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Those touches? The way his eyes danced as he gazed at me?
Not. Real.
When they finish their game, I fake a yawn, because, apparently, I’m really good at faking things, and stretch my arms over my head. My shirt rises a bit, exposing my midsection, and there’s no missing the way Rueben’s eyes lock on that little sliver of skin. Inwardly, I grin and do a little happy jig as those dark brown orbs dilate even further. Since I’m already committed to my next fib, I say, “Well, I’m going to head back to the hotel. I’m beat.” I go ahead and throw in another big fat fake yawn to complete my sell.
“I’ll walk you,” Rueben says, placing the darts back in the bin.
“No, you don’t have to do that. Stay and catch up with Danny,” I insist. Truthfully, I could use a little alone time in my hotel room. Maybe a bath in that small tub, a bottle of whatever liquor they’ve got stocked in the mini-fridge. A few moments alone to reflect on the mess I’ve made of our evening. Mostly, I could use a break from Rueben and the crazy excitement I feel inside at the prospect of actually being in a relationship with him.
“I’ll walk you,” he insists with more authority. “Danny, it was good to visit again.”
“I’ll head out too,” Danny replies, finishing off his cheap beer and throwing a few bills for a tip in the center of the table. “You two walk?”
I nod, dreading the idea of walking back to the hotel, my ex in tow.
But that’s what we end up doing, all three leaving the bar together, just like the good ol’ days. Except this time, it’s not Danny’s hand I’m holding as we make our way through the streets of Carbondale. It’s Rueben’s. I’m not sure if it’s to help sell our story or as a form of comfort, but I’ll take the latter.
Danny chats about his job and life in Los Angeles. It turns out, he’s been to a few fundraising events in San Francisco and even spent a long weekend there a few months back. Thankfully though, we’ve never crossed paths.
When we arrive at the hotel, another thought hits me. We make our way to the elevator, all three of us heading to the same floor. Would it be weird that Rueben and I are supposedly dating, yet staying in different hotel rooms? We did say it was early days, but Danny might find that odd and latch on to that piece of intel.
As we step into the car, the awkwardness trailing us as thick as fog, Rueben must sense my uneasiness. He puts his arm around my shoulder, snuggling me into his side. I admit, it’s pretty fucking nice. Comfy, even. I’ve never been a big snuggler, but here I am, burrowing deeper into his embrace as if I can’t get close enough.
When the car opens, we all exit. Rueben stops at his door, digging in his pocket for his keycard. I’m not sure what to do. Danny even hangs back, still blabbing about how great his life is and shares some story about being recognized at the airport. I take a step forward, prepared to head to my room and explain to Danny that we haven’t been dating long enough to warrant a shared room, when Rueben pulls on my hand, stopping me. He opens the door and steps back, allowing me to enter first.
“Well, I’ll leave you two for the night. I’m sure we’ll see each other at the game. Hey, maybe we can meet in the restaurant for breakfast first. Say eight o’clock? I think we’re supposed to be at the stadium by ten.”
“Oh,” I start, but stop, not really sure how to answer that. Do I want to have breakfast with my ex? Hell to the no. Do I want to have breakfast with my ex, while also having breakfast with my fake boyfriend who just so happens to be his former roommate and friend? Fuck that.
“That sounds great,” Rueben replies, making my brain stutter to a halt.
What?
“Night, guys,” Danny says, throwing a wave over his shoulder and heading toward his room.
I slip inside and am slapped upside the head with a familiar, sexy scent. The room smells like his cologne, and instantly, my heart starts to skip in my chest. I stand awkwardly in the little hall area by the bathroom door, unsure what to do. He waves me on and says, “You might as well stay for a little bit. You know he’ll be watching this room. Wait until we think he’s asleep and then you can sneak over to your room.”
Good idea.
Moving through the room and stopping by the little desk, I say, “Smart thinking. But I have to ask, breakfast?”
He snorts. “You know he wouldn’t let it go. If it wasn’t this, then it would be drinks after the game or sitting together at the alumni dinner tomorrow. We have breakfast in the morning, and then he’ll run into his former teammates at the game and talk about the good ol’ days, forgetting all about us.”
Seems simple enough. I’ve already endured an hour with the man, surely I could survive a quick breakfast in the morning, right?
“Okay, I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it,” I grumble.
Rueben grabs the remote and turns on the television. He finds a documentary on History Channel, which makes me happy. I love that channel. Not so much when I was younger, but the older I get, the more I appreciate learning about the events from our past, the things that made us who we are.
“I’ve been wanting to see this,” I say, kicking off my shoes and crawling onto the top of the king-sized bed. My eyes remain glued to the screen.
“Make yourself comfy. I’m gonna use the bathroom,” he says, disappearing into the small room off to the side, closing the door with a decisive click.
I take a quick moment to scan the room. His clothes are hanging in the closet, and I spy a black suit for tomorrow night’s dinner. Truth be told, I’m a little anxious to see him in that bad boy. Back in school, he was a little lanky and lean, but now, with a little more muscle mass behind him, I’m quite certain he’ll fill out that suit very nicely.
The rest of the room is well organized. I realize he hasn’t been here long, but I can see he’s already using the room. His laptop and a few other devices are sitting on the desk, an empty bottle of water tossed in the trash. There’s a pair of jeans and a shirt folded up and set on the chair; probably the clothes he had on for the flight earlier today. Everything else is straightened and clean, just as I’d picture his living space at home.
I’m drawn back into the documentary about The White House. They’re discussing the bunkers and the underground systems surrounding the most secured building in the world. Rueben joins me a few minutes later, but chooses to take the chair. He tosses the clothes onto the desk chair and kicks off his shoes, before throwing his long legs up on the ottoman and relaxing. If he’s concerned about me making myself cozy on his bed, he doesn’t say anything. We watch the show in comfortable silence, yet I’m definitely aware of his presence. Occasionally, I feel his eyes on me, but I try to ignore the pull that calls for me to look his way.
