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“Because I told you that you’d have your own room. I slept in the other bed last night.” He went to the closet and removed a suit bag.
His chivalry was impressive. Two beds. This wasn’t worst-case. He was sober, and if he did anything stupid, he’d be homeless and put his career at risk. “I think we can manage to share a hotel room for one night rather than spend that much for separate rooms.”
“Are you sure?” He cocked his head as he hung his suit jacket on the hanger from the bag.
“We’re two adults,” she said, despite the beads of sweat breaking out on the back of her neck.
He stood with the suit bag in his hand for several long moments. “She can find something half that rate with all the hotels around here. I’ll—”
“John . . . It’s okay. Just stay here.” She forced the words out.
“Okay. But if I start snoring, just throw a pillow at me, and I’ll go sleep in my truck.” He picked up the hotel phone and called down to tell them they were set after all.
That he started humming “Unforgettable” calmed her racing heart, for the most part.
“Do you want to use the bathroom first?” she offered.
“After all that dancing, I kind of need a shower.”
“That’s fine.”
Once she heard the water running, she changed into her pajama set and got out her toiletries. In less than five minutes, John emerged wearing a pair of sleep pants with a towel over his shoulder.
“Bathroom’s all yours.”
She tried not to stare as he laid his suit pants and shirt on his bed. Water dripped from his short hair to glisten on his bare back. Veins stood out on his corded arms as he rubbed the towel over his hair again.
Grabbing her cosmetics case, she hustled into the bathroom to keep from staring at the thin trail of dark hair from his belly button to where it disappeared. She closed the bathroom door and locked it behind her, sucking in a deep breath, and willed her heart to slow. There was no condensation on the mirror, and the water she splashed on her face wasn’t even warm yet. Maybe she should take a cold shower too.
Instead, she took her time removing her makeup and preparing for bed. The bedside lamp was still on when she exited the bathroom. John wore a T-shirt and leaned against the headboard. He hummed along to Ed Sheeran’s “Perfect” and scrolled on his phone, letting out an occasional chuckle.
“I thought that song wasn’t in your playlist.”
His head jerked up, and he cleared his throat. “I like it. Sometimes, you hear a song in a situation that makes you see it a different way.”
His gaze remained locked on her as she moved past his bed.
“Pictures from the wedding are already all over social media,” he said.
That didn’t surprise her, considering there had been a sign at the reception with a hash tag for the wedding, along with ones for the show. “You’re on social media?” That did surprise her after what Jillian had said.
“I am, but not as me.” He flipped his phone around.
The name on the account was Michael, with a last name she couldn’t even begin to pronounce, and a profile graphic of a music note and CD.
“You know how people create fake accounts claiming to be military generals or doctors?”
“I’m not on social media. Wren’s commented about getting messages from fake accounts all the time, though.”
“I’m an actual military guy—though I’m not a general, at least yet—pretending I’m a DJ. Just like these influencers here want followers, the same’s true in every country. Start following some DJ or model wannabe, expand your network, and you start gathering intel.”
“I see.” Elizabeth handed back his phone and sat down on her bed.
“When I’m not on a mission, I may come off like life is all fun and games. Not to sound cocky, but my team and I are very good at what we do. Which means dealing with some very bad people. J.R.? He’s a punk. Easy enough to deal with. But you get someone with the evil mindset to round up twenty impressionable guys and promise them women, money, and favor in heaven, then arm them, and you have a recipe to create terrorists. Those guys have nothing to live for, and everything to die for. Sorry, this might be getting too heavy.”
He diverted his gaze back to the phone’s screen.
“Looks like that Reginald guy managed to get a picture with us. Guess he bought us being a couple.” He showed her a selfie of Reginald where, in the background, she was in John’s arms. “Thanks again for coming and being the perfect date. We’ll have to do it again sometime.”
