, you know, right after falling in love with my boss.
Several agonizing minutes passed while I was sure I would die. To occupy my last minutes alive, I ran all the social media posts through my head where Drake would be mourned and immortalized and I would get a tiny little mention, like, “Oh yeah, his underwhelming assistant died too. But let’s focus on how I’m crying myself to sleep knowing I’ll never see a new Drake Foster movie again.”
Finally, Drake put me out of my agony and admitted defeat. “I think we better find a place to stay for the night.”
I let out a huge sigh of relief. “I think that’s a good idea.” Famous last words.
P.S. It was not a good idea.
We made it down the mountain and ended up in Fair Hollow, a small town in Teton Valley. Well, I assumed it was small, but it was hard to tell in the dark with a blanket of snow covering everything in sight. But judging from the limited number of hotels popping up on Google, small was a safe bet. And unfortunately, we were not the only people in search of a place to wait out Snowmageddon. I called the two hotels listed to find they were already booked for the night. All the Airbnbs and ski resorts were full as well. Thankfully, the last hotel clerk suggested I try the Old Rock Church Inn. We were in luck—sort of.
“Do you want the good news or the bad news first?” I asked Drake as soon as he got back in the car. He had to stop at the gas station to buy an energy drink. He mainlined the stuff. I told him he was going to get kidney stones from drinking all that caffeine, but he was willing to risk it. He didn’t care if we found a place to stay as long as he could get his beloved drink of choice.
He shook the snow out of his gorgeous hair before giving me a wry look. He never appreciated when I started conversations like that.
“Fine, I’ll choose. So, the good news is that we won’t be sleeping in the car tonight. The bad news is that we will be sleeping together.”
He dropped the unopened drink on the floor of the car.
“I mean, we won’t be having sex.” Crap, I was making this worse. I was thinking making out all night would be good but knew I had to keep it to myself. “What I mean is, they only have one room available—the honeymoon suite, actually. I’ll take the couch,” I hurried to say, while my cheeks burned in hell.
Drake stared blankly at me. Apparently, I had rendered him mute.
“Is that okay? Do you want me to sleep in the car?” I threw that out there, knowing full well there was no freaking way I would. It was eighteen degrees outside. Besides, I couldn’t ruin the trope we had going here. If romance books had taught me anything, and believe me, they had taught me plenty—the one thing I knew for sure was that when you get stranded in a snowstorm with a handsome man, a celebrity no less, the universe demands there can only be one room available in the entire town and you must sleep in it together. Too bad I already knew the ending: Charlotte Valentine slept alone on the couch, drooled on her pillow, and got a crick in her neck. The end.
“Of course not.” He blinked a hundred times, as if trying to comprehend the situation we found ourselves in. “You’ve slept at my house dozens of times,” he added, like he was trying to justify our turn of events.
It was true, we’d had many sleepovers before this night—purely platonic ones. It was such a bummer. I had my own designated bedroom at his house. It was the smallest room, off the kitchen and as far away from his room as possible, but who was I to complain?
“I’ll take the couch,” he offered.
Oh good, he could get a crick in his neck instead. “If you want.” I shrugged, resigned to the fact that I wasn’t going to be starring in my own personal rom-com. It was more like a horror film where my heart got ripped out of my chest, still beating true for Drake. Ugh.
