All the Feels (Spoiler Alert #2)(70)

At sunset, the temperature had dropped significantly, and the reception area wasn’t particularly well heated. When Lauren shivered, Alex guided her against his side with a warm hand between her shoulder blades, pressing her against his hard furnace of a body, and she shivered again for an entirely different reason.

A hundred-dollar bill suddenly appeared between his fingers. “Are you absolutely certain you have nothing available? We need two rooms. Large, small, whatever. We’ll take anything you have.”

Lauren shifted slightly away to stare up at him, because really? People actually did that in real life? And who the hell carried around hundred-dollar bills and produced them that freaking smoothly?

Alexander Woodroe, apparently.

The young man’s eyes landed on the bill, and he licked his lips. “Well …”

“Yes?” Alex’s grin had turned smug, as he sensed imminent bribery victory.

“We actually have one room free,” the clerk said, and she could feel Alex’s chest puff out in triumph. “But we haven’t been letting people stay there because the AC won’t turn off, and it’s freezing. We’re getting it fixed tomorrow. That doesn’t help you tonight, though.”

A flick of Alex’s hand dismissed that concern. “We’ll just get some extra blankets for the beds. No problem.”

“Uh …” The young man visibly swallowed and cast a longing glance at Alex’s money. “Not beds. Bed. A full.”

Her chin dropped to her chest at the prospect of more driving and more high-volume sing-alongs to Def Leppard. She allowed herself one sigh, then slid out from under Alex’s arm and prepared to soothe his own disappointment and frustration.

Only to find, instead of a frown or weary resignation, an expression of dawning delight.

“Let me get this straight.” He braced his hands on the counter and leaned in closer to the clerk. “There’s only … one bed?”

The young man blinked at him. “Yes, sir.”

When Alex pumped his fists in triumph, punching the air, Lauren and the clerk both jumped.

“This is the best day of my fucking life!” he shouted. “Only! One! Bed! My second-favorite trope!”

He swung around to beam at her. “Lauren! Did you hear?”

Oh, she’d heard, all right. His mom back in Florida probably had too.

“What do you say? Can we do this?” He clasped his hands under his chin like an innocent schoolboy, which he most definitely was not. “I promise to be good.”

He—wanted to share a bed with her? Really?

Dropping her gaze to the scratched wooden floor, she tried to think past her instinctive buzz of excitement and pleasure, the bolt of sensation between her legs when she pictured the two of them in bed together. Intertwined. Naked. His weight on her, his strong, capable hands spreading her wide and—

No. No, she shouldn’t sexualize this. That wasn’t fair to him or their friendship.

But if she shared a room and a bed with him, the memory would haunt her once their road trip ended. She’d dream about it. Mourn what had been and would never be again. The wisest answer, then, given her burgeoning, ill-conceived feelings for him, was a firm no.

The right answer … that was tougher to pin down.

His thumb on her chin gently guided her gaze to his. “Look, Wren, it’s okay. If you’re not comfortable, we don’t take the room. No problem. I mean that.”

His gray eyes were warm. Sincere.

He did mean it, she knew. He wouldn’t begrudge her a refusal, no matter how disappointed he might be.

But if she agreed, she’d undoubtedly make him very happy. Which would, in turn, make her happy, at least in the moment, and also allow her to avoid a repeat of the evening’s earlier, extremely unfortunate, “Pour Some Sugar on Me” Incident.

She was tired. She was stiff from a long day in the car. And damn it, she wanted to know how it felt to share a bed with him. Just once.

She let out a slow breath, then turned to the waiting clerk.

“Let’s do it,” she said, and jumped again at Alex’s elated whoop.

Maybe it wasn’t the wisest answer, but it was her answer. The right answer.

At least for tonight.





21


ALEX EXHALED AS HE PACED, AND HE COULD ACTUALLY SEE the puff of air. Even though it was July. In California.

Well, he couldn’t say the kid at the front desk had misled them. The small room contained only one full-size bed and no couch. Its air conditioner chugged away at full blast no matter which setting he chose. And as the clerk had informed them while pressing the key into Wren’s hand, the windows were indeed painted shut.

The room felt like the world’s smallest hockey rink. Under normal circumstances, he’d be bitching nonstop. But since they were only staying there because of him …

Well, he’d only complain occasionally.

Behind the room’s flimsy bathroom door, Wren was showering. Hopefully under the hottest water she could stand, because those sheets were going to feel like ice.

The sheets they’d soon be under. Together.

Shit, he couldn’t keep staring at the door. It was damn creepy. And if he continued imagining rivulets of steamy water running down her lush, wet, naked body, no amount of glacial cold could prevent his own body from visibly responding, and he didn’t want to scare her away when she emerged from the bathroom.